and was raised by non-Native parents. He didn’t even know his tribe."I shoulda told him the one about the black panther with a baby’s head," Henry said. "That woulda got him!""How long’s he been gone?" Brandon asked.Chester looked at his watch. "Three hours.""Sun went down an hour ago."Henry and Chester smiled, nodding."I hope we don’t have to go find poor Georgie, the great gremlin hunter, and bring him back to camp," Brandon noted matter-of-factly, and all three burst into laughter once again.After that storm was over, Chester asked, "So...who gets the honors?""Honors?""Of telling Georgie there’s no such thing as gremlin in these woods."Brandon and Henry shrugged, considering to whom this great honor would fall.But at that moment, the door to the makeshift camp opened, and Georgie barreled in."What a deal!" he proclaimed, standing there in his olive-drab army green hunting clothes and florescent orange cap, the shotgun slung over one shoulder and his bag over the other. He looked triumphant, like Crazy Horse or somebody, Brandon thought.And Brandon noticed the bag didn’t look empty. Must have got a rabbit, he thought."Guys," Georgie said, "I don’t know why you didn’t let me in on this gremlin hunting business a long time ago. What a deal!"The three men eyed Georgie suspiciously. Was the little restaurant owner, who had never been out into the swamp before, trying to turn the tables on them?Henry tried, "So...how many did you bag, Georgie?""Just one," Georgie said, coming forward and opening his bag. "How many did you guys get?"He loosened the cinch of the bag and tumbled its contents onto the table.Dead and bloodied with buckshot, the thing’s glazed red eyes stared up at them blindly. Its body was hairless, black skinned, and the powerful legs fore and aft were tipped with ivory white claws still tainted red with dry blood from some kill of its own. A tail, ridged, fleshy, and rat...
