<div class="floatleft">(https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-S8nWEwDHoLo/VuctPJcFklI/AAAAAAAAZzE/LH_CQD1cWsM-36_em_H4CNSfKPtAAs7xg/s1600/tumblr_napkpgrAjV1qb647qo4_1280.jpg)<br/></div><br/>It took nearly all of his strength to help give the riverboat a good launch.  His thighs were screaming at him now.  It felt like he had just performed the gnarliest leg-lift on the planet, and his hips nearly popped out of socket when he exerted everything that he had to help push them away.  When they succeeded in developing some inertial momentum, Jim considered laying down to let the lactic buildup in his legs simmer, but experience had taught him that crawlers were really good jumpers.  Indeed, Jim had seen them easily leap fifteen feet straight into the air before.  So Jim was pretty sure that the crawlers could clear the distance between the boat and the shore with a running long jump if they tried.  Thus, Jim fought through the pain and leveled his rifle at one of the crawlers, waiting for him to make a move.  They were in range and he knew that he could land a clean head shot.  The crawler's head looked ripe for popping, but the crawler didn't jump, so Jim didn't squeeze off a shot.  Jim didn't see the point.<em>You are someone else's problem now, kiddo,</em>he thought.<br/><br/>Once it was clear that they had made good their escape into the river, Jim slowly crossed the railing and lay down on the main deck.  He stretched his knees and lifted his legs at the hips, testing them to ensure that he hadn't pulled a muscle.  He then shifted his weight on his back, and pulled the three dead (and now, somewhat squished) frogs from under him that he had caught on shore.  They were pretty big, as far as frogs go.<br/><br/>Although Arlene asked him about the boat and about his name, Jim didn't respond.  He stood up, glanced at Arlene and then at Lucas, and then walked into the shadows of the boat, only to return moments later carrying firewood.  Although it was dark, it was clear that Jim had made a make-shift fire-pit on the main deck.  He set the wood down beside the fire-pit and then got to work to start the fire.  Jim used his long combat knife to scrape the bark off of a log.<br/><br/>It wasn't until he started cutting shavings from the log to get kindling that he began to speak.<br/><br/>"...  My name's Jim," he said, speaking as if he was having trouble formulating his thoughts into words.   "This boat's not mine, ma'am.  I got here three days ago from Des Moines.  I couldn't get the engine to turn over, but that might be operator error.  I never started a boat before.  If you want to take a look at fixin' it, you oughta know that there's a tool box in the conductor's cockpit upstairs."<br/><br/>With enough shavings, he bunched some of it and then began to expertly stack the firewood atop of it.<br/><br/>"Apparently," he added, a bit more comfortable with chatting now, "I haven't done a very good search of this darned thing, since I didn't know that it had bedrooms.  Just as well, I guess.  So, I'm fixin' to crisp some frog right now, and yer' both welcome to some if you'd like.  Lucas there is gonna catch his death if he stands around drenched anyways.  Liable to get an earache at least on account of how dirty the river water is."<br/>