By FirefighterSIR
Part 11: Summer Nights
Summer nights dragged on more than winter nights it seemed. It was not that the night was so long, but the sounds mixed with the heat lingering in the camp kept the slave up long past the time he should have slept. Crickets whined all around the fenced compound where the Captain’s tiny cabin stood and the wicked laughter of coyotes echoed through the canyons near and far. The sound would first be of one lone coyote calling out in short howls then he would be answered by a yip or a bark.
Then more voices would chime in and gather. Then silence, until the pack had cornered some wayward jackrabbit. At the kill excited howls and barks would become a frightening garble of voices that would cut off suddenly, total silence. That is when the slave would worry, looking, imagining red eyes glowing at the edge of the dark brush, looking to find a way into the compound, to him, as he lay vulnerable, caged like a chicken in a coop.