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Ahn-Kha's ears went flat against his head. "Yes."
"Didn't know there was them who spoke that good of English of your sort."
"Likewise," Ahn-Kha said.
"Definitely see you later," he said, staring frankly at Duvalier. She ignored him. The hunter followed his friend in. Ahn-Kha squeezed out a noisy fart, Golden One commentary on the stink left behind by unpleasant company. Valentine heard a couple of welcoming hallos from the inside.
"The mosquitoes are getting bad," Duvalier said, putting down two pair and taking the pile of matches.
"I'll see about dinner and DEET," Valentine said, rising.
Greta's generator ran two lighting fixtures, both wall-mounted, both near the bar. One was the lit face of a clock-someone had broken off the plastic arms, and whether the remaining stubs still told the time Valentine couldn't say-and the other a green neon squiggle of a bass leaping out of the water, a bright blue line projecting from its mouth. Perhaps a dozen customers sat in the gloom, save for the two huntsmen, who were looking at a wanted poster under the clock-light.
Valentine felt the stares of the company. Because they were outsiders?
"You wouldn't have a bottle of bug repellent, would you?" he asked the slighter version of Greta at the bar.
She shook her head. "No, sir. You and your girl could come inside. The tobacco keeps them out."
"If you don't like the skeeters, you could relocate off-river, tag," a shaggy woodsman suggested. "Take your pet and go."
"Earl," the bartender warned. "Goat stew and biscuits will be up soon, mister."
A third man joined the other two by the clock, getting a light. He joined in the inspection of the bill.
"I'll buy four servings," Valentine said.
"There's only three of you."
"The Grog's got a big appetite."
"We've only got goat. No spitted youngsters," the man called Earl said. Valentine didn't like the way he kept his hand near his open-topped holster.
"You won't even get goat if you keep that up," the bartender said. "Greta hospitalitied them herself."
Valentine walked away.
"Hey, tag!" Earl called as Valentine walked away. The bar went quiet. "Tag!"
Valentine went out the door, glad to have the pile of sandbags and a cedar wall between himself and Earl.
"I think we'll spend tonight on the porch," Valentine said.
"See you in country, tag," Earl bellowed.
"Hey, Earl!" someone inside called. "Come over here and roll one. Calm down."
"Everready should have hooked us up with guerillas," Duvalier said.
"They're up in the mountains east of Nashville, for the most part," Valentine said.
"It's a place to get across this river," Ahn-Kha said. "Perhaps there are no Kur this near. Even a Reaper would have trouble with the crowd inside."
The crowd inside chose that moment to spill out the door. The two turkey hunters and Earl came out of the bar, pistols drawn. Duvalier made a move for her shotgun.
"Hold it," a voice barked from the repaired section wall. "I've got two barrels of buckshot on you."
Valentine stood up, hands up and away from his weapons. "Now hold on. I don't want-"
