Pop. 1280

Jim Thompson

Pop. 1280

1

Well, sir, I should have been sitting pretty, just about as pretty as a man could sit. Here I was, the high sheriff of Potts County, and I was drawing almost two thousand dollars a year-not to mention what I could pick up on the side. On top of that, I had free living quarters on the second floor of the courthouse, just as nice a place as a man could ask for; and it even had a bathroom so that I didn't have to bathe in a washtub or tramp outside to a privy, like most folks in town did. I guess you could say that Kingdom Come was really here as far as I was concerned. I had it made, and it looked like I could go on having it made-being high sheriff of Potts County-as long as I minded my own business and didn't arrest no one unless I just couldn't get out of it and they didn't amount to nothin'.

And yet I was worried. I had so many troubles that I was worried plumb sick.

I'd sit down to a meal of maybe half a dozen pork chops and a few fried eggs and a pan of hot biscuits with grits and gravy, and I couldn't eat it. Not all of it. I'd start worrying about those problems of mine, and the next thing you knew I was getting up from the table with food still left on my plate.

It was the same way with sleeping. You might say I didn't really get no sleep at all. I'd climb in bed, thinking this was one night I was bound to sleep, but I wouldn't. It'd be maybe twenty or thirty minutes before! could doze off. And then, no more than eight or nine hours later, I'd wake up. Wide awake. And I couldn't go back to sleep, frazzled and wore out as I was.

Well, sir, I was layin' awake like that one night, tossing and turning and going plumb out of my mind, until finally I couldn't stand it no longer. So I says to myself, "Nick,"! says, "Nick Corey, these problems of yours are driving you plumb out of your mind, so you better think of something fast. You better come to a decision, Nick Corey, or you're gonna wish you had."

So I thought and I thought, and then I thought some more. And finally I came to a decision.

I decided I didn't know what the heck to do.

2

I got out of bed that morning, and I shaved and took a bath, even if it was only Monday and I'd washed real good the Saturday before. Then, I put on my Sunday go-to-meetin' clothes, my new sixty-dollar Stetson and my seventy-dollar Justin boots and my four-dollar Levis. I stood in front of the mirror, checking myself over real good; making sure that I didn't look like some old country boy. Because I was making a little trip to see a friend of mine. I was going to see Ken Lacey and get his advice about my problems. And I always try to look my best when I see Ken Lacey.

I had to pass Myra's bedroom on the way downstairs, and she had her door open to catch the breeze, and without realizing that I was doing it, I stopped and looked in. Then I went in and looked at her some more. And then leased toward the bed on tippy-toe and stood looking down at her, kind of licking my lips and feeling itchy.

I'll tell you something about me. I'll tell you for true. That's one thing I never had no shortage of. I was hardly out of my shift-just a barefooted kid with my first pair of boughten britches-when the gals started flinging it at me. And the older I got, the more of 'em there were. I'd say to myself sometimes, "Nick," I'd say, "Nick Corey, you'd better do something about these gals. You better start carrying you a switch and whip 'em off of you, or they'll do you to death." But I never did do nothing like that, because I just never could bear to hurt a gal. A gal cries at me a little, and right away I'm giving in to her.

Well, though, to get back to the subject, I never had no shortage of women and they were all real generous with me. Which maybe don't seem to add up, the way! was staring at my wife, Myra. Licking my lips and feeling itchy all over. Because Myra was quite a bit older than I was and she looked every bit as mean as she was. And believe me, she was one danged mean woman. But the way it is with me, I'm kind of singleminded, I get to thinking about something, and I can't think of anything else. And maybe I wasn't suffering any shortage, but you know how that is. I mean, it's kind of like eating popcorn. The more you have the more you want.

She didn't have a nightdress on, it being summer, and she'd kicked the sheet off. And she was kind of lying on her stomach, so that I couldn't see her face, which made her look a lot better.

So I stood there, staring and steaming and itching, and finally I couldn't stand it no longer and I started unbuttoning my shirt. "After all, Nick," I says to myself, "after all, Nick Corey, this here woman is your wife, and you got certain rights."

Well, I guess you know what happened. Or I guess you don't know either. Because you don't know Myra, which makes you about as lucky as a person can get. Anyways, she turned over on her back all of a sudden, and opened her eyes.

"And just what," she said, "do you think you're doing?"

I told her I was getting ready to take a trip over to the county where Ken Lacey was sheriff. I'd probably be gone until late that night,! said, and we'd probably get real lonesome for each other, so maybe we ought to get together first.

"Huh!" she said, almost spitting the word at me. "Do you think I'd want you, even if I was of a mind to have relations with a man?"

"Well," I said. "I kind of thought maybe you might. I mean, I kind of hoped so. I mean, after all, why not?"

"Because I can hardly stand the sight of you, that's why! Because you're stupid!"

"Well," I said. "I ain't sure I can agree with you, Myra. I mean, I ain't saying you're wrong but I ain't saying you're right, either. Anyways, even if I am stupid, you can't hardly fault me for it. They's lots of stupid people in the world."

"You're not only stupid but you're spineless," she said. "You're about the poorest excuse for nothing I ever laid eyes on!"

"Well, looky," I said. "If you feel that way, why for did you marry me?"

"Listen to him! Listen to the beast!" she said. "As if he didn't know why! As if he didn't know that I had to marry him after he raped me!"

Well, that made me kind of sore, you know. She was always saying I'd raped her, and it always made me kind of sore. I couldn't really argue about her saying! was stupid and spineless, because! probably ain't real smart-who wants a smart sheriff?-and I figure it's a lot nicer to turn your back on trouble than it is to look at it. I mean, what the heck, we all got trouble enough of our own without butting in on other people's.

But when she said I was a rapist, that was something else. I mean, there just wasn't a word of truth in it. Because it just didn't make sense.

Why for would a fella like me rape a woman, when he had so many generous gals chasing him?

"Well, I'll tell you about this rape business," I said, getting kind of red in the face as I rebuttoned my shirt. "I ain't saying you're a liar, because that wouldn't be polite. But I'll tell you this, ma'am. If! loved liars, I'd hug you to death."

Well, that really started her off. She started blubbering and bawling like a calf in a hail storm. And of course that woke up her half-witted brother, Lennie. So he came rushing in, blubbering and rolling his eyes and slobbering all over his chin.

"What you done to Myra?" he says, spraying spit for about twenty feet. "What you gone an' done to her, Nick?"

I didn't say anything, being busy dodging the spit. He went stumbling over to Myra, and she took him into her arms, glaring at me.

"You beast! Now look what you've done!"

I said, what the heck, I hadn't done nothing. Far as I could see, Lennie was pretty near always bawling and slobbering. "About the only time he ain't," I said, "is when he's sneaking around town, peeking into some woman's window."

"You-you bully!" she said. "Faulting poor Lennie for something he can't help! You know he's as innocent as a lamb!"

I said, "Yeah, well, maybe." Because there wasn't much else to say, and it was getting close to train time. I started toward the hall door, and she didn't like that, me walking out without so much as a beg-pardon, so she blazed away at me again.

"You better watch your step, Mr. Nick Corey! You know what will happen if you don't!"

I stopped and turned around. "What will happen?" I said.

"I'll tell the people in this county the truth about you! We'll see how long you'll be sheriff then! After I tell them you raped me!"

"I'll tell you right now what will happen," I said. "I'd be run out of my job before I could say scat."

"You certainly would! You'd better remember it, too!"

"I'll remember," I said, "an' here's something for you to remember. If I ain't sheriff, then I got nothing to lose, have I? It don't make a good gosh damn about anything. And if I ain't sheriff, you ain't the sheriff's wife. So where the heck will that leave you-you and your half -witted brother?"

Her eyes popped and she sucked in her breath with a gasp. It was the first time I'd spoken up to her for a long time, and it kind of took the starch out of her.

I gave her a meaningful nod, and went out the door. When I was about halfway down the stairs, she called to me.

She'd moved real fast, throwing on a robe and working up a smile. "Nick," she said, kind of cocking her head to one side, "why don't you come back for a few minutes, hmmm?"

"I guess not," I said. "I'm kind of out of the mood."

"We-el. Maybe, I could get you back in the mood. Hmmmm?"

I said I guessed not. Anyways, I had to catch a train, and I'd have to grab a bite to eat first.

"Nick," she said, sort of nervous-like. "You-you wouldn't do anything foolish, would you? Just because you're angry with me."

"No, I wouldn't," I told her. "No more'n you would, Myra."

"Well. Have a nice day, dear."

"The same to you ma'am," I said. And then I went on downstairs, into the courthouse proper, and out the front door.

I almost took a header as I came out into the dusky haze of early morning. Because the danged place was being painted, and the painters had left their ladders and cans scattered all over everywhere. Out on the sidewalk, I looked back to see what kind of progress they'd been making. The way it looked to me, they hadn't made hardly any at all in the last two, three days-they were still working on the upper front floor-but that wasn't none of my butt-in.

I could have painted the whole building myself in three days. But I wasn't a county commissioner, and I didn't have a painting contractor for a brother-in-law.

Some colored folks had a cook-shack down near the railway station, and I stopped there and ate a plate of corn bread and fried catfish. I was too upset to eat a real meal; too worried about my worries. So I just ate the one plateful, and then! bought another order with a cup of chicory to take on the train with me.

The train came and I got on. I got a seat next to the window, and began to eat. Trying to tell myself that I'd really got Myra told off this morning and that she'd be a lot easier to get along with from now on.

But I knew I was kidding myself.

We'd had showdowns like the one this morning a lot of times. She'd threaten what she was going to do to me, and I'd point out that she had plenty to lose herself. And then things would be a little better for a while-but not really better. Nothing that really mattered was any better.

It wasn't, you see, because it wasn't a fair stand-off between me and her.

She had the edge, and when things came to a showdown, she knew I'd back away.

Sure, she couldn't lose me my job without being a loser herself. She'd have to leave town, her and her low-down half-wit of a brother, and it'd probably be a danged long time before she had it as nice as she had it with me. Probably she'd never have it as nice.

But she could get by.

She'd have something.

But me…

All I'd ever done was sheriffin'. It was all I could do. Which was just another way of saying that all I could do was nothing. And if I wasn't sheriff, I wouldn't have nothing or be nothing.

It was a kind of hard fact to face-that I was just a nothing doing nothing. And that brought up something else for me to worry about. The worry that maybe I could lose my job without Myra saying or doing anything.

Because I'd begun to suspect lately that people weren't quite satisfied with me. That they expected me to do a little something instead of just grinning and joking and looking the other way. And me, I just didn't quite know what to do about it.

The train took a curve and began to follow the river a ways. By craning my neck,! could see the unpainted sheds of the town whorehouse and the two men- pimps-sprawled on the little wharf in front of the place. Those pimps had caused me a sight of trouble, a powerful sight of trouble. Only last week, they'd accidentally-on-purpose bumped me into the river, and a few days before they'd accidentally-on-purpose tripped me up in the mud. And the worst thing of all was the way they talked to me, calling me names and poking mean fun at me, and not showing me no respect at all like you'd naturally expect pimps to show a sheriff, even if he was shaking 'em down for a little money.

Something was going to have to be done about the pimps, I reckoned. Something plumb drastic.

I finished eating and went up to the men's lounge. I washed my hands and face at the sink, nodding to the fella that was sittin' on the long leather bench.

He wore a classy black-and-white checked suit, high-button shoes with spats and a white derby hat. He gave me a long slow look, letting his eyes linger for a moment on my pistol belt and gun. He didn't smile or say anything.

I nodded at the paper he was reading. "What do you think about them Bullshevicks?" I said. "You reckon they'll ever overthrow the Czar?" –

He grunted, still not saying anything. I sat down on the bench a few feet away from him.

The fact was, I wanted to relieve myself. But I wasn't sure that I ought to go on into the toilet. The door was unlocked swinging back and forth with the motion of the train, and it looked like it must be empty. Still, though, here this fella was, and maybe that's what he was waiting for. So even if the place was empty, it wouldn't be polite to go in ahead of him.

I waited a little while. I waited, squirming and fidgeting, until finally I couldn't wait any longer.

"Excuse me," I said. "Were you waiting to go to the toilet?"

He looked startled. Then,he gave me a mean look, and spoke for the first time. "That's some of your business?"

"Of course not," I said. "I just wanted to go to the toilet, and I thought maybe you did, too. I mean, I thought maybe someone was already in there, and that's why you were waiting."

He glanced at the swinging door of the toilet; swinging wide now so that you could see the stool. He looked back at me, kind of bewildered and disgusted.

"For God's sake!" he said.

"Yes, sir?" I said. "I don't reckon there's anyone in there, do you?"

I didn't think he was going to answer me for a minute. But then he said, yeah, someone was in the toilet. "She just went in a little while ago. A naked woman on a spotted pony."

"Oh," I said. "But how come a woman's using the men's toilet?"

"On account of the pony," he said. "He had to take a leak, too."

"I can't see no one from here," I said. "It's funny I couldn't see 'em in a little place like that."

"You calling me a liar?" he said. "You saying a naked woman on a spotted pony ain't in there?"

I said, no, of course not. I wouldn't say nothing like that. "But I'm in kind of a hurry." I said. "Maybe I better go up to one of the other cars."

"Oh, no, you don't!" he said. "No one's calling me a liar and getting away with it!"

"I'm not," I said. "I didn't mean it that way at all. I just-"

"I'll show you! I'll show you I'm telling the truth! You're gonna sit right there until that woman and her pony comes out."

"But I gotta pee!" I said. "I mean, I really got to, sir."

"Well, you ain't leaving here," he said. "Not until you see I'm telling the truth."

Well, sir, I just didn't know what to do. I just didn't know. Maybe you would have, but I didn't.

All my life, I've been just as friendly and polite as a fella could be. I've always figured that if a fella was nice to everyone, why, they'd be nice to him. But it don't always work out that way. More often than not, it seems like, I wind up in a spot like! was in now. And I just don't know what to do.

Finally, when I was about to let go in my britches, the conductor came through taking up tickets, and I had a chance to get away. I tore out of there in such a hurry that it was maybe a minute before I could get the door open to the next car. And I heard a burst of laughter from the rest room behind me. They were laughing at me, I guess-the conductor and the man in the checked suit. But I'm kind of used to being laughed at, and anyway I didn't have time to think about it right then.

I dashed on up into the next car and relieved myself-and believe me it was a relief. I was coming back down the aisle, looking for a seat in that car so's I wouldn't run into the checked-suit fella again, when I saw Amy Mason.

I was pretty sure that she'd seen me, too, but she let on that she didn't. I hesitated by the seat next to her for a minute, then braced myself and sat down.

No one knows it in Pottsville, because we were careful to keep it a secret, but me and Amy was mighty thick at onetime. Fact is, we'd've got married if her Daddy hadn't had such strong objections to me. So we waited, just waiting for the old gentleman to die. And then just a week or so before he did, Myra hooked me.

I hadn't seen Amy since except to pass on the street. I wanted to tell her I was sorry, and try to explain things to her. But she never gave me the chance. Whenever she saw me, she'd toss her head and look away. Or if I tried to stop her, she'd cross to the other side of the street.

"Howdy, Amy," I said. "Nice morning."

Her mouth tightened a little, but she didn't speak.

"It's sure nice running into you like this," I said. "How far you ridin', if you don't mind my asking?"

She spoke that time. Just barely. "To Clarkton. I'll be getting ready to leave any moment now."

"I sure wish you was riding further," I said. "I been wanting to talk to you, Amy. I wanted to explain about things."

"Did you?" She slanted a glance at me. "The explanation seems obvious to me."

"Aw, flaw, flaw," I said. "You know I couldn't like no one better'n you, Amy. I never wanted to marry anyone in my life but you, and that's the God's truth. I swear it is. I'd swear it on a stack of Bibles, honey."

Her eyes were blinking rapidly, like she was blinking back the tears. I got hold of her hand and squeezed it, and I saw her lips tremble.

"Th-then, why, Nick? Why did- y-you-"

"That's what I been wanting to tell you. It's a pretty long story, and-looky, honey, why don't I get off at Clarkton with you, and we can get us a hotel room for a couple hours and-"

It was the wrong thing to say. Right at that time it was the wrong thing.

Amy turned white. She looked at me with ice in her eyes. "So that's what you think of me!" she said. "That's all you want-all you ever wanted! Not to marry me, oh, no, I'm not good enough to marry! Just to get me in bed, and-"

"Now, please, honey," I said. "I-"

"Don't you dare honey me, Nick Corey!"

"But I wasn't thinking about that-what you think I was thinking about," I said. "It was just that it'd take quite a while to explain about me and Myra, and I figured we'd need some place to-"

"Never mind. Just never mind," she said. "I'm no longer interested in your explanations."

"Please, Amy. Just let me-"

"But I'll tell you one thing, Mr. Nicholas Corey, and you'd better pass the word along to the proper quarters. If I catch your wife's brother peeking in my windows, there's going to be trouble. Real trouble. I won't put up with it like the other women in Pottsville do. So you tell her that, and a word to the wise is sufficient."

I told her I hoped she didn't ever do anything about Lennie. For her own sake, that is. "I got no more use for Lennie than you have, but Myra-"

"Humph!" She tossed her head and stood up as the train slowed down for Clarkton. "You think I'm afraid of that-that-her?"

"Well," I said, "it might be better if you was. You know how Myra is when she takes out after someone. By the time she gets through gossiping and telling lies, why-"

"Let me out, please."

She pushed past me and went on up the aisle, her head high, the ostrich plume on her hat dipping and swaying. As the train pulled out, I tried to wave to her where she stood on the platform. But she turned her head quickly, with another swoop of the ostrich plume, and started off up the street.

So that was that, and I told myself that maybe it was just as well. Because how could we ever mean anything to each other the way things stood?

There was Myra, of course, and there was going to be Myra, it looked like, until her or me died of old age. But Myra wasn't the only drawback.

Somehow, I'd gotten real friendly with a married woman, name of Rose Hauck. One of those involvements which I've always kind of drifted into before I knew what was happening. Rose didn't mean a thing to me, except that she was awful pretty and generous. But I meant plenty to her. I meant plenty-plenty, and she'd let me know it.

