Free The Night of the Moonbow by Thomas Tryon Page B

He had got it from the famous Count Von Luckner, the crafty German naval officer whose ship, the Sea Devil, had wreaked havoc with Allied shipping during the war. When the Count came to Pequot Landing to lecture, Tiger had even got an autograph on a picture of the famous vessel: “Never Say Die, Tiger Abernathy.” Tiger was determined he would not.
    “I kept a diary once,” he remarked.
    This revelation interested Leo. “Why did you quit?” he asked.
    Tiger chuckled. “I was doing so many things every day I never could find the time to write them all down.”
    Leo could see how this might be so: a fellow like Tiger Abernathy was always busy, with a dozen irons in the fire. Was there anything he wasn’t interested in? A patrol leader in the Boy Scouts, he was also active in Christian Youth Fellowship and the Junior Grange and the Civic Guard. He had, moreover, a number of time-consuming interests and hobbies - stamp-collecting, model-airplane- and boatbuilding - while the complicated layout of his electric train set was known to fill half the attic. All in all, he was a real powerhouse, with his bright, quick, lighting-up smile, and the gleeful laugh that he made such generous use of. What he lacked in physical size he made up for in character, and compared with him, all the boys Leo had known at the orphanage — even his pal Arnie Kretchmer (“Kretch the Wretch”) - seemed commonplace and lackluster.
    Leo congratulated himself on his good fortune. On that first evening in camp he hadn’t been at all sure how he would fare at Tiger’s hands. Tiger had been helpful enough, but he’d said so little, seemingly weighing “the new boy” in his mind, pondering whether they would be friends or not. And now they were friends, sort of. Leo felt it was so. Sometimes when he came here to the pond, Tiger would show up - like this morning. Leo frequently asked himself why the most popular boy in camp would bother with the likes of him, an orphan from Pitt Institute. Maybe he just felt sorry for him (Tiger was the kind of guy who always stuck up for the underdog); still, to be singled out for his attention was deeply gratifying, and in the end Leo decided it was probably his music that had won Tiger over (he had laughed a lot at Leo’s rendition of “The Music Goes ’Round and Around”).
    Now, grinning his crooked, saw-toothed grin, Tiger said, “So tell me. How come you were trying to fly?”
    Leo’s response was simple. “It’s the thing I want most in the world - except for two other things.”
    “Like what?”
    “First, to own a dog.”
    “Yeah? What kind?”
    “Name it.”
    “Didn’t you ever have one?”
    “Sure. Once.” Leo blew out his cheeks; his eyelids fluttered and closed.
    “What happened to him?”
    “Got killed.”
    “How?”
    “Curiosity.”
    Tiger thought that was the cat, but before he could comment Leo went on.
    “Actually he got run over by a truck.”
    “Gee, that’s tough. Hit and run?”
    “No. It was my f-father’s truck.”
    “Gee, I bet he felt bad.”
    “Not so’s you’d notice. If you asked me, I’d say he enjoyed it.”
    “What?”
    “You had to know him. He never liked Butch. He didn’t like him in the house. Butch knew ...”
    “Knew what?”
    “Butch knew Rudy. That was his name, Rudy. His black heart. Rudy was the only person Butch didn’t like. Rudy knew it. He was just looking for a chance to do him a bad turn.”
    “So he deliberately ... ?”
    Leo nodded somberly. “Butch was lying in the driveway. He liked the warm concrete. Rudy backed the truck out and just ran over him as nice as you please.”
    “But - maybe he didn’t see him.”
    “He saw him all right. Butch was asleep. Rudy gunned his motor and hit him before he could get out of the way.”
    Tiger’s eyelids lowered, his lips stretched in a grim line. He remained that way, wondering why Leo had made so personal a confession on such short acquaintance. It was, he decided, one way to cement