The Americans Are Coming by Herb Curtis

lemonade. You’re just the man I’ve been wanting to see. I hear you have a fly to show me.”
    Shad didn’t have a fly to show Bill Wallace, but he had prepared himself.
    “Yeah, but I kin only tell you of it,” said Shad. “I lost it in a big salmon earlier this evening.”
    “Really! Christ, I’ve been whipping the rivah all day and never had as much as a rise.”
    Shad sat on the sofa beside Bill Wallace. Lillian sat at the table eyeing her father and the strange boy with the greased red hair. The boy had cleaned up since the afternoon and had changed his awful clothes for a plaid shirt with the collar turned up, blue jeans and sneakers. Lillian saw in Shadrack’s icy blue eyes a certain zest for life . . . and naughtiness perhaps. She thought she kind of liked him.
    “It’s what you call a Green-arsed Hornet,” said Shad. “Jist looks like a hornet, ’cept it’s got a green arse ’stead o’ yellow.”
    “Well, I’ll have Bert tie me up a few. A Green-assed Hornet, huh?”
    “Yep. Best fly on the river!”
    “Lillian, I don’t know if you’ve heard, but young Shadrack here is somewhat familiar with the Dungarvon Whooper.”
    “Really!”
    Shadrack leaned back on the sofa, put his arm on the back, crossed his legs and made ready for whatever lies he mighthave to conjure up. He wished he had brought Dryfly, after all. Dryfly was good at lying and stuff.
    “Lindon Tucker told me about it this morning,” continued Bill Wallace. “Young Shadrack here is quite a hero in these parts.”
    “Tell me about you being a hero, Shadrack,” said Lillian in the same way Shadrack reckoned she would talk to a child. Shadrack was losing confidence. These people were very different from the people he was used to. He couldn’t read their faces. He couldn’t decide whether they were making fun of him or not.
    “What did Lindon tell them?” was the question on Shadrack’s mind. He tried to remember all the stories. Shad decided he would go into the story in a roundabout way. That way, he’d have time to remember things.
    “Well,” breathed Shad, “this thing was screamin’ in the woods, see, and . . .”
    “What did the whooper sound like, Shad?’ asked Lillian.
    “Well, sorta like a . . . a . . . a train whistle, a panther hollerin’ . . . and the . . . the devil screamin’, all in one . . . only louder. Everyone was scared to death of it. So one night when the moon was full and the thing was makin’ more noise than usual, me and Dryfly thought we’d better be doin’ somethin’ about it. So, by God, I grabbed the old .303, and, and, and Dad’s flashlight and struck ’er for the woods.”
    Both Lillian and Bill were smiling friendly smiles. Shad thought that they might be swallowing his yarn and it gave him a bit more confidence.
    “So, anyway, we didn’t get no more than a mile or two in the woods when we smelt this awful smell. ’Pon me soul, it just smelt like . . . like Shirley Ramsey’s arse and, and I had to swing and throw up right then and there. And, and, and then this awfullest scream struck ’er up and Dryfly turned as white as a ghost. I said, ‘By God, Dryfly, we’re done for.’”
    “So, what did you do?” asked Lillian.
    “Well, I said the only way we’ll be able to git rid of it is to go down to the brook where the thing seemed to be, so we went down. Well, sir, you never heard anything like it in all your life!”
    Lillian and Bill exchanged glances.
    “Anyway,” continued Shad, “I saw this big black thing down through the woods and I said to Dryfly, I said, I said Dryfly, I think I see it. Dryfly never said aye, yes or no. I didn’t know what it was, but I could tell that it had horns like a cow and was about the size of a, of a bull elephant.”
    “Dryfly said ya’d better shoot the sonuvawhore before it sees us, or we’re as good as dead. So I pulled up the old .303 and let ’er drift. Well, anyway, the noise stopped right up and that thing swung and took