Just to show how smart Rose was, Myra considered her her very best friend. Yes, sir, Rose could put on that good an act. When we were alone, me and Rose that is, she'd cuss Myra until it actually made me blush. But when they were together, oh, brother! Rose would suck around her-honeyin' and deane-in' her-until heck wouldn't have it. And Myra would get so pleased and flustered that she'd almost weep for joy.

The surest way of gettin' a rise out of Myra was to hint that Rose was something less than perfect. Even Lennie couldn't do it. He started to onetime, just kind of hinted that anyone as pretty as Rose couldn't be as nice as she acted. And Myra slapped him clean across the room.

3

Maybe I didn't tell you, but this Ken Lacey I was going to visit was the sheriff a couple of counties down the river. Me and him met at a peace officers' convention one year, and we kind of cottoned to each other right away. He wasn't only real friendly, but he was plenty smart; I knew it the minute I started talking to him. So the first chance I got, I'd asked him advice about this problem I had.

"Um-hmmm!" he'd said, after I'd explained the situation and he'd thought it over for a while. "Now, this privy sits on public property, right? It's out in back of the courthouse?"

"That's right," I said. "That's exactly right, Ken."

"But it don't bother no one but you?"

"Right again," I said. "You see, the courtroom is on the downstairs rear, and it don't have no windows in back. The windows are upon the second floor where I live."

Ken asked me if I couldn't get the county commissioners to tear the privy down and I said no, I couldn't hardly do that. After all, a lot of people used it, and it might make 'em mad.

"And you can't get 'em to clean it out?" he asked. "Maybe sweeten it up a little with a few barrels of lime?"

"Why should they?" I said. "It don't bother no one but me. I'd probably call down trouble on myself if I ever complained about it."

"Uh-hah!" Ken nodded. "It'd seem right selfish of you."

"But I got to do something about it, Ken," I said. "It ain't just the hot-weather smell, which is plenty bad by itself, but that's only part of it. Y'see, there's these danged big holes in the roof that show everything that's going on inside. Say I've got some visitors in, and they think, Oh, my, you must have a wonderful view out that way. So they look out, and the only view they get is of some fella doing his business."

Ken said, "Uh-hah!" again, kind of coughing and stroking his mouth. Then, he went on to say that I really had a problem, a real problem. "I can see how it might even upset a high sheriff like you, Nick, with all the pre-occu-pations of your great office."

"You got to help me, Ken," I said. "I'm getting plumb frazzled out of my wits."

"And I'm going to help you," Ken nodded. "I ain't never let a brother officer down yet, and I ain't about to begin now."

So he told me what to do, and I did it. I sneaked out to the privy late that night, and I loosened a nail here and there, and I shifted the floor boards around a bit. The next morning, I was up early, all set to spring into action when the proper time came.

Well, sir, the fella that used the privy most was Mr. J.S. Dinwiddie, the bank president. He'd use it on the way home to lunch and on the way back from lunch, and on the way home at night and on the way in in the morning. Well, sometimes he'd pass it up, but never in the morning. By the time he'd got that far from his house his grits and gravy were working on him, and he just couldn't get to the privy fast enough.

He went rushing in that morning, the morning after I'd done my tampering-a big fat fella in a high white collar and a spanking new broadcloth suit. The floor boards went out from under him, and down into the pit. And he went down with them.

Smack down into thirty years' accumulation of night soil.

Naturally, I had him fished out almost as fast as he went in. So he wasn't really hurt none, just awful messed up. But I never saw one man so mad in all my borned days.

He hopped up and down and sideways, waving his fists and flinging his arms around, and yelling blue murder. I tried to toss some water over him to get the worst of the filth off. But the way he was hopping around and jumping every which way, I couldn't do much good. I'd throw the water at him in one place, and he'd be in another. And cuss! You never heard anything like it, and him a deacon in the church!

The county commissioners came running out, along with the other office holders, all of 'em pretty jittery to see the town's most important citizen like that. Mr. Dinwiddie recognized them somehow, although it's hard to see how he could with all that gunk in his eyes. And if he could have found a club, I swear he'd've clubbed 'em.

He cussed 'em up one side and down the other. He swore he'd file felony charges against them for criminal negligence. He yelled that he was going to file personal damage suits against them for willfully perpetuating a public hazard.

About the only person he had a kind word for was me. He said that a man like me could run the county by himself, and that he was going to see that all the other officials were recalled, because they were just a needless expense and a menace to life and limb as well.

As things turned out, Mr. Dinwiddie never did get around to doing anything of the things he threatened to. But that sure settled the privy problem. It was gone and the pit was filled in within an hour; and if you ever feel like getting a punch in the nose, just tell the commissioners that there ought to be another courthouse privy.

Well, that's a sample of Ken Lacey's advice. Just one sample of how good it is…

Of course, some people might say it was no good at all, that it might have got Mr. Dinwiddie killed and me in a pack of trouble. They might say that the other advice Ken had given me was pure meanness, and meant to be hurtful rather than helpful.

But me, well, I'll always think good of people as long as I possibly can. Or at least I won't think bad about 'em until I absolutely have to. So I hadn't quite reached a decision about Ken as yet.

I figured I'd see how he acted today, what kind of advice he gave me before I made up my mind. If he stacked up even halfway good, I'd give him the benefit of the doubt. But if he didn't appear even that good…

Well, I'd know what to do about him.

I always know.

4

I bought a bite of lunch from the train news butch, just a few sandwiches and some pie and potato chips and peanuts and cookies and sody-pop. About two o'clock that afternoon, we got into Ken Lacey's town, the county seat where he was high sheriff.

It was a real big place-probably four, five thousand people. The main street was paved, along with the square around the courthouse, and everywhere you looked there were wire-wheeled buggies and fancy fringe-topped carriages, and I even seen two, three auty-mo-biles with eye-goggled dudes driving 'em and women in veils and linen dusters holding on for dear life. I mean, it was just like being in New York or one of them other big cities I've heard about. All that stuff to see, and the people so busy and used to excitement that they didn't pay no mind at all.

Just for example, I passed this one vacant lot where there was the god-dangest dogfight going on that I ever did see. Kind of a battle royal between two hounds and a bulldog and a kind of spotty-assed mongrel.

Why, even if there hadn't been a fight, that mongrel would have been enough to make a fella stop and stare. Because I'm telling you, he was really something! He had this high ass in the back, all spotted and speckled like a cow had farted bran on him. But his front legs were so short that his nose almost rubbed on the ground. And one of his eyes was blue and the other'n was yaller. A real bright yaller like a woman's hair.

I stood there gawking, wishing that I had someone from Pottsville with me as a witness, because naturally no one'd ever believe I'd really seen a dog like that. Then, I happened to look around, and hard as it was to tear myself away, I turned my back on that spectacle and went on toward the courthouse.

I just about had to, you know, unless I wanted people to think I was an old country boy. Because I was the only one that had stopped to look. There was so much going on in that city that no one would ever give a second glance to something like that!

Ken and a deputy named Buck, a fella I'd never met before, were sitting in the sheriff's office; slumped way down on their spines with their boots crossed out in front of 'em, and their Stetsons tilted over their eyes.

I coughed and scuffled my feet, and Ken looked up from under his hatbrim. Then he said, "Why, I'll be god-danged, if it ain't the high sheriff of Potts County!" And he rolled his chair over to me and held out his hand.

"Set down, set down, Nick," he said, and! sat down in one of the swivel chairs. "Buck, wake up and meet a friend of mine."

Buck was already awake, as it turned out, so he rolled over and shook hands like Ken had. Then, Ken kind of jerked his head at him, and Buck rolled over to the desk and got out a quart of white corn and a handful of stogies.

"This here Buck is the smartest deputy I got," Ken said, as we all had a drink and lit up. "Got a lot of initiative, Buck has. Don't have to tell him every god-danged thing he's supposed to do like you would some fellas."

Buck said all he'd ever done was to just try to do his duty, and Ken said, no, sir, he was smart.

"Like old Nick here. That's why he's sheriff of the forty-seventh largest county in this state."

"Yeah?" Buck said. "I didn't know they was but forty-seven counties in the state."

"Pre-zackly!" Ken said, sort of frowning at him. "How is things in Pottsville these days, Nick? Still booming?"

"Well, no," I said. "I wouldn't hardly say that was booming. Pottsville ain't exactly no real metropolis like you got here."

"Is that a fack?" Ken said. "Guess my recollection ain't as good as it used to be. Just how big is Pottsville, anyways?"

"Well, sir," I said, "there's a road sign just outside of town that says 'Pop. 1280,' so I guess that's about it. Twelve hundred and eighty souls."

"Twelve hundred and eighty souls, huh? Is them souls supposed to have people to go with 'em?"

"Well, yeah," I said, "that's what I meant. It was just another way of saying twelve hundred and eighty people."

We all had a couple more drinks, and Buck tossed his stogie in a gaboon and cut himself a chaw; and Ken said I wasn't pre-zackly correct in saying that twelve hundred and eighty souls was the same as twelve hundred and eighty people.

"Ain't that right, Buck?" Ken said, giving him a nod.

"Kee-rect!" Buck said. "You're a thousand per cent right, Ken!"

"Natcherly! So just tell old Nick why I am."

"Shorely," Buck said, turning toward me. "Y'see it's this way, Nick. That twelve hundred and eighty would be countin' niggers-them Yankee lawmakers force us to count 'em-and niggers ain't got no souls. Right, Ken?"

"Kee-rect!" Ken said.

"Well, now, I don't know about that," I said. "I wouldn't come out flat and say you fellas was wrong, but I sure don't reckon I can agree with you neither. I mean, well, just how come you say that colored folks don't have souls?"

"Because they don't, that's why."

"But why don't they?" I said.

"Tell him, Buck. Make old Nick here see the light," Ken said.

"Why, shorely," Buck said. "Y'see, it's this way, Nick. Niggers ain't got no souls because they ain't really people."

"They ain't?" I said.

"Why, o' course not. Most everybody knows that."

"But if they ain't people, what are they?"

"Niggers, just niggers, that's all. That's why folks refer to 'em as niggers instead of people."

Buck and Ken nodded at me, as if to say there wasn't anything more to be said on this subject. I took another pull at the bottle and passed it around.

"Well, looky here, now," I said. "How about this? My mama died almost as soon as I was born, so I was put to suck with a colored mammy. Wouldn't be alive today except for her sucklin' me. Now, if that don't prove-"

"No, it don't," Ken broke in. "That don't prove a thing. After all, you could have sucked titty from a cow, but you can't say that cows is people."

"Well, maybe not," I said. "But that ain't the only point of similarity. I've had certain relations with colored gals that I sure wouldn't have with a cow, and-"

"But you could," Ken said. "You could. We got a fella over in the jail right now for pleasurin' a pig."

"Well, I'll be dogged," I said, because I'd heard of things like that but I never had known of no actual cases. "What kind of charges you makin' against him?"

Buck said maybe they could charge him with rape. Ken gave him a kind of blank look and said no, they might not be able to make that kind of charge stick.

"After all, he might claim he had the pig's consent, and then where would we be?"

"Aw," said Buck. "Aw, now, Ken."

Ken said, "What you mean, aw, now. You tryin' to tell me that animals can't understand what you're sayin' to 'em? Why, god-dang it, I got me this little ol' beagle-terrier, and I can say, 'Boy, you want to go catch some rats?' and he'll leap all over me, barkin' and whinin' and licking my face. Meaning, natcherly, that he does want to go after rats. Or I can say, 'Boy, you want me to take a stick to you?' an' he'll slink off in a corner with his tail between his legs. Meanin' he don't want me to take a stick to him. An'-"

"Well, sure," Buck said. "But-"

"God-dang it!" Ken said. "Shut up when I'm talking! What the hell's wrong with you, anyways? Here I go an' tell Nick what a smart fella you are, and god-dang if you don't make a liar out of me right in front of him!"

Buck got kind of red in the face, and said he was sure sorry. He sure hadn't meant to contradict Ken. "I can see just how it happened, now that you explained it to me. This fella, he probably says to the pig, 'How about a little you-know-what, Piggie?' and the pig started squealing and twitchin' her tail, meanin' she was ready whenever he was."

"O' course, that's the way it happened!" Ken scowled. "So what'd you mean by disputin' me? Why for was you telling me he couldn't have had the pig's consent, and making a god-danged idjit out of yourself in front of a visitin' sheriff? I tell you somethin', Buck," Ken went on, "I was entertainin' some pretty high hopes for you. Almost had me convinced you was a white man with good sense instead of one of these big-mouth smart-alecks. But now I don't know; I purely don't know. 'Bout all I can say is you shore better watch your step from now on."

"I shore will. I'm shore sorry, Ken," Buck said.

"I mean it! I mean every god-danged word of it!" Ken frowned at him. "You ever go disputin' or contradictin' me again, an' you'll be out in the street scratching horse turds with the sparrows. Or maybe you think you won't be, huh? Maybe you're gonna start arguin' again, tellin' me you won't be out fighting them birds for turds? Answer me, you goddanged liver-lipped idjit!"

Buck sort of choked for a moment, and then he said of course Ken was right. "You say the word, Ken, an' that's pre-zackly what I'd be doin'."

"Doin' what? Speak up, god-dang it!"

"S-Scratchin' "-Buck choked again-"scratchin' horse turds with the sparrers."

"The hot, steamy kind, right? Right?"

"Right," Buck mumbled. "You're a thousand per cent right, Ken. I-I reckon there ain't nothin' less appetizin' than a cold horse turd."

"Well, all right, then," Ken said, easing up on him and turning to me. "Nick, I reckon you didn't come all the way up here to hear me an' old stupid Buck jibberjabberin' at each other. 'Pears to me like you got plenty of troubles of your own."

"Well, sir, you're sure right about that, Ken,"! said. "You purely are, an' that's a fact."

"And you're wantin' my advice, right? You ain't like some smart-alecks that think they already know everthing."

"Yes, sir," I said. "I sure do want your advice, Ken."

"Uh-hah?" he nodded. "Uh-hah. Go right ahead, Nick."

"Well, it's like this," I said. "I got this here problem that's been driving me plumb out of my mind. Couldn't hardly sleep nor eat it's been pesterin' me so much. So I fretted and studied an' I thought and I thought, and finally I came to a decision."

"Uh-huh?"

"I decided I didn't know what to do," I said.

"Uh-huh," Ken said. "Well, now, don't you go rushin' into it. Me an' old Buck here has got plenty on our minds, but we always got time to consult with a friend. Right, Buck?"

"Kee-reck! You're a thousand per cent right, Ken. Like always."

"So you just take your time an' tell us about it, Nick," Ken said. "I'm always willin' to lay aside the cares of my great office when a friend's in trouble."

I hesitated, wanting to tell him about Myra and her half-wit brother. But all of a sudden, it seemed too personal. I mean, how can you discuss your wife with another fella, even a good friend like Ken was. And what the heck could he do about her, even if I did tell him?

So I reckoned I'd better leave her out of it, and take up this other big problem I had. I figured it was one problem he could handle just fine. In fact, now that I'd kind of had a chance to get reacquainted with him, and I'd seen how he handled Buck, I knew he was just the man to take care of it.

5

"Well, sir, Ken," I said. "You know that whorehouse there in Pottsville. Place over on the river bank, just a whoop an' a holler from town…"

Ken looked up at the ceiling and scratched his head. He allowed that he couldn't say that he did know about it, but he figured naturally that Pottsville had a whorehouse.

"Can't very well run a town without one, right, Buck?"

"Right! Why if they wasn't any whores, the decent ladies wouldn't be safe on the streets."

"Kee-reck!" Ken nodded. "Fellas would get all full of piss an' high spirits and take right off after 'em."

"Well, that's the way! look at it," I said. "But now I got this trouble. Y'see, there's these six whores, all nice friendly girls and just as accommodatin' as you could ask for. I really can't make no complaint about these girls. But along with them is these two pimps- one pimp for three girls, I guess-and those pimps are giving me trouble, Ken. They been sassin' me somethin' awful."

"Now, you don't mean that!" Ken said. "You don't mean t'tell me that these pimps has actually been sassin' the high sheriff of Potts County!"

"Yes, sir," I said, "that's exactly what they've been doin'. An' the bad part about it is, they sometimes done it in front of other people, and a thing like that, Ken, it just don't do a sheriff no good. The word gets around that you've been told off by pimps, and it don't do you no good a'tall!"

"Do tell!" Ken said. "You spoke the God's truth there, Nick! But I reckon you don't just let 'em get away with it? You taken some action against 'em?"

"Well," I said, "I've been sassin' 'em back. I can't say that it's stopped 'em, but I sure been sassin' 'em back, Ken."

"Sassin' 'em back! Why for did you do that?"

"Well, it seemed about right," I said. "A fella sasses you, why you just pay him off by sassin' back."

Ken sort of drew his mouth in, and shook his head. He asked Buck if he'd ever heard such a thing in his life, and Buck said he purely hadn't. Not in all his borned days.

"I'll tell you what you got to do, Nick," Ken said. "No, sir, I'll show you what to do. You just stand up and turn your back to me, an' I'll give you an illusstrated lesson."

I did what he told me to. He got up out of his chair, and hauled off and kicked me. He kicked me so hard that I went plumb out the door and half-ways across the hall.

"Now, you come back in here," he said, crocking a finger at me. "You just sit down there like you was, so's I can ask you some questions."

I said I guessed I'd better stand up for a minute, and he said all right, have my own way about it. "You know why I kicked you, Nick?"

"Well," I said, "I guess you probably had a good reason. You were trying to teach me something."

"Right! So here's what I want to ask you. Say a fella kicks you in the ass like! just did, why what do you do about it?"

"I don't rightly know," I said. "No one ever kicked me in the ass before, saving my daddy, God rest his soul, and there wasn't much I could do about it with him."

"But suppose someone did. Let's just say we got a hypocritical case where someone kicks you in the ass. What would you do about it?"

"Well," I said. "I guess I'd kick him in the ass. I guess that'd be about right."

