I waited till Johnny Eagle had melted away and then, making my .45 as waterproof as I could, I slid into the lake. It was a short swim to the island—fifty yards or so—but I was pretty well exhausted when I dragged myself out of the water. The cold air knifed into my back and shoulder blades. It was welcome relief to crawl into the shelter of the undergrowth and rest a while.
With some of my strength back, I pushed on cautiously through the bushes and tightly-packed trees. The first washings of dawn now appeared in the sky. It was the beginning of the day that Chetzisky had chosen for the world to die.
When I came to the edge of the clearing, I stopped, my eyes probing the morning grayness. Then I stepped quickly out of the brush. Suddenly I stopped dead, afraid even to breathe. Two feet
