Bad Man's Gulch Read Free Page B

house, an’ the blood o’ that death was on your shoulders when you carried the body in. Stranger, it ain’t a common murder in your life. It ain’t something you c’n shake away from your mind after you leave this here part of the country. I know by the way you-all look that you been many places and you’ve seen many strange things, but there ain’t nothin’ that’ll ever stay with you the way this night will.”
    With an instinct for protection against the steady searching of her eyes, he dropped into a chair and covered his face with his hands. “Go on,” he whispered, “I’m hearin’ it all.”
    â€œStranger,” she said evenly, “you done heard my father say that he c’n hardly shoot a rifle from a rest. Stranger, I reck’n
you
don’t need no rest for a rifle.”
    He heard the slip of her feet on the carpet as she went to him rapidly. Her hand fell lightly on his shoulder.
    â€œWill you-all take the place of the boy you done carried into his home dead? Will you-all be a brother to me till this here death is washed out in blood? Oh, suh, you’re a man, an’ a man’s man, an’ I c’n ask this thing of you, an’ I know you’ll say yes to me!”
    He rose and turned half away from her. She went grave with wonder, seeing the agony on his face, but, when her eyes ran down to the tight-clenched hands, her thoughts changed and she stepped a little away from him. “You ain’ afraid?” she breathed. “Oh,
don’
say that you’re afraid!”
    â€œGod help me,” he said, keeping his eyes away from her face by a great effort of will, “there don’t seem no way I c’n help myself. Oh, if you could only dream jus’ how many reasons I’ve got for not doin’ this thing, you wouldn’t talk o’ fear.”
    She stepped to him again and drew him facing her with a soft pressure of her hand upon his shoulder, and he could feel the light touch of her body against his, so intent was her pleading.
    â€œYou’re goin’ to do it?” she begged. “Oh, I know you will! It’s a terrible lot to ask o’ a man, an’ you may have lots o’ reasons for not doin’ it, but, when I’ve lef’ you to yourself an’ you get to thinkin’ it over, you’ll see the dead boy again an’ you’ll make up your mind. Oh, he was such a nice boy, suh, an’ so gentle to me, an’ clean in his mind and clean o’ heart! Suh,
he
would never have killed a man by layin’ in wait for him an’ shooting him down with no warnin’! Even a snake makes a noise before itstrikes. I ask you, stranger, are these McLanes as good as snakes? Think o’ that and answer me in the mornin’. Good night, an’ . . . an’ God bless you.”
    He heard the door close behind her, and suddenly the room seemed cramped and small to him. He went to the window and threw it up and leaned out into the cool, fresh air. By degrees the little noises of the night floated in upon his consciousness as if the silence grew into a nearer reality—the hushed whisper of the stirring trees about the house, the distant
hoot
of a far-away prowling owl, and the light incessant
chirping
of the crickets.
    He turned away and stood a long moment leaning against the wall with closed eyes, for he saw her clearly then as she had stood at the bend of the stairway with the tide of golden hair running by her throat, and the deep question of her eyes.
    â€œThere’s one thing thicker than blood,” he groaned to himself, “an’ this is it, Lazy Purdue.” He opened his eyes and clenched his hands and made a great step into the center of the room. “An’ what do I owe to
them?
Didn’t they do me dirt when I was a kid an’ never hurt none of them? An’ I comin’ back to them after they turned me out?”
    He