"Turn around," Ken said. "You turn right back around again. You ain't learned your lesson yet."

"Well, looky," I said. "Maybe if you could just explain a little more-"

"You turnin' ongrateful?" Ken frowned. "You tryin' to give orders to a fella when he's trying to help you?"

"No, no, I ain't trying to do that," I said. "But-"

"Well,! should hope not! Now, you just turn around like I told you to."

I turned my back to him again; there just wasn't anything else I could do, it looked like. He and Buck both got up, and they both kicked me at the same time.

They kicked me so hard that I went practically straight up instead of forward. I came down kind of crooked on my left arm, and it hurt so bad that I almost forgot who I was for a moment.

I picked myself up, trying to rub my ass and my arm at the same time. Which just can't be done, in case you're thinking about doing it. I sat down, sore as! was, because I was just too dizzy to stand.

"Hurt your arm?" Ken said. "Whereabouts?"

"I'm not positive," I said. "It could be either the radius or the ulna."

Buck gave me a sudden sharp look out from under his hatbrim. Sort of like I'd just walked into the room and he was seeing me for the first time. But of course Ken didn't notice anything. Ken had so much on his mind, I reckon, helping poor stupid fellas like me, that he maybe didn't notice a lot of things.

"Now, I guess you learned your lesson, right, Nick?" he said. "You see the futility of not givin' back no more hurt than what you get?"

"Well, I sure learned some kind of lesson," I said. "So if that's the one you was teaching me, I guess that was it."

"Y'see, maybe the other fella can kick harder'n you can. Or maybe he's got a tougher ass an' it don't hurt him as much as it does you. Or say you got a situation like me an' Buck just demonstrated. Two fellas start kicking you in the ass, so's you get two kicks for every one you give. You get a situation like that, which is just about what you got figuratively speakin', why you could get the ass kicked clean off of you a-fore you had time to tip your hat."

"But these pimps ain't kicked me," I said. "They just been sassin' me, and shovin' me around a little."

"Same principle. Same principle, pre-zackly. Right, Buck?"

"Right! Y'see, Nick, when a fella starts doin' somethin' bad to you, the proper way to pay him back is t'do somethin' twice as bad to him. Otherwise, the best you got is maybe a stand-off, and you don't never get nothing settled."

"Kee-reck!" Ken said. "So I'll tell you what to do about them pimps. The next time they even look like they're goin' to sass you, you just kick 'em in the balls as hard as you can."

"Huh?" I said. "But-but don't it hurt awful bad?"

"Pshaw, 'course it don't hurt. Not if you're wearin' a good pair o' boots without no holes in 'em."

"That's right," Buck said. "You just be sure you ain't got any toes stickin' out and it won't hurt you a-tall."

"I mean, wouldn't it hurt the pimps?" I said. "Me,! don't think I could stand even an easy kick in the balls."

"Why, shorely, shorely it would hurt 'em," Ken nodded. "How else you goin' to make 'em behave if you don't hurt 'em bad?"

"You're actually lettin' 'em off pretty easy, Nick," Buck said. "I know I'd sure hate to be in the same room if any pimp sassed old Ken here. Ken wouldn't stop with just kickin' 'em. Why, a-fore they knew what was happening, he'd just yank out his pissoliver and shoot 'em right in their sassy mouths."

"Pre-zackly!" Ken said. "I'd send them sassy skunks to hell without no fooling around about it."

"So you're really being too easy on 'em, Nick. A god-danged sight easier than a proud, intelligent upstandin' officer like ol' Ken. Ken would shoot 'em deader'n doornails, if he was in your place, and you heard him say so yourself."

"Right!" said Ken. "I sure wouldn't miss doing pre-zackly that."

Well…

It looked like I'd got what I came for, and it was getting kind of late by then. So I thanked Ken for his advice, and stood up. I was still just a little wobbly, though; kind of rocking on my heels. And Ken asked me if! was sure! could make it to the station all right.

"Well, I guess so," I said. "I sure hope so, anyways. It sure wouldn't seem right for me to ask you to walk me there after everything you've already done for me."

"Why, you don't need to ask!" Ken said. "You think I'd let you go all the way to the train alone, a fella that looks as peaked as you do?"

"Well, I wouldn't want to trouble you none," I said.

"Trouble?" Ken said. "Why, it's a positive pleasure! Buck, you just heist yourself up out of that chair, and walk Nick to the depot."

Buck nodded and heisted himself up. I said I sure hoped I wasn't putting him to any bother, and he said it wouldn't be no bother a-tall.

"Just so's you can bear with me," he said. "Know I can't be no ways as good a comp'ny for you as a fella like Ken."

"Well, now, I'm sure you'll be just fine," I said. "Bet you'll prove out a real interestin' fella."

"I'll try," Buck promised. "Yes, sir, I'll purely try, and that's a fack."

6

I had supper down near the depot, buying a whopping big meal for Buck along with my own. Then, my train came and Buck walked me down to the car I was riding in. Not that I couldn't have made it all right by myself-I was feeling pretty good about then. But we were getting along real fine, just like I thought we might, and we had a lot of things to say to each other.

I fell asleep almost as soon as I'd given my ticket to the conductor. But I didn't sleep good. Dog-tired as I was, I drifted into a scary dream, the nightmare that was always a-haunting me. I dreamed that I was a kid again only it didn't seem like a dream. I was a kid, living in the old rundown plantation house with my daddy. Trying to keep out of his way, and never being able to. Getting beat half to death every time he could grab me.

I dreamed I was ducking into a doorway, thinking I'd got away from him. And suddenly being grabbed from behind.

I dreamed I was putting his breakfast on the table. And trying to get my arms up when he flung it in my face.

I dreamed-I lived-showing him the reading prize I'd won in school. Because I was sure that would please him, and I just had to show it to someone. And I dreamed-lived-picking myself up off the floor with my nose bloodied from the little silver cup. And he was yelling at me, shouting that I was through with school because I'd just proved I was a cheat along with everything else.

The fact was, I guess, that he just couldn't stand for me to be any good. If I was any good, then I couldn't be the low-down monster that had killed my own mother in getting born. And I had to be that. He had to have someone to blame.

I don't fault him much for it any more, because I've seen a lot of people pretty much like he was. People looking for easy answers to big problems. People that blame the Jews or the colored folks for all the bad things that happen to 'em. People that can't realize that a heck of a lot of things are bound to go wrong in a world as big as this one. And if there is any answer to why it's that way-and there ain't always-why, it's probably not just one answer by itself, but thousands of answers.

But that's the way my daddy was-like those people. They buy some book by a fella that don't know a god-dang thing more than they do (or he wouldn't be having to write books). And that's supposed to set 'em straight about everything. Or they buy themselves a bottle of pills. Or they say the whole trouble is with other folks, and the only thing to do is to get rid of 'em. Or they claim we got to war with another country. Or… or God knows what all.

Anyway, that's how my daddy was. That's the way I grew up. It's no wonder, I reckon, that me and the girls always got along so well. I reckon I really worked at getting along with 'em; sort of made a trade out of it without really knowing! was doing it. Because a fella has to have someone that likes him. He just naturally has to. And girls are just naturally inclined to like a man.

I guess when you come right down to it, I was making the same mistake that those people I was talking about make. Because there ain't no bigger problem than love, nothing is truly hard to come by, and I was looking for an easy answer to it.

7

Well, sir, danged if I hadn't got back to Pottsville on just about the darkest night of the year. It was so dark that I could have had a firefly sitting on my nose and! wouldn't have been able to see it.

Of course, the dark didn't really bother me. The way I knew every nook and cranny of Pottsville, I could get to wherever I wanted to go if I was walking in my sleep. So the dark was really an advantage to me, rather than otherwise. If anyone was up and around, and of course there wouldn't be at that time of night, they wouldn't see where I was going and wonder why I was going there.

I walked right down the dark middle of Main Street. I turned south at the end of it, and headed toward the river. There was just a speck of light down that way, sort of a little blob bulging up out of the darkness. I figured it came from the whorehouse, or rather from the little pier behind it. Those two pimps would be sitting out there, I knew, taking the night air and drinking themselves stiff.

They'd be feeling their oats for sure by the time I got there. All sassy and nasty, and primed for meanness toward a fella that'd always been nice to them.

I struck a match, took a quick look at my watch, I began to walk faster. The steamer, Ruby Clark, was about due and I had to be on hand when it rounded the bend.

There'd been a pretty hard rain the week before; low river country, there's always a lot of rain. The wet was all dried up by now, because we get a lot of hot sunshine too. But the road had gotten rutted here and there, and hurrying like! was I brought my foot down where I shouldn't have.

I stumbled, almost taking a header before I could right myself.! paused, sort of getting my breath back, and then I whirled around. Straining my eyes and ears, scared stiff for a minute. Because I'd heard something. The same kind of clod-kicking sound I'd made, only not so loud.

I held my breath, telling myself that there couldn't be anyone following me. Knowing that even if there was someone back there, I was still protected by the darkness.

I stood stock still for two, three minutes. Then, I heard the sound again and I recognized it for what it was, and I almost laughed out loud with relief.

It was just some of those god-danged big night-beetles we have down here. They go swooping around, looking for each other, and then they come together in mid-air and go plunking down on the ground.

They can make a heck of a racket on a stilly night. If you're maybe just a little uneasy like! was, they can give you a bad start.

It was two or three minutes later when I got to the whorehouse. I tippy-toed along the walk which ran down the side of the place, and went around to the rear.

The two pimps were there, right where I thought they'd be. They were sitting down with their backs to the mooring posts, a dimmed lantern and a jug of whiskey between them. They looked at me owl-eyed as I came in out of the darkness, and then the one named Curly, a kind of dudeish fella with kinky scalp-tight hair, shook a finger at me.

"Now, Nick, you know you're not supposed to come over here but once a week. Just once a week, and only long enough to pick up your graft and get."

"That's right," said the one named Moose. "Fact is, we're bein' mighty generous to let you come here at all. We got a reputation to protect here, and it sure doesn't help none to have a fella like you dropping around."

"Well, now," I said, "that's not a very nice thing to say."

"Oh, well, there's nothing personal in it," Curly said. "It's just one of those unpleasant facts of life. You're a crook, and it doesn't look good to have crooks around."

I asked him how come he thought I was a crook, and he said what else could I call myself. "You take graft, don't you? You're getting a dollar out of every five that comes in here?"

"But I have to," I said. "I mean, it's kind of a civic duty. If I didn't keep you people stripped down a little, you'd get too powerful. First thing I know, you'd be running the county instead of me."

Moose sneered and wobbled to his feet. "You two-bit clown," he said, "will you just get the hell out of here? Will you, or am I gonna have to make you?"

"Well, now," I said. "Well, now, I don't know about that.! figure that's a pretty mean way to talk to a fella that's always been nice to you."

"Are you gonna get or not?" He took a step toward me.

"You'd better, Nick," Curly nodded, pushing himself up. "You kind of make us sick to our stomachs, you know? It may not be your fault, but the air turns bad every time you show up."

Around the bend, I could see the lights of the Ruby Clark, and I could hear the whip of the paddles as it fought for the turn. It was that time, it would be that time any second now, and I unholstered my gun and took aim.

"Wha-!" Moose stopped dead in his tracks, his mouth gaping open.

Curly said, "Oh, now, Nick!" forcing a smile to his face. But it was the sickest smile I'll ever see.

That's one thing people always know, I guess. They know when they're going to die. And Moose and Curly knew that they were going to.

"Good night, ye merry gentlemen," I said. "Hail and farewell."

The Ruby Clark whistled.

By the time the echo died, Moose and Curly were in the river, each with a bullet spang between his eyes.

I waited on the little pier for a minute until the Ruby had gone by. I always say there's nothing prettier than a steamboat at night. Then I went around on the catwalk, and headed for home.

The courthouse was dark, naturally, when I got there. I took off my boots and crept up the stairs. And! got in bed without waking anyone.

I fell asleep right away. A couple of hours later! waked up, with Myra shaking me.

"Nick! Nick! Will you please get up, for pity's sake!"

"Huh! What?" I said. "What's going on, Myra?"

But I heard it then, the pounding on the downstairs door. A fella would've had to be deaf not to hear it.

"Well, I'll be dogged," I said. "Now, who in tarnation can that be?"

"Well, go and see, darn it! Get down there before they wake poor Lennie up!"

I studied about it for a moment, staying right where I was while Myra went on nagging at me. Then I said! wasn't sure whether I should go downstairs or not, because why for would any honest person be pounding on doors at this time of night?

"It might be robbers, Myra,"! pointed out. "Wouldn't be a bit surprised if that's who it was. I hear they do their robbin' late at night when decent folks is in bed."

"You fool! You stupid, spineless, cowardly slob! Are you the sheriff of this county or not?" Myra yelled.

"Well," I said, "I guess you could say that."

"And isn't it the sheriff's job to take care of criminals? Isn't it? Answer me, you-you-!"

"Well, I guess you could say that, too," I said. "I ain't thought much about it, but it sounds reasonable."

"You-you get down there!" Myra spluttered. "Doggone you, you get right down there this minute, or I'll-I'll-''

"But I ain't got no clothes on," I said. "Nothin' but my long-handled drawers. Wouldn't hardly seem right goin' to the door without no clothes on."

Myra's voice dropped so low that I could hardly hear it, but her eyes flashed fire. "Nick," she said, "this is the last time I'm going to tell you. You go to the door right this minute, or you'll wish you had! You'll really wish you had!"

The pounding was getting a lot louder by now, and someone was shouting my name, someone that sounded an awful lot like Ken Lacey. So, what with Myra carrying on like she was, I figured maybe I'd better go to the door.

I swung my legs over the side of the bed, and pulled on my boots. I studied 'em a minute, wetting my finger with spit and rubbing down a little scuffed place. I yawned and stretched, and scratched under my armpits.

Myra let out a groan. She snatched up my britches and flung 'em at me, so that the legs wrapped around my neck like a scarf.

"You ain't mad about somethin', are you honey?" I said, getting the britches untangled and starting to draw 'em on. "I sure hope I ain't annoyed you no way."

She didn't say anything. Just started to swell up like she was about to explode.

"I got a trade-last for you," I said. "A fella was saying to me the other day, he said, 'Nick, you got the prettiest mother in town.' So I asked him who he meant, naturally, because my mama's been dead for years. And he said, 'Why, that lady you call Myra. You mean to tell me she ain't your mother?' That's just what he said, honey. So now you got to tell me something nice that someone said about me."

She still didn't say anything. She just leaped at me, sort of meowing like a cat, her hands clawed to scratch my eyes out.

She didn't do it, because I'd been kind of expecting something like that. All the time! was talking to her, I was easing back toward the door. So instead of landing on me, she came up against the wall, clawing the heck out of it a-fore she could come to her senses.

Meantime, I went on downstairs and opened the door.

Ken Lacey busted in. He was wild-eyed, heaving for breath. He grabbed me by the shoulders and started shaking me.

"Have you done it yet?" he said. "God-dang it, have you already gone an' done it?"

"Wh-what?" I tried to shake free of him. "Have I gone an' done what?"

"You know what, god-dang it! What I told you to do! Now, you answer me, you consarned idjit, or I'll beat it out of you!"

Well, sir, it looked to me like he was pretty excited about something. Might get himself in such a tizzy that he'd keel over with the frantics. So I just pushed him into my office and made him set down at my desk, and I struck a lamp and made him take a big drink of whiskey. And then, when he seemed to be calmed down a little, I asked him just what it was all about.

"What am I supposed to have done, Ken? The way you're actin', you'd think I'd killed someone."

"Then you didn't," he said, his eyes hard on my face. "You didn't kill anyone."

"Kill anyone?" I said. "Why, what a riddicerlous question! Why for would I kill anyone?"

"And you didn't? You didn't kill them two pimps that was sassing you?"

"Ken," I said. "How many times have I got to tell you? Why for would I kill anyone?"

He heaved a big sigh, and relaxed for the first time. Then, after another long drink, he slammed down the jug and began to cuss his deputy, Buck.

"God-dang, just wait until I get hold of him! Just you wait! I'll kick his mangy ass s'hard he'll have to take off his boots to comb his hair!"

"Why, what'd he do?" I said. "What's old Buck gone an' done?"

"He frazzled me, that's what! Got me so god-danged excited an' worried that I was plumb out of my mind," Ken said, cussing Buck up one side and down the other. "Well, it's my own god-danged fault, I reckon. Had the proof right before me that he was a low-down maniac, but broad-minded like I am, I went and closed my eyes to it."

"How come?" I said. "What you mean you had the proof, Ken?"

"I mean I caught him reading a book, that's what! Yes, sir, I caught him red-handed. Oh, he claimed he was only lookin' at the pitchers, but I knew he was lyin'."

"Well, I'll be dogged!" I said. "I will be doubledogged! But what's Buck got to do with you being down here?"

So Ken told me how it had happened.

It seemed like after he left me, Buck went back to the office and began to fret out loud. Wonderin' whether I'd really be crazy enough to kill those pimps, which would leave Ken in a peck of trouble. The way Buck saw it-in his out-loud worryin'-Ken had told me! should kill 'em, and if! went ahead and did it he'd be just as guilty as I was.

He kept on fretting about it, Buck did, saying I just might kill the pimps because I'd always taken Ken's advice in the past, no matter how nutty it was. And then when he saw how upset Ken was getting, he said that the law probably wouldn't be too hard on him. Proba'ly wouldn't be hard on him, a-tall, like they would me, but maybe let him off with thirty, forty years.

The upshot of it was that Ken finally tore out of his office, and caught the Red Ball freight to Pottsville. He hadn't had too nice a trip because the caboose, where he was sittin' had had an awful flat wheel. He said he was probably a lot sorer in the behind that I was from getting kicked, and all he wanted to do now was go to bed.

"I just had more'n one poor body can stand in a day," he yawned. "I reckon you can put me up all right, can't you?"

I said that I was right shamed, but no, I couldn't. We just didn't have no place where an extra fella could be bedded down.

"God-dang it!" he scowled. "All right, I'll go to the hotel, then!"

