The footsteps stopped right next to the boat. I closed my eyes, the bread stuck in my throat.

I started to choke!

The netting flew off me. Even as I tried to breathe, I covered my face, hoping to ward off Thick-Neck's blows.

But there were no blows.

I peeked out between my arms as big chunks of bread spewed out of my mouth.

"What is this?" asked a bewildered old man staring down at me. "A young elf, all by himself?"

I didn't answer. I kept coughing, spitting out wads of half chewed bread into the bottom of the boat.

The old man shook his head with exasperation and began slapping me on the back.

When I was finally able to breathe again, I looked past the old man and saw that the beach was empty. Thick-Neck Nick was nowhere in sight.

"You in trouble, elf?" asked the old man, seeing my furtive look.

I nodded my head, figuring to play on the old man's sympathies. "Thick-Neck Nick doesn't like me," I said.

"Thick-Neck Nick doesn't like anybody," agreed the old man with a sigh. Then he looked at me with a sly grin and added, "He especially hates one particular elf who has a habit of stealing his bread."

My face reddened.

"What's your name, elf?" he demanded.

"Duder," I told him.

"That's all? Just Duder?"

"It's enough," I replied, not wanting to say any more on that subject. "What's yours?"

"Folks call me Six-Finger Fiske."

My gaze immediately shifted to his hands.