Luke chuckled, too. “Yes. Rods and cones–receptors in their eyes. Each is used depending on the light. We even have them. It’s sure fun learning all this. Think of it this way: for fish, the cones come into play when the light rises in the morning. The cones are part of the eye that can see color. Then toward evening, the rods take over. They’re about thirty times more sensitive than the cones, but can’t see color. All fish have that. Changing over from cones to rods comes at sunset. But a bass makes the change quicker than most fish. They start switching over from day to night vision at dusk. So even in dark water, bass can see the little fish to eat. That’s why they can grow so big.”
“And Elihu is the biggest. Wonder if he’d go for a jig and pig?” Jason almost giggled, thinking about the bait Skeeter Nelson loved to talk about. A jig and pig was a way of putting pickled pork in the shape of a frog on a hook and throwing it up near cypress roots. Oh, how there was so much to learn!
When Grampy Luke pulled up to the Tackle Shop, Jason saw a slick new bass boat tied to the dock. It was dark red with a white stripe. On the front was an electric trolling motor, so it could go almost silently into shallow water near weeds where fish liked to feed. Jason hurried down to the dock to see it more closely. Painted on the side was the name The Jig’s Up.
“That’s Dooey Murdock’s boat.”
Jason turned to find the voice.
A boy stood on the bank. “He don’t know a thing about fishing. But he likes looking like he does. He’s going after Elihu tonight.”
The boy was fishing with a cane pole and bobber, throwing his line in weeds near a cypress tree.
The boy’s hair was the color of dried bamboo. He looked to be about thirteen. His jean shorts were torn, and he was barefooted. Grampy Luke was walking toward them with a bait bucket. The boy’s eyes were cold gray, and his skin looked sun-blistered. He grinned in a mean, sour way.
Grampy Luke walked onto the dock. “What you fishing for, son?”
But the boy only glanced at Grampy Luke and then again at Jason. He threw his line out farther and would not answer. He turned his back to them, and his silence was as hard as a plank of wood.
Above them, Jason heard tapping on the bridge. The sound reminded him of fingers drumming on a tabletop, and when he and Grampy Luke looked up, they saw a pony trotting on the bridge pavement.
A small girl, with flopping hair almost as white as rice, was riding the pony that was no bigger than a big dog. The girl herself seemed not much larger than a Raggedy-Ann doll. She wore blue shorts and was so skinny that her knees looked like upside-down tea cups. Her T-shirt, way too short, stopped before her waist. She was barefooted too, and the heels of her dirty feet tapped the pony’s sides with every trot-step.
“Bean!” the boy on the bank yelled up. “I’m down here!”
The pony, a golden color with a thick mane that blew up with every step, turned to come down the bank. The girl rode it without either a saddle or a bridle. Only a rope was tied around its nose and over its ears that the girl held in a loop of reins.
The pony trotted down the slope from the road and stopped beside the bigger boy. The girl held out her hand, palm up.
“Now, don’t you get nothing but peanuts.” The big boy pulled coins out of his pocket and put them in the small girl’s hand. “You hear? One package. That’s all.”
With the boy’s last word, the pony began pawing in the dirt. One, two, three strokes of its hoof on the ground, then it stopped and nudged the boy. The pony then did it again: one, two, three, then stopped. The girl kicked at the boy. Her bare foot tapped his chest. She hummed a sound that was high-pitched and pleading.
“Okay.” The boy pulled another coin from his pocket and gave it to her. “Get him some peppermints, but only three. The three he’s asking for.” He laughed. “You’re going to spoil that horse so bad he’ll have to have pizza and peppermints all day.”
The boy and girl looked so much alike that Jason knew they had to be brother and sister.
Grampy Luke stepped close. “That’s a mighty fine-looking pony.” He reached out and petted its nose. “What pretty tiny feet. No bigger than teacakes. What’s the pony’s name?”
The girl slid her eyes across Grampy Luke.In that second, Jason saw the girl’s eyes were the color of a blue-bird’s wing, and they also touched down on Jason and Grampy Luke no longer than a shy bluebird would have landed. She had red pinprick dots of mosquito bites on her face and legs.
“She don’t talk to nobody. Just me.” The boy pulled in his cane pole line. On the end was a soggy worm. “And that ain’t no pony. It’s a silver buckskin miniature horse. Rare. One of the best anywhere. His daddy’s name’s Little Buckaroo. My own daddy got him in a trade.”
“I see.” Grampy Luke ran his fingers through the little horse’s thick mane. “Did you say its name is Bean?”
“No. The mini horse is Sundance. My sister’s Bean.” The corner of his mouth curled bitterly. “Her real name’s Deserai–Rai for short. But we call her Butter Bean ’cause she’s so fat.” He laughed.
“Well, I must say, Sundance is a mighty fine horse. He must be fun to ride. How long you had him?” Grampy Luke tilted his head kindly toward the girl called Bean.
But neither the boy nor the girl answered. The girl turned Sundance around and trotted back up to the pavement with the little horse’s mane flowing. Its ears were pricked as if he were looking for something. Suddenly, Sundance made the most mournful sound—a whistling whinny as if calling for someone.
Jason wasn’t sure if he heard right, but it sure seemed Bean fussed affectionately, “Oh, hush-it, Sundance! Just hush-it.” Soon there was again the sound of Sundance’s hoofbeats on the pavement.
The boy flipped his cane pole line back into the water and turned his back.
Grampy Luke put a hand on Jason’s shoulder. “Let’s go on to the Tackle Shop.”
Up the slope, Grampy Luke walked onto the porch with Jason beside him and squeaked open the screen door.
Jason’s skin tingled. Inside, there would surely be more stories about Elihu.
Above them, Jason heard tapping on the bridge.
FIVE
FISHING FOR ELIHU
The Tackle Shop smelled of hot dogs and coffee, grass shrimp and worms, shaving lotion and wet boots. Jason took a deep breath, loving how it all smelled. Eight men were standing around, drinking coffee, buying bait and ice. They were just waiting for dusk to head out fishing.
Grampy Luke went to the cooler and pulled out two cold bottles of juice. He looked at Jason and winked. “Anybody seen Elihu lately?”
Bill dipped up minnows and put them in cartons to sell. “You mean besides Skeeter Nelson,