I allowed that that might be kind of hard to do, seeing that Pottsville didn't have a hotel. "If it was daytime, you could bed at the Widder Shoup's place; that's what the travellin' salesmen do. But she sure wouldn't let you in at this time of night."

"Well, where the god-danged hell am I gonna sleep, then?" he said, "I sure as heck ain't sittin' up all night!"

"Well, let's see now," I said. "Danged if I can only think of but one place, Ken. A place that could bed you down. But I'm afraid you wouldn't get much sleep there."

"You just lead me to it! I'll do the sleepin'!"

"Not at the whorehouse you wouldn't," I said. "Y'see, the girls ain't had much business lately, and they'd all be mighty raunchy. Prob'ly be makin' demands on you all night long."

"Uh-hah!" Ken said. "Well, now! I reckon a fella can put up with anything if he has to. Nice young gals, are they!"

"No, they ain't," I said. "Most of 'em are fairly young, maybe seventeen, eighteen. But they got this one old gal that's every bit of twenty-one. And she just won't leave a fella alone! She purely won't, Ken, and it wouldn't be fair not to warn you."

A streak of spit was trickling down his chin. He brushed it away and stood up, a kind of glassy look in his eyes.

"I better be goin'," he said. "I better be goin' right this minute."

"I'll put you on the right road," I said. "But there's something you got to know first. About them two pimps…"

"Don't you worry none. I'll take care of 'em!"

"You won't have to," I said, "because they won't be there. They'll be off somewheres drunk by now, and they won't wake up until noon."

"What the hell, then?" Ken took a fidgety step toward the door. "If the girls think they ain't there-"

"But they don't think that. The pimps have got 'em kidded that they're watching the place day and night, which naturally makes it hard for the girls to relax and have fun like they want to. So-"

"Uh-huh? Yeah, yeah," Ken said. "Go on, god-dang it!"

"So here's what you do as soon as you go in. You tell the girls that you've taken care of the pimps real good, and that they won't be nosing around a-tall. You tell 'em that, and everything will be just fine an' dandy."

He said he'd tell 'em what I said to. (And as it turned out, he told them exactly that.) Then, he went out the door and across the yard, moving so fast that I could hardly keep up with him.

We crossed through the edge of town, and I lined him upon the river road. He went on by himself, then, without so much as a nod. And then I reckon he remembered his manners, because he turned around and came back.

"Nick," he said, "I'm obliged to you. Maybe I ain't been too nice to you in the past, but I ain't forgettin' what you've done here tonight!"

"Aw, pshaw," I said. "Comes to that, Ken, I ain't forgetting all the things you've done, neither."

"Well, anyways, I'm obliged to you," he said.

"Why, it was a positive pleasure doin' it," I said. "A positive pleasure, and that's a fact."

8

Ken showed up at breakfast time the next morning, looking mighty peaked and pale and wrung-out. But all shook-up as he was, he managed to toss a lot of flattery at Myra and to say a few kind words to Lennie, so she treated him pretty nice. Not real nice, because she knew he'd spent the night in the whorehouse-which was the only place he could have spent it-but as nice as a lady could treat a gentleman under the circumstances. She kept urging him to have something to eat, and Ken kept turning it down with thanks and saying that he hardly ever et anything in the morning but just a little coffee, which was all he wanted now.

"I got to watch my weight, ma'am," he said. "I ain't got a naturally handsome figure like you and your fine-looking brother."

Lennie giggled and spit at him; feelin' pleased, you know. Myra blushed and said he was just a great big flatterer.

"Me? Me, flatter a woman?" Ken said. "Why, I never heard the like!"

"Oh, you! You know I don't have a really good figure."

"Well, maybe not. But that's because you ain't fully developed yet," Ken said. "You're still a young girl."

"Tee-hee," Myra giggled. "You awful thing, you!"

"You just wait until you fill out a little," Ken said. "Wait until you're as old as your brother."

Well, sir, lies like that can take a lot out of a man even when he's feeling good. Which Ken sure wasn't. He was just carrying on out of habit, and from the looks of him he was just about to the end of his rope. Fortunately, it seemed to occur to Myra about then that she was being a little too friendly with Ken and that she was letting him get pretty gay with her. So she froze up all of a sudden, and started clearing away the dishes. And Ken said his thank-yous and goodbyes, and I got him downstairs to my office.

I handed him a quart bottle of white whiskey. He took a long, long drink, gagged, gulped and leaned back in his chair. Sweat popped out on his forehead. He shuddered all over, and his face turned a few shades whiter. For a minute! thought he was going to be one sick man; all that lying and flattering to Myra had been just too much for him. Then, all at once, the color flooded back into his face, and he stopped sweating and shaking. And he drew a long, deep sigh.

"God-dang!" he said softly. "I shore needed that."

"Fella can't ride a horse with one stirrup," I said. "Have another one, Ken."

"Well, god-dang it," he said. "God-dang it, Nick, I don't care if I do."

He had a couple of more drinks, which brought the bottle down to about the halfway level. Then he said he guessed he'd better slow down a little bit. And I told him to just take his time, he couldn't get a train back home for a couple of hours yet.

We sat there for a minute or two, not saying much of anything. He looked at me and looked away again, and a kind of shy-sly look came over his face.

"Mighty handsome young fella your brother-in-law," he said. "Yes, sir, mighty handsome."

"And he's an idjit," I said. "Anyways, he sure ain't quite right in the head."

Ken nodded and said, yeah, he'd noticed that. "But maybe that might not make too much difference to a certain kind of woman, you know, Nick? Say a woman that was a lot older than he was. A woman that was pretty ugly and pretty apt to stay that way."

"Well, I just don't know about that," I said. "I wouldn't say you were wrong but I sure wouldn't say you was right either."

"Well, maybe that's because you ain't real bright," Ken said. "Why, I'll bet you there's a woman right in this town that would really pree-fer Lennie to a fella like you. I ain't saying that you ain't a plenty good lookin' fella yourself, but probably you ain't got as long a dingle-dangle as he has-they tell me them idjits are hung like a stud-hoss. And, anyways-"

"Well, now, I don't know about that," I said. "I ain't never had any complaints in that department yet."

"Shut up when I'm talkin'!" Ken said. "Shut up and maybe you'll learn somethin'! I was about to say that everything else being equal, which I doubt like hell in your case because all of them idjits have got dongs you could skip rope with, but-but irregardless of that a woman still might rather have a dummy pour it on her than a normal fella. Because she don't have to put on for him, know what I mean? She can boss him around. She can be just as haggy as all hell and twice as mean, and she can still get what she needs."

I scratched my head and said, well, maybe so. But I still thought he was wrong about Lennie. "I know for a fact that there ain't no woman in this town that's got any use for him. They pretend that they do, to keep on the good side of Myra, but I know they all hate his guts."

"All of 'em! "

"All of 'em. Except Myra, of course. His sister."

Ken snorted and ran his hand over his mouth. Then, he kind of got a grip on himself, and his talk slowed down a little. But he still couldn't get off the subject.

"Ain't much family resemblance between Lennie and your wife. Hardly know they was brother an' sister unless someone told you."

"That's right, I guess," I said. "Can't say that I ever thought much about it."

But I had thought about it. Yessir, I'd thought plenty about it.

"Was you acquainted with Lennie before you married? Know that you was goin' to have a idjit for a brother-in-law?"

"Well, no, I didn't," I said. "I didn't even know that Myra had a brother until afterwards. Came as quite a surprise for me."

"Uh-hah!" Ken snorted. "Well, don't be surprised if you get another surprise some time, Nick. No, sir, don't you be surprised at all."

"What?" I said. "How do you mean, Ken?"

He shook his head, not answering me, and broke out laughing. I laughed right along with him.

Because it was a pretty good joke, you see. I was a joke. And maybe I couldn't do anything about it right now, but I figured I would some day.

Ken took a couple more long drinks. I stood up and said maybe we'd better be going. "Got quite a little walk to the station, and I want you to meet a few fellas. Be a big treat for 'em to meet a big-city sheriff like you."

"Why, now, I bet it would be that," Ken said, staggering to his feet. "Prob'ly ain't every day they get to meet a real man in a pisspot of a town like this."

"Tell 'em how you took care of them two pimps," I said. "They'll be right impressed hearin' how you took on two pimps all by yourself, and gave 'em what-for."

He blinked at me owlishly. He said, what pimps, what the god-danged hell was! talking about, anyway? I said, the pimps I'd warned him about last night-the two that were bound to try to give him some trouble.

"Huh?" he said. "What? Did you tell me somethin' like that?"

"You mean you let 'em get away with it?" I said. "Ken Lacey took dirt from a couple of low-down pimps?"

"Hah? What?" He rubbed his hand over his eyes. "Who says I took dirt from pimps?"

"I knew you didn't!" I said, giving him a slap on the back. "Not Ken Lacey, the bravest, smartest peace officer in the state."

"Well," said Ken. "Uh, you shorely spoke a mouthful there, Nick. You shorely did, and that's a fact!"

"Any other man, I wouldn't have let him go over there last night. But I knew you could stand up to those pimps if they come at you with guns and knives. I knew you'd make 'em wish they'd never been born."

Ken put a stern look on his face, like that fella William S. Hart does in the movies. He squared his shoulders and straightened up, or as much as he could straighten with the whiskey wobbling his legs.

"What'd you do to 'em, Ken?" I said. "How did you settle their hash, anyways?"

"I, uh, I took care of 'em, that's what." He gave me a lopsided wink. "You know, I-hic!-took care of 'em."

"Good. You took care of 'em for good, Ken?"

"God-danged right, I did. Them's two pimps that won't never bother a white man no more!"

He started looking around for the whiskey bottle. I pointed out that he was holding onto it, so he had himself a couple more drinks, and then he held the bottle up to the light.

"Why, god-dang! Danged if I ain't drunk almost a whole quart of whiskey!"

"What the heck?" I said. "It don't hardly show on you none." And the funny part of it was that it suddenly didn't show much.

I'd seen him drink before, and I knew how whiskey acted on him. A fairly small amount of booze, say, a pint or so, and he'd get drunk as a skunk. He'd show it, I mean. But when he went over that certain amount- and up to a point, of course-he'd seem to sober up. He'd stop staggering, stop slurring his words, stop playing the fool in general. Inside, he'd still be dead drunk, but you'd never know it by looking at him.

He finished the rest of the whiskey, and we headed for the railroad station. I introduced him to everyone we met, which was a big part of the population, and he stuck out his chest and told everyone how he'd taken care of the two pimps. Or rather, he just said that he had taken care of 'em.

"Never mind how," he'd say. "Never you mind how." And then he'd wink and nod, and everybody would be pretty impressed.

We stopped to talk to so many people that it was only a couple of minutes before train time when we got to the station. I shook hands with him and then, before! realized I was doing it, I laughed out loud.

He gave me a suspicious look; asked me what I was laughing about.

"Nothing much," I said. "I was just thinkin' how funny it was you rushing down here last night. Thinkin' I might kill those pimps."

"Yeah," he grinned sourly, "that is funny. Imagine a fella like you killing anyone."

"You can't imagine me doing it, can you, Ken? You just can't, can you?"

He said he sure couldn't, and that was a fact. "If I'd stopped to think, instead of letting that god-danged Buck get me all riled up-"

"But it would be easy to imagine you doing that killing, wouldn't it, Ken? Killing wouldn't bother you a bit."

"What?" he said. "What do you mean, I-"

"In fact, folks wouldn't have to do any imagining, would they? You've as good as admitted it to dozens of people."

He blinked at me. Then the wild sweat broke out on his face again, and a streak of spit oozed from the corner of his mouth. And there was fear in his eyes.

It had soaked in on him at last, the spot he was in. Soaked clear through a quart of booze until it hit him where he lived and rubbed the place raw.

"Why-why, god-dang you!" he said. "I was just makin' talk! You know danged well I was! I never even seen those pimps last night!"

"No, sir, I bet you didn't." I grinned at him. "I'd bet a million dollars you didn't."

"Y-you-" He gulped. "You m-mean you did k-kill-"

"I mean, I know you're a truthful man," I said. "If you said you didn't see those pimps, I know you didn't see 'em. But other folks might think somethin' else, mightn't they, Ken? If those pimps' bodies was to crop up some place, everybody'd think that you killed them. Couldn't hardly think nothin' else under the circumstances."

He cussed and made a grab at me. I stayed where I was, grinning at him, and he slowly let his hands drop to his side.

"That's right, Ken," I nodded. "That's right. There ain't a thing you can do but hope. Just hope that if someone did kill those pimps that no one ever finds their bodies."

The train was coming in.

I waited until it came to a stop; and then, since Ken seemed too dazed to do it by himself, I helped him on.

"One other thing, Ken," I said, and he turned on the step to look at me. "I'd be real nice to Buck, if I was you. I got kind of a funny idea that he don't like you very much as it is, so I sure wouldn't do no more talkin' about makin' him peck horse turds with the sparrers."

He turned back around again, and went on up the steps.

I started back through town.

9

I'd been thinking it was about time to do some political campaignin', since I had a pretty tough opponent coming up for a change. But I figured there'd been enough going on for one morning, what with Ken's big talk; and anyways, I just didn't have a campaign plan this time.

Always before, I'd let the word get around that I was against this and that, things like cockfighting and gambling and whiskey and soon. So my opposition would figure they'd better come out against 'em, too, only twice as strong as I did. And I went right ahead and let 'em. Me, almost anyone can make a better speech than I can, and anyone can come out stronger against or for something. Because, me, I've got no very strong convictions about anything. Not any more I haven't.

Well, anyway, by the time it got ready to vote, it looked like a fella wouldn't be able to have no fun at all any more, if my opponents were elected. About all a fella would be able to do, without getting arrested, was to drink sody-pop and maybe kiss his wife. And no one liked the idea very much, the wives included.

So, all and all, I began to look pretty good to folks. It was a case of nothing looking better than something, because all anyone had to do was listen to me and look at me a while to know that I wasn't against anything very much, except having my pay stopped, and that I wouldn't have enough gumption to do anything even if I did want to. I'd just let things go along like they always had, because there wasn't much point in trying to change 'em. And when the votes were counted, I was still sheriff.

I'm not saying that there weren't a lot of folks who really liked me. There was a lot of 'em, folks that I'd been kids with and who knew me as a nice friendly fella who was always ready to do a favor if it didn't put him out of pocket too much or offend someone else. But it seemed to me that I didn't have as many friends as I'd used to. Even the very folks I'd favored, them most of all, it seemed like, weren't as friendly as they had been. They seemed to kind of hold it against me because I hadn't cracked down on 'em. And I didn't know quite what to do about it, since I'd never really got the habit of doing anything, and I didn't know how I was going to get myself elected again. But I knew I was going to have to do something. I was going to have to do something or think of something entirely different from the stuff I'd come up with in the past. Or I'd be out of a job when fall came.

I rounded the corner from the depot, and turned into Main Street. Then I started to duck back off of it, because there was a heck of a racket a couple of blocks down the street, a lot of fellas jamming the sidewalk. It looked like a fight of some kind was going on, which meant that I'd better get out of sight before! had to arrest someone besides maybe getting hurt myself.

I started to dart back around the corner; then, somehow, I caught myself, and I went on down the street to where the ruckus was.

It wasn't really a fight, like I'd been afraid of. Just Tom Hauck beating a colored fella named Uncle John. It seemed like Tom had been coming out of the hardware store with a box of shotgun shells when Uncle John had bumped into him or vice versa. Anyway, he'd dropped the shells and some of 'em had spilled off into the street mud. Which was why he'd grabbed hold of the colored fella and started beating him.

I pushed myself between them, and told Tom to stop.

I felt kind of funny about it, because Tom was the husband of Rose Hauck, the gal who was so generous with me. I guess a fella always feels kind of funny in a situation like that; guilty, I mean,. like he ought to give the fella any break that he can. Aside from that, Tom was a lot bigger than I was-mean fellas are always bigger than I am-and he was about half-loaded with booze.

About all Tom ever did was booze-up and go hunting. His wife, Rose, did most of the farm work when she wasn't laid up from Tom beating her. Tom would set her chores for her, before he went off on a hunting trip. They were usually more than a strong man and a boy could do, but if Rose didn't have 'em done by the time he got back, she was in for a beating.

Now, he pushed his big red face into mine, and asked me what the hell I meant by interferin' with him.

"You tellin' me a white man can't whip a nigger if he feels like it? You sayin' there's some law against it?"

"Well," I said. "I don't know about that. I ain't saying there is, and I ain't saying there ain't. But there's a law against disturbin' the peace, and that's what you're doin'."

"And what about him disturbin' my peace? How about that, huh? A god-danged stinkin' nigger almost knocking me off the sidewalk and making me spill my shotgun shells!"

"Well, now, there's some division of opinion about that," I said. "It looks like maybe you might have bumped into him instead of him bumpin' you."

Tom yelled that what was the god -danged difference, anyways? It was a nigger's place to look out for a white man and keep out of his way. "Just ask anyone," he said, looking around at the crowd. "Ain't that right, fellas?"

Someone said, "That's right, Tom," and there was a little murmur of agreement. A kind of half-hearted murmur, because no one liked Tom very much even if they did have to side with him against a colored fella.

It looked to me like they'd really rather be on my side. All I had to do was change the issue a little, make it between me and him instead of between a white man and a black.

"Where did you get that board you been beating him with?" I said. "It looks to me like it came out of the sidewalk."

"So what if it did?" Tom said. "You expect me to use my fists on a nigger?"

"Now, never you mind about that," I said. "The point is, you got no right to beat him with city property. Suppose you broke that board, then what? Why these good taxpayers here has got to pay for a new one. Suppose someone comes along and steps in that empty place in the sidewalk? These taxpayers has got to pay the damages."

Tom scowled and cussed, and glared around at the crowd. There wasn't hardly a friendly face among 'em, so he cussed some more and said all right, then, to hell with the board. He'd just get the harness straps from his horse and beat Uncle John with them.

"Uh-huh," I said. "I don't reckon you will. Not right now, anyways."

"Who's gonna stop me? What the hell you mean I won't do it right now?"

