Demolitionist v. Dentist

After the duel the Demolitionist quietly begins pacing the length of the grounds. At last, along the creek that marks the southern border, just north of where the Astrophysicist drove his motorized wheelchair off the two foot-high bank, he sees a clay pipe half buried beneath pebbles and grit. The pipe's old and worn, with algae clinging to the downstream fringe, waving gently in the current.

Following the direction of the pipe, he notes that it aims to a spot just east of the great mound to the northwest of the grounds - not directly to the well. In the other direction, the pipe leads out past the marshland. He strains to see vines and foliage covering a sloped embankment far, far to the south, perpendicular to the direction of the valley.

When he makes to jump across the river to get a better view, an arrow cuts silently into the soft ground before him. He snaps his head to the direction from where it was shot: the forest, not forty paces away. The trees shake. He pulls the arrow from the ground and examines it: it's fletched from scratch, with crow feathers for stabilizers, and a polished, sharpened scrap metal spike for a tip.

When the Dentist arrives the following morning he takes her to where the pipe runs across the creek. He identifies it as an old insulation pipe, its interior coated with lead. Then he points south to the southern embankment.

And that's a private dam, he says. Concrete covered in creeper.

The Dentist strains to see.

Out of view a beaver hits its tail against the calm water.

They raise their guns, their guns go off.