along the sluggish creek bank. On their left, the
high old bulk of the Creek House rose from a yard that was strewn
with rubble and years' accumulation of weeds and litter. A hundred
yards up the creek was the gray, rickety piling of the hotel dock.

"That's it," Rick said.

Scotty went up to the bow and took the bow line, ready to drop it over
a piling.

Rick started a wide turn that would bring him into the dock, then cut
the engine. The launch slowed as it lost momentum and drifted into
place perfectly.

"Hey! Get out of there!"

Both boys looked up.

Coming from the hotel's side door on a dead run was a stocky youth of
about their own age. He was between Rick and Scotty in height, and he
had hair the color of a ripe carrot. Swinging from one hand was a
rifle.

"Is that hair real or has he got a wig on?" Scotty asked.

"It's real," Rick returned. His forehead creased. The dock had never
been considered private property--at least not since the hotel was
abandoned. He waited to see what the redhead wanted.

The boy ran down the loose wooden surface toward them, his face red
and angry. "Get that boat out of here!"

Rick looked into a pair of furious eyes the color of seaweed, set
above a wide nose and thin mouth.

"Why?" he asked.

"This is private property. Cast off."

"Where's your sign?" Scotty asked.

The boy grinned unpleasantly. "Don't need a sign." He patted the stock
of his rifle. "Got this."

"Plan to use it?" Scotty asked calmly.

"If I have to. Now cast off those lines and get out."

Rick's temper began to fray a little. "You're using the wrong tone of
voice," he said gently. "You should say 'I'm terribly sorry, fellows,
but this is private property. Do you mind tying up somewhere else?'
Ask us nicely like that and we'll do it."

The redhead half lifted the rifle. "Wise guy, huh? I warned you. Now
cast off those lines and get out." He dropped his hand to the lever of
the rifle as though to pump a cartridge into place.

Scotty tensed. He said softly, "Get gay with that rifle and I'll climb
up there and feed it to you breech first."

Rick saw the color rise to the boy's face and the muscles in his
throat tighten. "Easy, Scotty," he said warningly. He knew, as Scotty
did, that no normal person would wave a rifle at anyone for mere
daytime accidental trespassing, but he had a hunch the young
carrot-top would not react normally.

"Jimmy!"

The three of them looked to the hotel as the