"I mean Uncle John ain't here right now," I said. "Kind of 'pears like he got tired of waitin' for you."

Tom's mouth gaped open, and he looked around wildly. Everybody began to laugh, because naturally Uncle John had skipped out, and the expression on Tom's face was a sight to see.

He cussed me; he cussed the crowd. Then, he jumped on his mare and rode away, heeling her so hard in the flanks that she screamed with pain.

I stomped the sidewalk board back in place. Robert Lee Jefferson, the owner of the hardware store, caught my eye and motioned me to come inside. I went in, and followed him back to his little office.

Robert Lee Jefferson was the county attorney as well as the store owner, there not being enough work in the job to interfere with his business. I sat down, and he told me I'd handled the situation with Tom Hauck real well, and that Tom would surely have a lot of respect for law and order from now on.

"In fact, I imagine the whole town will, don't you, Nick? All those noble taxpayers who observed the manner in which you maintained the peace."

"I guess you mean just the opposite of what you're sayin'," I said. "Just what do you think I should have done, Robert Lee?"

"Why, you should have arrested Hauck, of course! Thrown him in jail! I'd have been delighted to prosecute him."

"But what could I arrest him for? I sure couldn't do it for whippin' a colored fella."

"Why not?"

"Aw, now," I said. "Aw, now, Robert Lee. You don't really mean that, do you?"

He looked down at his desk, hesitating a moment. "Well, maybe not. But there are other charges you could have got him on. Being drunk in a public place, for example. Or hunting out of season. Or wifebeating. Or, uh-"

"But Robert Lee," I said. "Everyone does those things. A lot of people, anyways."

"Do they? I haven't noticed any of them being brought into court for prosecution."

"But I can't arrest everyone! Pretty near everyone."

"We're talking specifically about one man. One mean, no-good, drunken, shiftless, lawbreaking wifebeater. Why didn't you make an example out of him for other men of his type?"

I said I just didn't rightly know, since he put it that way. I just didn't know; but I'd do some studyin' about it, and if I came up with an answer I'd tell him.

"I already know the answer," he said curtly. "Everyone with a lick of sense knows it. You're a coward."

"Now, I don't know as I'd say that, "I said. "I ain't sayin' that I ain't a coward, but-"

"If you're afraid to do your job by yourself, why don't you hire a deputy? The county provides funds for one."

"Why, I already got a deputy," I said, "my wife. I deputized Myra, so's she could do my office for me."

Robert Lee Jefferson stared at me grimly.

"Nick," he said, "do you honestly think you can go on doing as you've been doing? Absolutely nothing, in other words. Do you really think you can go on taking graft and robbing the county, and doing nothing to earn your money?"

"Why, I don't see how I can do much else if I want to stay in office," I said. "I got all kinds of expenses that fellas like you and the county judge and so on ain't bothered with. Me, I'm out in the open all the time, brushin' up with hundreds of people whereas you folks only see one once in a while. Anyone that's put in trouble, why I'm the fella that puts 'em there; they don't see you until afterward. Anyone that needs to borrow a dollar, they come to me. All the church ladies come to me for donations, and-"

"Nick…"

"I throw a big barbecue every night the last month before election. Come one, come all. I got to buy presents when folks has a new baby, and I got to-"

"Nick! Nick, listen to me!" Robert Lee held up his hand. "You don't have to do all those things. People have no right to expect them of you."

"Maybe they don't have a right," I said. "I'll go along with that. But what they got a right to expect, and what they do expect ain't exactly the same thing."

"Just do your job, Nick. Do it well. Show people that you're honest and courageous and hard-working, and you won't have to do anything else."

I shook my head, and said I couldn't. "I just plain can't, Robert Lee, and that's a fact."

"No?" He leaned back in his chair. "And just why can't you, pray tell?"

"For a couple of reasons," I said. "For one thing, I ain't real brave and hard-workin' and honest. For another, the voters don't want me to be."

"And just how do you figure that?"

"They elected me, didn't they? They keep electing me."

"That's pretty specious thinking," Robert Lee said. "Perhaps they trusted and liked you. They've been giving you every chance to make good. And you'd better do it very quickly, Nick." He leaned forward and tapped me on the knee. "I'm telling you that as a friend. If you don't straighten up and do your job, you'll be out of it come fall."

"You really think Sam Gaddis is that strong, Robert Lee?"

"He's that strong, Nick. Every bit that strong. Sam is just about everything you're not, if you'll excuse my saying so, and the voters like him. You'd better get busy or he'll beat the pants off of you."

"Uh-hah! " I said. "Umm-humm! Would you mind if I used your phone, Robert Lee?"

He said go ahead and I called Myra. I told her I was going out to Rose Hauck's place to help her do her chores, so that Tom wouldn't beat her up when he got home. Myra said that was just fine, her and Rose being such good friends-or so she thought-and she told me to stay as long as I liked.

I hung up the phone. Robert Lee Jefferson was staring at me like I was plumb out of my mind. "Nick," he said, waving his hands, "haven't you heard a word I said? Is that your idea of doing your job-to go out and chore around the Hauck farm?"

"But Rose needs help," I said. "You surely ain't sayin' it's wrong to help her."

"Of course, I'm not! It's nice of you to want to help her; that's one of your good qualities, the way you're always willing to help people. But-but-" He sighed and shook his head wearily. "Aaah, Nick, don't you understand? It isn't your job doing things like that. It isn't what you're paid for. And you've got to start doing what you're paid for, or Sam Gaddis will beat you!"

"Beat me?" I said. "Oh, you mean the election?"

"Of course I mean the election! What the hell else have we been talking about?"

"Well, I've been thinking about that," I said. "I've been doing a lot of thinking about it, Robert Lee, and! think I've thought of an angle that will beat ol' Sam."

"An angle? You mean some kind of trick?"

"Well, you might call it that," I said.

"B-But-but-" He looked like he was about to explode again. "But why, Nick? Why not simply do your job?"

"Well, I thought a lot about that, too," I said. "Yes, sir, I really did a lot of thinking. Almost had myself convinced for a while that I actually should get out and start arrestin' people, and start actin' like a sheriff in general. But then I did some more thinkin', and I knew I hadn't ought to do nothing of the kind."

"But, Nick-"

"Because people don't want me to do that," I said. "Maybe they think they do, but they don't. All they want is for me to give 'em some excuse to vote for me again."

"You're wrong, Nick." Robert Lee wagged his head. "You're dead wrong. You've got away with tricks in the past, but they won't work this time. Not against a truly fine man like Sam Gaddis."

I said, well, we'd just have to wait and see, and he gave me a sharp look.

"Have you got some idea that Sam Gaddis isn't a good man? Is that it, Nick?! can tell you right now that if you have some idea of digging up some dirt on him-"

"I got no such idea," I said. "I couldn't dig up no dirt on Sam if! wanted to, because there just ain't none to dig."

"Good. I'm glad you realize that."

"No, sir," I said. "I know Sam's as good a man as they come. That's why I can't understand how all these stories about him got started."

"Well, that's fine. I-what? " He stared at me startled. "What stories?"

"You mean you ain't heard?" I said.

"Of course, I haven't! Now just what are these stories?"

I made as if I was about to tell him, and then I stopped and shook my head. "I ain't gonna repeat 'em," I said. "If you ain't heard 'em, you sure ain't gonna hear 'em from me. No, siree!"

He took a quick look around and leaned forward, voice lowered. "Tell me, Nick. I swear I won't repeat a word you say."

"I can't. I just can't. Robert Lee. It wouldn't be fair, and there's just no reason to. What difference does it make if people are going around spreading a lot of dirty stories about Sam, as long as we know they're not true?"

"Now, Nick-"

"I tell you what I am gonna do," I said. "When Sam gets up to make his first campaign speech, come Sunday-week, I'm gonna be right up on the platform with him. He gets my moral support a thousand per cent, and I'm gonna say so. Because I know there ain't a word of truth in all them dirty, filthy stories that are going around about him!"

Robert Lee Jefferson followed me to the front door, trying to get me to say what the stories were. I kept refusing, naturally, the main reason being that I'd never heard no one say a bad word about Sam Gaddis in my life.

"No, sir,"! said, as I went out the door. "I just ain't gonna repeat 'em. You want to hear any dirt about Sam you'll have to get it from someone else."

"Who?" he said eagerly. "Who should I ask, Nick?"

"Anyone. Just about anyone," I said. "There's always folks that are willin' to dirty a good man, even when they ain't got a thing to go on!"

10

I got my horse and buggy out of the livery stable, and drove out of town. But I was quite a little while in getting out to see Rose Hauck. I had a little business with Tom to take care of first, business that was kind of a pleasure, if you know what I mean, and it was about an hour's drive to his favourite hunting place.

He was there, maybe a hundred feet back from the road, and he was doing his usual kind of hunting. Sitting with his back against one tree and his gun against another, and slugging down whiskey from a jug as fast as he could swallow.

He looked around as I came up on him, and asked me what the hell I was doing there. Then, his eyes widened and he tried to get to his feet, and he asked me what the hell I thought I was doing with his gun.

"First things first," I said. "One thing I'm doin' out this way is to pay a visit to your wife. I'm gonna be gettin' in bed with her pretty soon now, and she's gonna be givin' me what you were too god-danged low-down mean to ever get from her. Reason I know she's gonna give it to me is because she's been doin' it for a long time. Just about every time you were out here hog-drunk, too stupid to appreciate what a good thing you had."

He was cussing before I had the last words out; pushing himself up against the tree-trunk, and at last wobbling to his feet. He took a staggering step toward me, and I brought the gun up against my shoulder.

"The second thing I'm gonna do," I said, "is somethin' I should have done long ago. I'm gonna give you both barrels of this shotgun right in your stupid, stinking guts."

And I did it.

It didn't quite kill him, although he was dying fast.! wanted him to stay alive for a few seconds, so that he could appreciate the three or four good swift kicks I gave him. You might think it wasn't real nice to kick a dying man, and maybe it wasn't. But I'd been wanting to kick him for a long time, and it just never had seemed safe until now.

I left him after a while, getting weaker and weaker. Squirming around in a pool of his own blood and guts. And then ceasing to squirm.

Then, I drove on out to the Hauck farm.

The house was pretty much like most farm houses you see in this part of the country, except it was a little bigger. A pitched-roofed shack, with one long room across the front and a three-room lean-to on the back. It was made of pine, naturally, and it wasn't painted. Because with the hot sun and high humidity, you can't hardly keep paint on a house down here. At least, that's what folks say and even if it ain't so, it's a danged good excuse for being shiftless. The farm land, a whole quarter section of it, was as good as you'd find.

It was that rich, black silt you see in the river lowlands; so fine and sweet you could almost eat it, and so deep that you couldn't wear it out, like so much of the shallow soil in the south is worn out. You might say that land was a lot like Rose, naturally good, deep down good, but Tom had done his best to ruin it like he had her. He hadn't done it, because they'd had too much good stuff to begin with. But both the land and her were a long sight from being what they'd been before he got ahold of 'em.

She was hoeing sweet potatoes when I arrived, and she came running up from the field, panting for breath and pushing the sweat-soaked hair from her eyes. One heck of a pretty woman, she was; Tom hadn't been able to change that. And she had one heck of a figure. Tom hadn't been able to ruin her body either, although he'd sure tried hard. What he had changed was the way she thought-mean and tough- and the way she talked. When she didn't have to be on guard, she talked practically as bad as he did.

"Goddam, honey," she said, giving me a quick little hug and stepping back again. "Dammit, sweetheart, I won't be able to stop today. That son-of-a-bitch of a Tom gave me too much work to do."

I said, "Aw, come on. You can spare a few minutes. I'll help you afterwards."

She said, goddamit, it wouldn't do any good if she had six men to help her. She still couldn't get through. "You know I want you, honey," she said. "I'm crazy about you, baby, and you know I am. If it wasn't for all this goddam work-"

"Well, I don't know," I said, deciding to tease her along a while. "I guess I ain't real sure that you do want me. Seems like as if you did, you could give me a minute or two."

"But it wouldn't be a minute or two, darling! You know it wouldn't!"

"Why not?" I said. "It don't take no longer than that to kiss you a little, and give you a few squeezes and pats, an'-"

"D-Don't!" She moaned shakily. "Don't say those things! I-"

"Why, I'd probably even have time to hold you on my lap," I said. "With your dress sort of pulled up, so's I could feel how warm and soft you are where you sit down. And I could maybe sort of pull your dress down from the top, kind of slide it down from your shoulders, so that! could see those nice things underneath, and"

"Stop it, Nick! I-you know how I get, a-and-I can't! I just can't honey! "

"Why, I wouldn't even expect you to take your dress all the way off," I said. "I mean, it ain't really necessary, when you get right down to cases. With a tight-packed little gal like you, a fella don't have to do hardly nothing at all except-"

She cut me off, groaning like a spurred horse. She said, "Goddam! I don't give a damn if the son-of-a-bitch beats my tail off!"

Then, she grabbed me by the hand and began to run, dragging me toward the house.

We got inside, and she slammed the door and locked it. She stood leaning into me for a moment, twisting and writhing against me. Then, she flung herself down on the bed, rolled over on her back and hitched her dress up.

"What the hell you waiting for, honey?" she said. "Come on, darling, goddam it!"

"What you layin' down for?" I said. "I thought I was just goin' to hold you on my lap."

"P-Please, Nick!" She moaned again. "We've g-got no time to waste, so-please, honey!"

"Well, all right," I said. "But I got some news for you. Sort of a little secret. I think maybe I ought to tell it to you before-"

"Crap on the secret." She made a wild grab for me. "I don't want any goddam secrets! What I want is-"

"But it's about poor old Tom. Somethin' done went and happened to him…"

"Who gives a damn? It's just too goddam bad that the son-of-a-bitch isn't dead! Now-"

I told her that that was the secret: Tom was dead. "Looks like he got his guts blowed clear through his backbone," I said. "Looks like he stumbled over his gun when he was drunk, and blowed himself to glory."

She looked at me, her eyes widening, mouth working as she tried to speak. Finally, the words came out in a shaky whisper:

"You're sure, Nick? You really killed him?"

"Let's just say he had himself an accident," I said. "Let's just say that fate dealt him a cool blow."

"But he is dead? You're sure about that?"

I told her I was sure, all right. Plenty sure. "If he ain't, he's the first live man I've ever seen who could hold still while he was getting kicked in the balls."

Rose's eyes lit up like I'd given her a Christmas purty. Then she threw herself back on the pillows, rocking with laughter.

"Holy Jesus, so the stinking son-of-a-bitch is really dead! I'm through with the dirty bastard at last!"

"Well, sir, it sure looks that way," I said.

"Goddam him! I just wish I'd have been there to kick him myself, the bastardly son~of-a-bitchin' whoremonger!" she said, adding on a few more choice names. "You know what I'd have liked to do to that dirty bastard, Nick? I'd have liked to take me a red hot poker and jabbed it right up the filthy son-of-a-bitch's-uh, what's the matter, honey?"

"Nothin'," I said. "I mean, maybe we ought to show a little more respect for ol' Tom, him bein' dead and all. It just don't seem quite fittin' to low-rate the dead with a lot of dirty names."

"You mean I shouldn't call the son-of-a-bitch a son-of-a-bitch?"

"Well, now, it don't sound real good, does it?" I said. "It don't sound nice a-tall."

Rose said it sounded just fine to her, but if it bothered me she'd try to watch her tongue. "That son-of-a-bitch caused enough trouble while he was alive without fouling us up afterward. Anyway, I'd do anything to please you, sweetheart. Anything you want, darling."

"Then, why ain't you doin' it?" I said. "How come you still got your dress on?"

"Goddam," she said, looking down at herself. "Rip the goddam thing off, will you, honey?"

I started ripping, and she started helping me with my clothes. And things were getting right to the most interesting point when the phone rang. Rose cussed and said to let the goddam thing go, but! said it might be Myra-which it was-so she stalked out in the kitchen and answered it.

She talked quite a while. Or, rather, she listened to Myra talking. About all Rose got to say was a lot of well-I-declare's and you-don't-say-so's and so on. Finally, she said, "Why, of course I'll tell him, Myra, dear. Just as soon as he comes in from the field. And you and Lennie take care of your sweet selves until! see you again."

Rose slammed up the phone, and came back to where I was. I asked her what Myra wanted, and she said it could wait, goddam it. There were more important things to do right now.

"Like what?" I said.

"Like this," she said. "This! "

So we didn't do no talking for quite a while.

Not until afterwards, when we lay side by side, holding hands and breathing in long deep breaths. Then, finally, she turned around facing me, her head propped up on her elbow, and told me about Myra's call.

"Looks like a day for good news, honey. First, that son-of-a-bitch, Tom, gets killed, and now it looks like you're a cinch to get re-elected."

"Yeah?" I said. "How's that, baby?"

"Sam Gaddis. The whole town's talking about him. Why, do you know what he did, Nick?"

"I ain't got the slightest idea," I said. "I always thought Sam was a mighty good man."

"He raped a little two-year-old nigger baby, that's what!"

"Mmmm? Male or female?" I said.

"Female, I guess. I-ha, ha-Nick, you awful thing, you." She laughed and gave me a squeeze. "But isn't it terrible, honey! To think of a grown man screwing a poor innocent little baby! And that's only one thing he did!"

"Do tell," I said. "Like which?"

Rose said that Sam had also cheated a poor widow woman out of her life's savings, and then he'd beat his own father to death with a stick of cordwood to keep him from talking about it.

"And that's only the beginning. Nick. Everyone's saying that Sam broke into his grandma's grave, and stole the gold teeth out of her mouth. Did you ever hear of such a thing? And he killed his wife and fed her corpse to the hogs. And-"

"Now, wait a minute," I said. "Sam Gaddis has never been married."

"You mean you just never saw his wife. He was married before he came here, and he fed her to the hogs before anyone could find out about her."

"Aw, come on, now," I said. "Just when is Sam supposed to have done all these things?"

Rose hesitated and said, well, she didn't know when exactly. But, by God, she knew he'd done 'em.

