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Show Flying - 184 Maybe this is what drove Tex over the edge. This and not love. Home came the hunter and there was only the darkness and the horror to greet him. Except that Tex was a native. He'd seen i t a l l before, and he knew he could take i t . Even the great cricket plague d i d n ' t faze him at a l l . He swept them out of his bed by the dozens every night and emptied them out of his boots every morning without disgust. He could crush them without a qualm. I've seen him hold two or three live ones in his hand without flinching. John Henry s i t s on the edge of his canvas cot back at the main camp, eating C-rations out of the can with a l i t t le plastic spoon. Not bad, these leftovers from World ":ar II- better than what we usually get in the mess-hall. Besides we get to eat these in peace and the privacy of our tents. He plunges with appetite into the fifteen-year old meat stew and with his free hand s i f t s through the cardboard box to see what other treasures have been sent him out of the distant past. The f r u i t he throws away-canned fruit has not made the journey safely, he's t r i e d i t before. What you get is a hiss of released pressure and a smell like the stink of death i t s e l f . But here is an old brown pack of Phillip Morris. And candy, a l i t t l e hardened by the passing of the years, but s t i l l good to eat on a dull afternoon. Powdered coffee and cream in l i t t l e foil packets. Gum, but no |