"People wouldn't just make up stories like that. They couldn't!"

"Couldn't they?"

"Why, of course not, honey! Anyway, most of the stories came right from Mrs. Robert Lee Jefferson, according to Myra. Her own husband told them to her, and you know Robert Lee Jefferson wouldn't lie."

"Yeah," I said. "It don't seem like he would now, does it?"

And I had to bite my lip to keep from laughing. Or maybe doing the opposite. Because it was really pretty god-danged sad, now, wasn't it? It was a god-danged sorry state of affairs.

Of course, it was all to the good for me. I'd thrown the bait to Robert Lee Jefferson, and he'd bit on it. He'd done just what I expected him to do-gone around, asking people what the stories about Sam were. Which had started them to asking other people. And before long, there were plenty of answers; the kind of stinking dirty dirt that people can always create for themselves when there ain't none for real.

And it made me kind of sad, you know? Really downright sad. I couldn't help wishing that Robert Lee hadn't taken the bait, and started asking questions. Which, in turn, had started piling up the dirt around a fine man like Sam Gaddis.

Yes, sir, I really sort of wished things hadn't worked out this way. Even if it did ruin Sam and get me re-elected, which it was just about certain to do.

Unless something went wrong…

11

It rained during the night, and I slept pretty good like! almost always do when it rains. Along about ten the next morning, when I was having a little second breakfast because I hadn't eaten much the first time but a few eggs and some pancakes and sausage, Rose Hauck called.

She'd been trying to reach me for quite a while, but hadn't been able to because of Myra's gossiping about Sam Gaddis. Myra talked to her for a couple of minutes, and then passed the phone to me.

"I'm afraid something's happened to Tom, Nick," Rose told me-just as if she didn't know what had happened to him. "His horse came home without him this morning."

"Is that a fact?" I said. "You think maybe! should go out and start looking for him?"

"Well, I just don't know, Nick," she hesitated. "If Tom is all right, he might be pretty mad if I sent the sheriff after him."

I said that was for sure, all right. Tom didn't like anyone butting in on his affairs. "Maybe he holed up somewhere on account of the rain," I said. "Maybe he's waitin' for it to dry up a little before he starts home."

"I'll bet that's it," she said, making her voice relieved. "He probably didn't have cover for the mare so he sent her home by herself."

"That's probably the way it was, all right," I said. "After all, he didn't tell you he was coming home last night, did he?"

"No, no, he didn't. He never tells me how long he's going to be gone."

"Well, don't worry none about it," I said. – "Not yet, anyways. If Tom ain't home by tomorrow, why then I'll start lookin' for him."

Myra was making wild faces and motions, as if to say, what is it all about? I passed her the phone and there was some more jibber-jabbering, and she wound up asking Rose to come have supper with us. "Now, you just must come, dear, because I've got all kinds of news to tell you. You can get a ride in with the mailman about four, and I'll have Nick drive you home afterward."

She hung up, shaking her head and murmuring, "Poor Rose. That poor, dear, sweet woman."

I said, "Why, Rose ain't poor, honey. That's a right good farm her and Tom has."

"Oh, shut up!" she said. "If you'd have been half a man, you'd have done something about Tom Hauck long ago! Put him in jail where he belongs instead of leaving him free to beat up that poor little helpless wife of his!"

"Why, I couldn't do that," I said. "I couldn't interfere between a man and his wife."

"No, you couldn't. You couldn't do anything! Because you're not half a man!"

"Well, now I don't know about that," I said. "I ain't saying you're wrong, but I sure ain't saying-"

"Oh, shut up!" she said again. "Lennie's more of a man than you are. Aren't you, Lennie, darling?"-she smiled at him-"you're Myra's brave strong man, aren't you? Not an old cowardly calf like Nick."

Lennie slobbered out a laugh, pointing a finger at me. "Cowardly calf, cowardly calf! Sheriff Nick's a cowardly calf!"

I looked at him, and he stopped laughing and pointing. He turned real quiet, and kind of pale.

I looked at Myra, and her smile stiffened and faded. And she was almost as pale and silent as Lennie.

"N-Nick-" She broke the long silence with a trembly laugh. "W-What's the matter?"

"Matter?" I said.

"The way you're looking. Like you were about to kill Lennie and me both. I-! never saw you look that way before."

I forced a laugh, making it sound easy and stupid. "Me? Me kill someone? Aw, now!"

"But-but you-"

"I guess maybe I was thinking about the election. Thinking maybe it wasn't a very good idea to be pokin' fun at me with the election comin' up."

She nodded her head quickly, and frowned at Lennie. "Of course, we'd never carry on like that in public. But-but probably it isn't a good idea. Even if we were just joking."

I thanked her for her understandin', and started for the door.

She followed me for a step, still kind of anxious; shook up from the scare I'd accidentally given her.

"I don't think you have to worry about getting elected, dear. Not with all the talk that's going on about Sam Gaddis."

"Well, I never believe in takin' chances," I said. "I always figure a fella ought to lean over backwards and put his shoulder to the wheel, and not count his chickens until they're hatched."

"Mrs. Robert Lee Jefferson said her husband said that you said you didn't believe the stories about Sam Gaddis."

"I don't. I don't believe a god-danged word of 'em," I said.

"But-she also said that he said that you said you were going to speak up for Mr. Gaddis. She said that he said that you said you were going to be on the speakers' platform with him come Sunday-week."

I told her she'd spoken the truth, and that was a fact. "You talk to her again, you tell her that when she said that Robert Lee said that I said I was going to speak up for Sam Gaddis, she was a thousand per cent right."

"You fool!-" She caught herself. "But Gaddis is running against you, dear. Why should you do anything for him?"

"Now, that's quite a question, ain't it?" I said. "Yes, sir, that is quite a question. Reckon I'd tell you the answer if I didn't figure you'd have so much fun cypherin' it out."

"But-"

"Reckon I'd better be rushing back to my office," I said. "No tellin' what's been happening while I was away."

I went on down the stairs, pretending like I didn't hear her when she called to me. I went in my office and sat down with my boots upon the desk. And I slanted my hat over my eyes, and kind of dozed for a little while.

It was awfully peaceful. The mud was keeping most folks indoors, and the painters were taking the day off because of the wet, so there wasn't a lot of slamming and banging and calling back and forth from them. A fella could really rest for a change, and catch up the sleep that he didn't get at night.

I rested and slept until noon, when I went upstairs for dinner.

Myra had got over her scare, and was about back to normal. She looked at me and said she could see I'd had a very busy morning, and she hoped I wasn't wearing myself out.

"Well, I'm trying not to," I said. "A fella like me, with the whole county depending on him for law and order, has got to watch out for his health. Which sort of reminds me. About me takin' Rose Hauck home tonight-"

"You're going to do it!" Myra snapped. "You're going to, so just don't try to get out of it!"

"But suppose Tom's there? Suppose he's mad about me bringin' his wife home, an'-an'-"

I squirmed, letting my eyes fall, but I could still see Myra glaring at me. At last she spoke, her voice shaky with hate and disgust.

"You-you thing, you! You miserable excuse for a man! I'll tell you this, Nick Corey! If Tom is there and you let him hurt Rose, I'll make you the sorriest man in the county!"

"Now, my goodness," I said. "My goodness gracious! You don't need to talk that way. I wouldn't stand by an' watch Rose get hurt."

"Well, you'd better not! That's all I've got to say! You'd just better not!"

I started eating, with Myra shooting me a suspicious look now and then. After a while, I looked up and said I'd just thought of something else about Rose. Suppose Tom came home, after! left and wouldn't be around to protect her.

"He's bound to be pretty bad off," I said. "Stayin' away so long, he'll probably be twice as drunk and mean as he usually is. Makes me plumb shiver to think what he might do to Rose."

"Well…" Myra hesitated, studying over what I'd said and not finding anything to fault me for. "Well, I don't suppose it would look right for you to stay all night at the house. But-"

"Naw, I couldn't do that! I sure couldn't do that," I said. "Anyways, we don't know for sure when Tom's comin' home. Might be gone, two, three days. All we know is he's gonna be plenty hard to get along with when he does get back."

Myra fumed and frowned, and said I should have done something about Tom long ago, and Rose wouldn't be in this position now. I said she was probably right, and it was just too bad we couldn't think of some way to give Rose some protection.

"Let's see," I said. "I wonder maybe if we could get her a watchdog, or-"

"You fool! Tom would kill it in a minute! He's killed every dog they ever had!"

"Mmm-hmm," I said. "God-dang if I didn't forget about that. Well, let's see, now. I'd know of just the thing if Rose was a different kind of person. More nervy, you know, instead of so meek and mild. But that's the way she is, so it just wouldn't do no good."

"What wouldn't do no good! What are you talking about now?"

"Why, a gun," I said. "You know, one of them things you shoot with. But it sure wouldn't do no good with Rose, her bein' scared of her own shadder, so-"

"That's it!" Myra cut in. "We'll get her a gun! She ought to have one anyway, a woman alone as much as she is."

"But what good will it do?" I said. "Rose wouldn't shoot no one to save her life."

"I'm not so sure about that-not if her life was at stake. At any rate, she could point it. Make that big brute of a husband keep away from her."

"Well, now, I just don't know about that," I said. "If you ask me-"

"I'm not asking you! I'm taking Rose out to get a gun this very day, so just finish your dinner and shut up!"

I finished eating, and went back down to my office. I rested and dozed some more, but not as good as I had in the morning. I was kind of puzzled with myself, you know, wondering why I'd wanted Rose Hauck to have a gun. Because, of course, I did want her to have one.

I tried to tell myself that it was just for her own protection, just in case someone tried to bother her. But I knew that wasn't my real reason. My real reason, I guessed, was something I hadn't quite figured out yet. It was part of something else, some plan-wishes I had for Myra and Lennie-and I hadn't quite figured out what they were either.

Maybe it don't seem to make sense for a fella to be doing things for a reason that he don't know about. But I reckon I've been doing it most of my life. The reason I went to see Ken Lacey, for example, wasn't the one I let on that it was. I'd done it because I had a plan for him-and you've seen what that plan was. But I didn't know it at the time I'd called on him.

I'd had kind of a goal, and I'd figured that a fella like Ken could be a lot of help in bringing it about. But just how I was going to use him I wasn't even halfway sure.

And it was the same situation now, with Rose and the gun. All I knew was that they probably fitted into a plan for Myra and Lennie. But I didn't have no real idea of what the plan was; I purely didn't.

Except that it was probably pretty unpleasant…

Rose got to the courthouse around four o'clock that afternoon. I was on the lookout for her, and I got her in the office for a minute before she could goon upstairs.

She was looking prettier than I'd ever seen her, which was really saying something. She said she'd slept like a goddam baby all night long, and she'd woke up laughing, thinking about that son-of-a-bitch of a Tom being dead out in the mud somewheres.

"Did I do all right when I called up this morning, honey?" she whispered. "It sounded like I was really concerned about the dirty bastard?"

"You did just fine," I said. "And looky, baby…"

I told her about the gun, how it would look like she was worried about Tom beating her up when became back-which, you see, would prove she didn't know he was dead. And she kind of hesitated for a second, giving me a quick frowny look, but she didn't argue about it.

"Whatever you say, Nick, honey. If you think it's a good idea."

"Well, it was actually Myra's," I said. "I just about had to go along with it, or it would have looked like I knew Tom wasn't coming back."

Rose nodded and said. "What the hell?", dismissing the subject. "Maybe I can take a shot at you some time, if you're not real nice to me."

"That time ain't never gonna come," I said. And I gave her a quick hug and a squeeze, and she went on up the stairs.

She and Myra went out a little later to get the gun, and stayed out until after five.

A few minutes before six, Myra called me, and I closed the office and went upstairs to supper.

Myra did most of the talking, like she always did; shutting me up whenever I said anything. About all Rose did was agree with her, putting in a word now and then about how wonderful and smart Myra was. And that was the same as usual, too. We finished eating. Myra and Rose started clearing up the dishes. Lennie looked at me to see if I was watching him- which I was, only he didn't know it-and then he made a sneak toward the door.

I cleared my throat to get Myra's attention, and jerked my head at Lennie. "How about that, honey?" I said. "You know what we agreed on."

"What?" she said. "What are you talking about now, for pity's sake?"

"About him goin' out at night," I said. "You know what he'll do, an' it just ain't a good idea with the election coming up."

Myra said, "Oh, pshaw. The boy's got to get a little air some time, doesn't he? You can't begrudge him that!"

"But we agreed that-"

"I did not! You just got me so mixed up I wasn't thinking what I was saying! Anyway Sam Gaddis is bound to be beat and you know it!"

"Well, I just don't see no use in taking chances," I said. "I-"

"Oh, shut up! Did you ever see such a man in your life, Rose? Is it any wonder that I'm half out of my mind from living with him?" Myra scowled at me, then turned to give Lennie a smile. "You go right ahead, honey. Have a good time, but don't stay out too late."

He went out, after a blubbery spiteful grin at me. Myra said I'd better go to my bedroom and stay if I couldn't make sense, which she was sure I couldn't, so that's what I did.

I stretched out on the bed, with the spread turned back so that my boots wouldn't soil it. The window was open, and I could hear the crickets singing, like they always do after a rain. Now and then a bullfrog would sound off with a loud kerrumph, like a bass drummer keeping time. Way off across town, someone was pumping water, p-plump, whish, p-plump, whish, and you could hear some mother calling her kid, "Henry Clay, oooh, Hen-ry Clay Houston! You come home now! " And the smell of fresh-washed soil was in the air, just about the nicest smell there is. And… and everything was fine.

It was so god-danged nice and peaceful that I dozed off again. Yes, sir, I went to sleep, even though I hadn't had a real hard work day and I'd managed to catch up on my rest a little.

I guess I must have been asleep about an hour when I waked up to the sound of Myra yelling and Lennie bawling, and someone talking to 'em-Amy Mason speaking her mind in a way that almost put your teeth on edge. Soft, but firm and cutting, like only Amy could speak when she had her dander up. You knew you'd better listen to what she was saying, when Amy spoke that way; you'd better listen and take it to heart or it would be too god-danged bad for you.

I knew it was having its effect on Myra, in spite of her yelling and trying to set defiant. She began to kind of whimper and whine, saying that Lennie didn't mean anything by peeking in Amy's window-he was just curious about people. Amy said she knew exactly what he meant, and he'd better not try any of his nasty tricks again if he knew what was good for him.

"I've already warned your husband," she said, "and now I'm warning you, Mrs. Corey. If I catch your brother at my window again, I'll take a horsewhip to him!"

"Y-You wouldn't dare!" Myra whined. "And you just stop hurting him! Let go of the poor boy's ear."

"Gladly," Amy said. "It makes my flesh crawl to touch him."

I cracked the door open an inch or so, and looked out.

Myra had her arm around Lennie, who looked redfaced and mad and scared as she patted him on the head. Rose was standing next to her, trying to appear concerned and protective. But I knew, knowing her so well, that she was laughing inside, tickled pink to see Myra catching it for a change. As for Amy…

I swallowed hard, looking at her, wondering what I'd ever seen in Rose after I'd had someone like Amy.

Not that she was any prettier than Rose, or built any better. You just couldn't fault Rose on prettiness or build no matter who you stood her up against. The difference, I guess, was something that came from the inside, something that kind of grabbed hold of you right around the heart, that left its mark on you like a brand, so that the feel of her and the memory of her was always with you no matter where you strayed.

I came bursting out of the bedroom and looked around, putting a real surprised look on my face. "What's going on here, anyways?" I said, not givin' anyone a chance to answer. "Why, good evening, Miss Mason. Is they some kind of trouble?"

Amy said no, they was not no kind of trouble; kind of mimicking me, you know. "Not now there isn't, Sheriff. The trouble's all settled. Your wife will tell you how to avoid any in the future."

"My wife?" I gave Myra and Lennie a studyin' look, and turned back to Amy. "Did my wife's brother do somethin', Miss Mason? You just tell me about it."

"Of course, Lennie didn't do anything!" Myra snapped. "He was just-"

"Is your name Miss Mason?" I said. "Is it?"

"W-What? What?"

"I asked Miss Mason a question," I said. "In case you ain't heard, Miss Mason is one of the most prominent and respected young women in Potts County, and when I ask her somethin' it's because I know she'll tell the truth. So maybe you'd better not go contradictin' what she says."

Myra's mouth dropped open. She turned from red to white, and then back to red again. I knew she'd probably give me all-heck when she got me alone, but for the present she wasn't talkin' back. She knew she just hadn't better, what with an election coming up and Amy being so generally well-thought-of. She knew that someone like Amy could cause an awful lot of trouble, if they took a notion, and an election year was no time for trouble.

So Myra didn't give me any trouble, much as she felt like it, and Amy was kind of pleased by the way I'd acted, and said she was sorry if she'd said anything hurtful. "I'm afraid I lost my temper for a moment," she smiled, a little stiffly. "If you'll excuse me, I'll run along home."

"I'll walk you home myself," I said. "It's too late at night for a young lady to be out by herself."

"Now, that's not at all necessary, Sheriff. I-"

I said it certainly was necessary; me and my wife, we wouldn't have it no other way. "That's right, ain't it, Myra? You insist on me seem' Miss Mason home, don't you?"

Myra said yes, her teeth practically clenched together.

I nodded and winked to Rose and she winked back at me; and Amy and me left.

She lived right there in town, so I didn't get out the horse and buggy like I might have if her home had been a far piece off. Anyway, I wanted to talk to her and I didn't want her pulling away from me. And it's just about impossible for a woman to be standoffish when you're walking her home through the mud on a dark night.

She had to listen when I started telling her how Myra had hooked me. She said she just wasn't interested and it wasn't any of her business, and that sort of thing. But she listened anyway, because she couldn't get out of it. And after a couple of minutes she stopped interruptin' and began to cling closer to me, and I knew she believed what I was saying.

On the porch of the house, she flung her arms around me and I put mine around her, and we stood there in the darkness for a little while, just holding onto each other. Then, she sort of pushed me away, and I couldn't see her expression, but somehow I knew she was frowning.

"Nick," she said. "Nick, this is terrible!"

I said, "Yeah, I guess I have kind of messed things up, all right. I guess I've been nine kinds of fool, lettin' Myra scare me into marryin' her and-"

"That's not what I'm talking about. That could be solved with money, and I have money. But-but-"

"Then, what's botherin' you?" I said. "What's so terrible, honey?"

"I-I'm not sure." She shook her head. "I know what, but I don't know why. And I'm not positive it would make any difference if I did know. I-can't talk about it now! I don't even want to think about it! I-Oh, Nick! Nick! "

She buried her face against my chest. I held her tighter, stroking her head and whispering that everything was all right, that nothing could be so very terrible as long as we were together again.

"Now, it just couldn't, honey," I said. "You just tell me what it is, and I'll show you it don't really amount to nothin' at all."

She clung to me a little tighter, still not saying anything. I said, well, to heck with it; maybe we could save it for another time, when I didn't have to be in kind of a rush like I was tonight.

"You remember how I used to go night-fishin'?" I said. "Well, I was thinkin' maybe! might go tomorrow night, and it'd be kind of a natural mistake if I should wind up here instead of the river, because you ain't so awful far from it."

Amy sniffled, then laughed.

"Oh, Nick! There's just no one like you!"

"Well, I should hope not," I said. "The world'd be in a heck of a mess if there was."

I said I'd see her the next night, just as soon as it was good and dark. She shivered against me, and said that would be fine.

"But do you have to go now, darling?"

"Well, I guess I kind of should," I said. "Myra'll be wonderin' what happened, and I got to see Miz Hauck home yet tonight."

Amy said, "Oh, I see. I'd almost forgotten about Rose."

"Yeah, I got to take her home," I said, kind of grumbling about it. "Myra has done promised her I would."

"Poor Nick!" Amy patted my cheek. "Everyone's always imposing on him."

"Aw, I don't really mind," I said. "After all, someone's got to take care of poor Miz Hauck."

"How true! And isn't it fortunate that she has someone so willing to take care of her! You know, Nick, poor ol' Mrs. Hauck seems to be bearing up remarkably well under her troubles. She looked positively blooming, like a woman in love, one might say."

"Is that a fact?" I said. "I can't say that I rightly noticed."

"Come in for a while, Nick. I want to talk to you."

"I guess we better let it wait until tomorrow night," I said. "It's kind of late, an'-"

"Now! Tonight, Nick."

"But Rose-I mean, Miz Hauck-will be waiting. I-',

"Let her. I'm afraid it's not the only disappointment she's in for. Now, come in!"

She flung the door open and went in, and I went in after her. Her hand gripped mine in the darkness, and she led me back through the house to her bedroom. And it was a funny thing, her saying she wanted to talk to me, because she didn't do no talking at all.

Or hardly any.

Afterwards, she lay back and yawned and stretched; kind of fidgeting because I never could see good in the dark, and I was slow in getting my clothes on.

"Will you please hurry a little, darling? I feel all nice and relaxed and drowsy, and I want to get to bed."

"Well, you sure ain't got far to get," I said. "What was it you was wantin' to talk to me about, anyways?"

"About your grammar, possibly. You're no ignoramus, Nick. Why do you talk like one?"

"Just habit, I guess. Kind of a rut I've got into. English and grammar, I reckon, they're like a lot of things. A fella don't use 'em-he don't see no real demand for 'em-and pretty soon he loses the knack. Wrong is right for him, an' vicey versa you might say."

Amy's head shifted on the pillows, her eyes wide in her white face as she studied me.

"I think I know what you mean, Nick," she said. "In a way, I'm a victim of the same process."

"Yeah?" I said, pulling on my boots. "How you mean, Amy?"

"Or I'm beginning to be a victim," she said. "And, you know, darling, I rather like it."

I stood up, tucking in my shirttails. "Just what was you wantin' to say to me, Amy?"

"Nothing that can't wait until tomorrow night. In fact, I no longer think I'll have anything to say then."

"But you said-"

"And I said some other things, too, darling. Possibly you weren't listening. Now, you run along now, and I do hope pore ol' Miz Hauck ain't too disappointed."

"Yeah," I said. "I sure hope she ain't either."

But I had an idea she was going to be.

12

The way I'd met Myra was at the state fair a few years ago. I was all dressed up like I always am when I go someplace, and even a god-danged fool could see I was doing plenty all right. Anyway, I reckon Myra seen it. And she didn't look so bad herself then; she'd gone to some pains to pretty herself up. And I didn't fight too hard when she latched herself onto me.

It was at this place where you throw balls at a colored fella's head, and if you hit him you won a prize. I was just doin' it because the fella that ran the place kept asking me to. It had seemed unobliging not to, but I sure didn't want to hit this colored man and I didn't. But I heard someone clapping her hands, and here was Myra, carrying on like I was the world's greatest pitcher.

"Oooh, I just don't see how you do it!" she said, simpering up at me. "Would you throw some balls for me, please, if I give you the money?"

"Well, I'd kind of rather not, ma'am," I said. "If you don't mind excusin' me, I was just quitting myself."

"Oh," she said, kind of letting her face sag, which didn't require much of an effort if you know what I mean. "I understand. Your wife is with you."

"Naw, that ain't it," I said. "I ain't married, ma'am; I just don't want to throw at that colored fella, because it don't seem right somehow. It ain't rightly decent, you might say."

"You're just saying that," she pouted and simpered. "It's your way of rebuking me for being forward."

I said, naw, that wasn't it at all; I really felt like I said I did. "I guess it's his job to get throwed at, but it ain't mine to do the throwin'," I said. "Anyways, a fella'd be better off without a job than one like this. If he's got to get hit to live, he ain't got nothing worth living for."

Myra put on a solemn face, and said she could see I was a really deep thinker. I said, well, I didn't know about that, but I was sure a thirsty one.

"Maybe! could offer you a lemonade, ma'am, seem' as how I can't favor you by throwing balls."

"Well… "She twisted and twitched and twittered. "You won't think I'm terribly forward if I say yes?"

"Why, you just said it, ma'am," I said, leading her toward the pink lemonade stand. "You just said yes, and I don't think nothing like that at all."

And sure enough I didn't.

What I was thinking was that she must have buggers in her bloomers or a chigger on her figger, or however you say it. It looked to me like something had better be done about it pretty quick, or her pants would start blazing and maybe they'd set the fairgrounds on fire and there'd be a panic with thousands of people getting stomped to death, not to mention the property damage. And I couldn't think of but one way to prevent it.

Well, though, I didn't want to rush into things. There just wasn't any need to rush, as far as I was concerned, because I was getting married to Amy the next week and she'd taken good care to provide for me until then. So I stalled around, trying to decide whether I really ought to do the only thing I could think of to do. You might say it really wasn't my problem if Myra did set the fairgrounds on fire, with thousands of innocent women and children getting killed. Because! was from out of town, and I'm a great believer in local rights-you know, like State rights- and Myra lived here in the city. Could be I might get into all kinds of trouble by interfering in a local problem, even if it was something that even a goddanged fool would be familiar with, and the local folks weren't doing nothing about it.

I took Myra to a few side shows, standing close to her while I tried to make up my mind. I took her on the merry-go-round and some other rides, helping her on and off and looking at her when her dress slid up, and so on and so forth. And god-dang if it wasn't long before I came to my decision.

Myra looked shocked when I whispered to her, almost as shocked as if I'd bought her a sack of popcorn.

"Why-why, I just wouldn't think of it!" She twisted and twitched. "The very idea, going to a hotel with a strange man!"

"But I ain't strange," I said, giving her a pinch. "I'm built just like the rest of 'em."

"Oh, you awful thing, you!" she giggled. "You're just terrible!"

"Why, I ain't neither terrible," I said. "Anyways, it ain't fair to say I am without more knowledge on the subject."

She giggled and blushed, and said she just couldn't go to a hotel. "I just couldn't! I really couldn't."

"Well, if you can't you can't," I said, getting a little tired of it all. "Far be it from me to urge you."

"But-but we could go to my rooming house. No one would think anything of it if you just came up to my room for a little visit."

We took a streetcar over to the place where she lived, a big white house a few blocks from the river. It was a very respectable place, from all appearances, and the people were too. And no one lifted an eyebrow when Myra said we were just going upstairs to clean up before we went out for supper.

Well, sir, I hardly touched that woman. Or, anyway, if I did touch her, I didn't do much more than that. I was ready to and rarin' to, and, well, maybe I did do a little something. But with all them clothes she had on, it was god-danged little.

All of a sudden, though, she pushed me off to the floor, starting to bawl and sob so loud you could hear her in the next block. I picked myself up and tried to shush her. I asked her what the heck was the matter, and I tried to pat her and calm her down. She shoved me away again, setting up an even bigger racket.

I didn't know what the heck to do. Anyways, I didn't have time to do anything before a bunch of the other roomers came busting in.

The women hovered around Myra, trying to soothe her and talk to her. Myra kept bawling and shaking her head, not answering when they asked her what the matter was. The men looked at me, and kept asking me what I'd done to Myra. And it was just one of those situations where the truth won't do and a lie's no help. Which fortunately there ain't many of in this vale of tears.

The men grabbed ahold of me and began to bat me around. One of the women said she was going to call the police, but the men said no, they'd take care of me themselves. They'd give me what I deserved, they said, and there were plenty of men in the neighborhood to help 'em.

Well, I couldn't really blame 'em for thinking what they did. I'd've probably thought the same thing in their place, what with Myra bawling and her clothes being messed up, and me not being in very good shape neither. They figured I'd raped her, and when a fella rapes a gal in this part of the country, he hardly ever gets to the jail. Or, if he does, he don't stay there very long.

I figure sometimes that maybe that's why we don't make as much progress as other parts of the nation. People lose so much time from their jobs in lynching other people, and they spend so much money on rope and kerosene and getting likkered-up in advance and other essentials, that there ain't an awful lot of money or man-hours left for practical purposes.

Howsoever, it sure looked like I was about to be the guest of honor at a necktie party, when Myra decided to speak up.

"I'm s-sure Mr. Corey didn't mean to do wrong," she said, looking around teary-eyed. "He's really a fine man, I'm sure, and he didn't mean to do wrong, did you, Mr. Corey?"

"No, ma'am, I sure didn't," I said, running my finger around my collar. "I positively didn't mean nothing like that, and that's a fact."

"Then why did you do it?" a man frowned at me. "This is hardly something that a person does accidentally."

"Well, I don't know about that," I said. "I wouldn't say you're wrong, but I ain't sure you're right either."

He started to take a swing at me. I ducked but another fella caught me by the shoulder and flung me toward the door. I went down on my knees and someone kicked me, and some others jerked me to my feet again, not being very gentle about it, and then everyone was hustling me out of the room and trying to sock me at the same time.

Myra said, "Wait! Please wait! It's all a mistake."

They slowed down a little, and someone said, "Now, don't upset yourself, Miss Myra. This skunk isn't worth it."

"But he wants to marry me! We were going to get married tonight!"

Everyone was pretty surprised, including me, and they were puzzled too, which I wasn't. It looked like I'd sold my pottage for a mess of afterbirth, as the saying is. I'd been chasing females all my life, not paying no mind to the fact that whatever's got tail at one end has teeth at the other, and now I was getting chomped on.

"That right, Corey?" A fella nudged me. "You and Miss Myra getting married?"

"Well," I said.-"Well, it's like this, or at least that's the way I see it. I mean, uh-"

"Oh, he's so bashful!" Myra laughed. "And he gets excited so easily! That's what happened when-" She looked down at herself, blushing and brushing at her mussed-up clothes. "He got so excited when I said yes, I'd marry him, that-that-"

The women put their arms around her and kissed her.

The men slapped me on the back, and began shaking my hands. They said they were sorry they'd misunderstood the situation; and doggone it, couldn't a woman get a man in a heck of a lot of trouble without even halfway trying?

"Why, we might have had you strung up by the neck, Corey, if Miss Myra hadn't set things straight! Now, wouldn't that have been a fine state of affairs?"

"Yeah," I said. "That would have been a good joke on me. But looky, fellas. About this marriage business-"

"A wonderful institution, Corey. And you're getting a wonderful woman."

"And I'm getting a wonderful man!" Myra jumped up and threw her arms around me. "We're getting married right tonight, because Mr. Corey just can't wait, and you're all invited to the wedding!"

It just happened that there was a preacher right up in the next block, so that's where we went-where everyone else went, I should say-and I got took. Myra dragged me along, with her arm hooked through mine; and those other folks brought up the rear, laughing and joking and slapping me on the back, and crowding on my heels so that I couldn't slow down.

I tried to sort of hang back, and they thought that was funny as all-heck. They thought the expression on my face was funny, and they practically went into hysterics when I said something like what was the god-danged hurry, and maybe we ought to think this over for a while.

It reminded me of one of those ceremonies you read about in ancient histories. You know. There's this big procession, with everyone laughing and carrying on and having themselves a heck of a time, and up at the head of it is this fella that's going to get sacrificed to the gods. He knows he'll get his ass carved up with a meat axe as soon as they stop throwing roses at him, so he sure ain't in no hurry to get to the altar. He can't get out of the deal, but neither can he put his heart into it. And the more he protests, the more people laugh at him.

So…

So that's what it reminded me of. A fella getting sacrificed for something that just ain't worth it.

But I guess a lot of marriages strike me the same way. Everything for show and nothing for real. Everything for public and nothing for private.

And that night, after me and Myra were in bed-I guess a lot of marriages turn out like that, too. Bawling and accusations and mean talk: the woman taking it out on the man because he was too stupid to get away from her.

Or maybe I'm just kind of sour…

13

I got my horse and buggy out of the livery stable, and drove back to the courthouse. Myra was jumping on me, wanting to know what had took me so long, almost as soon as I was inside the door. And I said I'd had quite a time getting things straightened out with Amy.

"I don't see why," Myra said. "She seemed calm enough when she left here."

"Well, there's quite a few things you don't see," I said. "Like why you should keep Lennie in at night so we wouldn't have messes like this."

"Now, don't you start in on Lennie!"

"I tell you what I'd like to start," I said. "I'd like to start home with Rose, so maybe we could all get to bed sometime tonight."

Rose said yes, she really should be going, and she thanked Myra for the dinner and hugged her and kissed her good night. I went on downstairs ahead of her, before I got into another argument, and she came running down after a minute of two and got into the buggy.

"Ugh!" she said, scrubbing at her mouth. "Every time I kiss that old bitch I want to wash out my mouth."

"You ought to watch that cussing, Rose," I said. "It's liable to slip out sometime when you don't mean it to."

"Yeah, I guess I should, goddam it," she said. "It's Tom's fault, the dirty son-of-a-bitch, but I'm sure as hell going to do my best to stop it."

"That's my girl," I said. "I can see you ain't going to have no trouble."

We were outside of town by now, and Rose moved over in the seat to snuggle up against me. She kissed me on the back of my neck and she put a hand inside my pocket and sort of wiggled it around; and then she kind of moved away a little, and gave me a funny look.

"What's the matter, Nick?"

"What?" I said. "How's that, Rose?"

"I said, what's wrong with you?"

"Why, nothing," I said. "Course I'm kind of tired and wore out from all the excitement tonight, but there ain't nothing really wrong."

She stared at me, not saying anything. She turned around in the seat, facing straight ahead, and we rode in silence for a while. At last she spoke, in a voice so low I could hardly hear it, asking me a question. I went cold all over, and then I said, "For gosh's sake! What a thing to say! You know Amy Mason ain't that kind of woman, Rose! Everyone knows she ain't."

"What the hell you mean she's not that kind?" Rose snapped. "You mean she's too goddam good to go to bed with you, but I'm not?"

"I mean, I just ain't hardly acquainted with the woman!" I said. "I barely know her to tip my hat to."

"You were gone long enough tonight to get acquainted!"

"Aw, naw, I wasn't honey," I said. "It just seemed like a long time to you, like it did to me. You know. Because we were just waitin' to get together tonight, and it seemed like a heck of a long wait. Why, honey, I was just itchin' and achin' for you from the minute you showed up today."

"Well…" She moved over a little in the seat.

"Why, for gosh's sake," I said. "What for would I want with Amy Mason when I got you? Why, it just don't make sense, now does it? There just ain't no comparison between the two of you!"

Rose came all the way over in the seat. She leaned her head against my shoulder, and said she was sorry, but I had acted kind of strange, and it did make her so goddam mad the way some men were.

"That goddam Tom, for example! The son-of-a-bitch just wouldn't leave me alone until I gave in to him, and then he goes out and screws everything that can't outrun him!"

"Tsk, tsk," I said. "I just can't understand fellas like that."

Rose squeezed me and kissed me on the ear. She gave me a little nibble on the ear, and whispered to me. Talking about what-all she was going to do to me when we got to her house.

"Myra wants you to stay a while, and make sure I'm all right. Isn't that nice, mm? We can take our time, just you and me together for hours and hours. And, honey, we won't waste a minute of it!"

"Oh, boy," I said.

"It'll be like it never was before, darling!" She shivered against me. "Oh, honey, I'm going to be something special for you tonight!"

"Goll-ee," I said. "Goody, gosh-dang."

She went on whispering and shivering against me, saying that this was one night I'd never forget. I said I bet I wouldn't neither, and I meant every word of it. Because the way I was feeling, as hollow as a tree bark whistle and like my back was broken in six places, there wasn't going to be no party when we got to Rose's house. Which meant that she'd know she'd been right about Amy. Which also meant that she'd probably take that gun she'd got today and shoot me right through the offendin' part. And with a memento like that, I sure wouldn't forget the night.

I tried to think of some way of stalling her. I looked up at the sky, which was clouding over again for a rain, and I saw a streak or two of lightning, and I thought, well, maybe a bolt would strike me, coldcocking me for the night, so that Rose would excuse me. Then I thought, well, maybe the horse would run away and throw me into a bob-wire fence, and Rose would have to let me off then, too. Or maybe a water moccasin would climb up in the buggy and fang me. Or-

But nothing like that happened. A fella never gets lucky that way when he really needs to.

We reached the farm. I drove on into the barn, wondering how much it would handicap a fella having a hole where! was going to have one. It seemed to me it would mess him up pretty bad in the things he needed to do most, and I climbed down from the buggy, feeling mighty glum.

I helped Rose down, giving her a smack on the bottom by way of habit. Then, I bent down behind the splashboard to unhitch the singletree, and the horse was fidgeting and switching his tail and I was saying, "Sooo, boy, soo, now." And then I thought of an idea.

I gave the horse a goose and made him jump. I drove my shoulder against the splashboard, making a heck of a racket like the horse had kicked it. Then I jumped out in the clear again, groaning and clutching myself.

Rose came running up, clinging to me by one arm as I staggered around doubled over. "Oh, honey! Darling! Did that goddam nag kick you?"

"Right in the you-know-what," I groaned. "I never had nothin' hurt so bad in my life."

"Goddam him to hell, anyway! I'll get a pitchfork and gut the brindle bastard!"

"Naw, don't do nothin' like that," I said. "The horse didn't go to do it. Just help me get him hitched up again, so's I can get home."

"Home? You're not going anywhere in your condition," she said. "I'm taking you in the house, and don't you argue about it."

I said, but, looky, now, it wasn't necessary to go to all that trouble. "I'll just go home and lay down with some cold towels on it, and-"

"You'll lie down here, and we'll see about the towels after I see what the damage is. It might be you need something else."

"But, looky, looky here, now, honey," I said. "It's kind of private, a thing like that. It ain't hardly something a woman should deal with."

"Since when?" Rose said. "Now, come on and stop arguing with me. Just lean on me and we'll go real slow."

I did what she said. There just wasn't anything else I could do.

We got to the house. She helped me back into the bedroom, made me lay down on the bed and started taking off my clothes. I told her she didn't need to take them all off, because the pain was just in the part that my pants covered. She said it wasn't any trouble at all, and I could relax better if I was all undressed instead of partways, and to stop butting into her business.

I said that it was my business that got hurt, and she said, well, my business was her business, and right now she was running the store.

She leaned down over the place where I was hurt, or supposed to be hurt, turning the lamp this way and that so that she could make a proper inspection.

"Hmmm," she said. "I don't see any bruises, honey. No breaks in the skin."

I said, well, it sure hurt, that's all I knew. "Of course a fella don't have to get hit very hard in that area to make him hurt to beat heck."

She said, "Let's see, now, you tell me here it hurts. Does it hurt there, or here, or here…"

She was awful gentle, so gentle that it wouldn't have hurt me in any of the places even if I had been hurt. I told her that maybe she'd better be a little more firm about it so I could make sure of where the pain was. So she pushed and pressed a little harder, asking if it hurt there or here and so on. And I let out an "Ooh" or an "Aah" now and then. But what I was feeling wasn't pain.

It didn't matter any more about Amy; me being with her that night, I mean. I was as ready and rarin' as I'd ever been, and, of course, Rose wasn't long in noticing the fact.

"Hey, now!" she said. "Just what's going on here, mister?"

"What does it look like?" I said.

"It looks to me like a big business recovery."

"Well, god-dang, gee-whillikins!" I said. "And right after a severe blow to the economy! You reckon we ought to celebrate the occasion?"

"What the hell you think?" she said. "Just let me get these goddam clothes off!"

I snoozed a little while afterwards. No more than fifteen minutes, probably, because I'd rested quite a bit that day and wasn't really tired.

I came awake with Rose's hand biting into my arm, her voice a scary whisper. "Nick!, Nick, wake up! Someone's outside!"

"What?" I mumbled, starting to roll over on my side again. "Well, leave 'em out there. Sure don't want 'em in here."

"Nick! They're on the porch, Nick! What-who do you suppose it-"

"I don't hear nothin'," I said. "Maybe it's just the wind".

"No, it-listen! There it is again!"

I heard it then; faint, careful footsteps, like someone moving on tiptoe. And along with them, a dull draggy sound, as if something heavy was being dragged upon the stoop.

"N-Nick. What do you think we'd better do, Nick?"

I swung my legs off the bed, and said I'd get my gun and have a look. She started to nod, and then she put out her hand and stopped me.

"No, honey, it won't look right your being here this time of night. Not with the lights all off and your horse put away."

"But I'll just take a little peek out," I said. "I won't show myself to no one."

"You might have to. You just stay here and keep quiet, and I'll go."

She slid quietly out of bed, and trotted into the other room, making no more noise than a shadow. I was pretty nervy, naturally, wondering who or what was upon the porch and what it might have to do with me and Rose. But the way she was taking things, sort of keeping out in front and leaving me in the background, was a big comfort. I thought about Myra's idea of Rose as someone meek and mild and ready to jump at her own shadow, and I almost laughed out loud. Rose could whip her weight in bobcats if she took a notion. She'd maybe let Tom get the best of her, but that just wasn't no way a fair match.

I heard the click of the key in the outside door.

I sat up, kind of poised on the edge of the bed, ready to move if she called to me.

I waited, holding my breath for quiet. There was another click, as Rose unlatched the screen, and then a rusty squeak as she pushed it open. Then…

It was a small house, like I've said. But from where I was to where she was was still quite a piece-maybe thirty feet or more. Yet that far away, I heard it. The gasp; the scared-crazy sound of her breath sucking in.

And then she screamed. Screamed and cussed in a way I don't ever want to hear again.

"N-Nick! Nick! The son-of-a-bitch is back! That goddam Tom's back!"

14

I grabbed for my pants, but the legs were twisted and the way Rose was carrying on, I didn't have no time to fool with 'em. Pants weren't what I needed anyway, with that god-danged Tom back. So I snatched up my gun, which I sure as heck did need, and ran for the door.

I tripped over a chair in the kitchen, almost taking a header against the wall. I righted myself, and dashed out to the porch. Then, I saw how things were-and they sure weren't good, all right, but they were a lot better than I'd expected 'em to be.

It was Tom's body that was there, not Tom. It had been left on the porch, face up, with the shotgun placed at the side. The beard had grown out some, because hair does go on growing for a while on dead people. He was all covered over with mud, and the middle of his body was just a big gutsy hole. His eyes were wide open and staring. The meanness was gone from them, but the fear that had taken its place was worse. Whatever death looked like, it sure didn't look good to him.

All in all, you might say he wasn't a very pretty sight. Nothing that would take first prize in a bestlookin'-fella contest. Old man Death had painted Tom Hauck in his true colors, and it wasn't an even halfway flattering portrait.

I couldn't really blame Rose for carrying on like she was. Almost any woman would have done the same, if her husband had come home in the middle of the night looking like Tom did. Rose had a right to raise a ruckus, but it wasn't helping things, particularly helping me to think. Which I was obviously in need of doing and fast. So I got an arm around her and tried to calm her down.

"Easy, now, honey, easy. This don't look so good, but-"

"Goddam you, why didn't you kill him?" She tore away from me. "You told me you killed the son-of -a-bitch!"

"I did, baby. He sure don't look like no live man, now does he? He couldn't be no more dead if-"

"Then who brought him back here? What goddam dirty bastard did it? If I get my hands on the son-of-a-bitch-"

She broke off and whirled around wild.-eyed seeming to listen for something. I started to say I wanted to get my hands on the fella, too, because just why the heck had he done this anyway? Rose told me to shut my goddam mouth.

"Now, honey," I said. "That ain't no way to talk. We got to be calm and-"

"There!" she yelled, pointing. "There he is! That's the son-of-a-bitch that did it!"

She leaped off the porch and started running. Racing up the lane that led from the house to the road. Her naked white body faded into the darkness. I hesitated, wondering if I shouldn't at beast put my pants on, and then I thought what the heck, and I ran after her.

I couldn't see whatever Rose had seen. I couldn't hardly see nothing, it being so dark. But I did hear something-the squeak of wagon wheels and the soft plod-plod of horses' hooves on the muddy lane.

I kept running. Finally, the squeaking and the plodding stopped and I saw the white of Rose's body. Then, she was cussing and screaming again, ordering whoever it was to climb down off the wagon.

"Get down, you black bastard! Get down, goddam you! What the hell's the idea of bringing back that son-of-a-bitch of a husband of mine?"

"Miz Rose. Please, ma'am, Miz Rose. I-" It was the soft, frightened voice of a man.

"I'll show you, you son-of-a-bitch! I'll teach you! I'll peel your black ass right down to the bones!"

She was trying to tear loose a piece of harness strap when I ran up. I jerked her around, and she faced me wild-eyed, pointing shakily to the fella who stood at the side of the wagon.

It was Uncle John, the colored fella I mentioned earlier. He was standing with his hands half-raised, and in the darkness his frightened eyes seemed all whites. He kept them turned away, naturally, because a colored fella could get himself killed for looking at a naked white woman.

"H-He-he did it!" Rose began to bawl. "He brought the son-of-a-bitch back, Nick!"

"Well, now, I'm sure he didn't mean no harm by it," I said. "Howdy do, Uncle John. Nice evenin'."

"Thank you, Mistah Nick. I's feelin' to l'able thank you." His voice shook with fear. "Yes, suh, sho' is a fine evenin'."

"You son-of-a-bitch!" Rose yelled. "What'd you bring him back for? Why do you think we got rid of the dirty bastard, anyway?"

"Rose!" I said, "Rose! ", and Uncle John's eyes rolled in his head and he said, "Please, ma'am, Miz Rose," and it sounded like a prayer.

He'd already seen a lot, a heck of a lot more than it was healthy to see. He sure didn't want to hear anything to go with it. Rose slipped away from me again, opening her mouth for another yell, and Uncle John tried to stopper his ears with his fingers. But he knew it was no good. He heard, and he knew that I knew it.

"It's not fair, Nick, goddam it! You go to all the trouble of killing the son-of-a-bitch, and this bastard brings him back!"

I slapped her across the mouth. She whirled and came at me, hands clawed. I grabbed her by the hair, lifted her off the ground, and gave her a criss-cross slap, backwards and forwards.

"You get the idea?" I said, letting her back down on her feet. "Now, you shut up and get back to the house or I'll give you the worst beating you ever had in your life."

Her hand went slowly to her face. She looked down at herself, seeming to realize for the first time that she was naked. Shivering, she tried to cover up with her hands, shooting a scared look at Uncle John.

"N-Nick. What-what'll we-"

"Go on, do what I told you to." I gave her a push toward the house. "Me an' Uncle John will handle this."

"B-But-but why did he do it?"

"I got an idea about that, too," I said. "You run along, now, and everything will be fine."

She hesitated, then scampered back up the lane. I waited until I was sure she was really gone, and then I turned around to Uncle John.

I smiled at him, and he tried to smile back. But his teeth were chattering so bad that he couldn't.

"Now, don't be scared, Uncle John," I told him. "You got nothin' to fear from me. Ain't I always treated you right, now, ain't I? Ain't I always done the very best I could by you?"

"Yes, yes, suh Mistah Nick," he said eagerly, "an' I done right by you, suh, ain't I, Mistah Nick? Now, ain't that the truth, suh? Ain't I been a plumb good nigger for you?"

"Well, sir," I said, "I reckon I could call you that, all right."

"Yes, suh, Mistah Nick. Any of them bad niggers startin' trouble, I always comes an' tells you, suh. Any of 'em steal a chicken or shoot crap or get drunk or all 'em other things bad niggers do, I always comes right an' reports it to you, now don't I, suh?"

"Well, sir," I said. "I reckon you're right about that, too, and I ain't forgettin' it, Uncle John. But just what are you getting at anyways?"

He gulped and choked, swallowing a sob. "Mistah Nick, I won't say nothin' about-'bout what happen tonight. Hones', Mistah Nick, I won't say nothin' to no one. You just let me go an'-an'-"

"Why, sure I will," I said. "Ain't keeping you from leaving now, am I?"

"Y-You really means it, Mistah Nick? You really ain't mad at me none?! Can go home right now, an' just keep my big ol' mouth shut forevah an' evah?"

I told him that of course he could leave. But I'd feel a lot better if he first told me how he happened to be here with Tom Hauck's body.

"You don't do that, I might be kind of suspicious of you. I might figure you'd done something bad and was trying to hide it."

"No, suh, Mistah Nick! Doin' something bad was jus' what I didn't! I try to do good, an' then I get all mixed up, ol' foolish me an'-an'-oh, Mistah Nick!" He covered his face with his hands. "D-Don't be mad at me, suh. Uncle John, he don't know nothin' at all. He don't h-hear nothin' an' he don't see nothin', an'- an'-please don't kill me, Mistah Nick! Please don't kill ol' John."

I patted him on the back, letting him cry for a minute. Then I said I knew he hadn't done nothing wrong, so why would I want to do anything bad to him. But I'd sure be obliged if he told me just what had happened.

"Y-You-" He uncovered his face to look at me. "You really ain't gonna kill me, Mistah Nick? Honest?"

"God-dang it, you callin' me a liar?" I said. "Now, you just start talkin', and don't you tell me nothing but the truth."

He told me what had happened, why he had brought Tom Hauck's body back to his farm house.

It stacked up just about the way I thought it would.

He had come across the body early that evening while he was out hunting 'possum, and he'd started to come into town to tell me about it. Then, with so many varmints around, he figured it might be best to bring the body in with him. So he'd loaded it on his old spring wagon, along with the shotgun, and headed for town again.

He was about halfway there when it struck him that it might be a pretty bad idea to show up in town with the remains; in fact, it was a god-danged bad idea to be caught even in the same neighborhood with them. Because a lot of people might figure he had a first-class motive for killing Tom. After all, Tom had given him a hard beating and intended to beat him again if he got within grabbing range. He just couldn't lead a very happy life as long as Tom was around, so it wouldn't be any surprise at all if he killed him. Anyways, Uncle John being a colored fella, he wouldn't get the benefit of any doubts.

Tom Hauck was completely no good, and the community was well shet of him. But they'd still lynch Uncle John. It would sort of be their civic duty, the way they'd see it; part of the process of keeping the colored folks in hand.

Well, so poor old Uncle John had got himself in a pickle. He couldn't take Tom's body into town, or even be seen with it. And Tom being a white man, he couldn't bring himself to just dump the body off in a ditch somewhere. There was only one thing he could do, as he saw it; only one thing that would be acceptable to Tom's white ghost and the All-Knowing God that he had been taught to believe in. He'd just take the dead man back to his own home and leave him there.

"Now, don't that seem fittin', Mistah Nick? You see how I figgered, suh? I reckon now, it sho' wasn't the right thing to do, seem' as how Miz Rose carry on so bad, an'-"

"Well, now, don't you worry none about that at all," I said. "Miss Rose was just upset seeing her husband dead, and pretty ugly-dead, at that. It's probably goin' to take her quite a while to get over it, so maybe we'd better move the body somewheres else until then."

"But-b-but you say I could leave, Mistah Nick. You say I jus' tell you the truth, an'-"

"Yes, sir, that's what we'd better do," I said. "So just you hurry up, and turn your wagon back around."

He stood there, head bowed; his mouth working like he was trying to say something. There was a long roll of thunder, and then a jagged flash of lightning, lighting his face for a moment. And somehow I had to look the other way.

"You hear me, Uncle John?" I said. "You hear what I tell you to do?"

He hesitated, then sighed and climbed up on the wagon. "Yes, sub, I hear you, Mistah Nick."

We drove back to the house. It began to rain while we were loading Tom's body, and I told Uncle John to stand on the porch until I was dressed so that he wouldn't get no wetter than he had to.

"You're probably kind of hungry," I said. "You want I should bring you a cup of hot chicory? Maybe a little pone or somethin'?"

"I reckon not, thank you, suh." He shook his head. "Miz Rose probably got no fire this time o' night."

"Well, we'll just build one up," I said. "No trouble at all."

"Thank you, suh, I guess not, Mistah Nick. I-I ain't real hongry."

I went on in the house and dried off with a towel Rose gave me, and it sure felt good getting back into my clothes. She was pestering me with questions while I dressed: what were we going to do and what was I going to do, and so on. I asked her what she thought; did she reckon she'd ever feel safe with someone knowing what Uncle John knew.

"Well-" She wet her lips, her eyes turned away from mine. "We can give him some money, can't we? Both of us will. That should, uh, well, he wouldn't want to say anything then, would he?"

"He takes a drink now and then," I said. "No tellin' what a fella will do when he gets enough booze in him."

"But he-"

"And he's a very religious fella. Wouldn't be at all surprised if he figured he ought to pray for us."

"You can send him away somewhere," Rose said. "Put him on a train and send him up north."

"He can't talk up there? He wouldn't feel more free to do it away from us than he would here?"

I laughed and chucked her under the chin, asking her what she was so squeamish about. "Here I thought you was a real tough woman. It didn't bother you at all about what happened to Tom."

"Because I hated the son-of-a-bitch! It's not the same with Uncle John, a poor nigger man who was just trying to do the best he could!"

"Maybe Tom was doing the best he could, too. I wonder if we did any better."

"But-but, Nick! You, why you know what the bastard was like."

I said, yeah, I knew, but I'd never heard of anyone killing Tom's wife, and Tom sleeping before and after with the party that did it. Then, I laughed, cutting her off before she could butt in. "But this is different all right, honey," I said. "This you know about before it happens. It ain't something you learn about afterwards, so you can say, well, what can I do about it, and it ain't really my doin'."

"Nick-" She touched my arm, sort of frightened. "I'm sorry I lost my head tonight, honey. I guess I can't blame you for trying to hurt me."

"It ain't really that," I said. "I reckon I'm just kind of tired of doing things that everybody knows I'm doing, things they really want and expect me to do, and having to take all the blame for it."

She understood; she said she did, anyway. She put her arms around me and held me for a little while, and we talked a couple of minutes about what would have to be done. Then I left because I had a pretty full night's work ahead of me.

I had Uncle John drive up in the back country, about three miles behind the farm. We unloaded Tom's body there, in the edge of some trees, and Uncle John and I took such shelter as we could a few feet away.

He sat down at the base of a tree, his legs being too wobbly to hold him up any longer. I hunkered down a few feet away from him, and broke open the barrel of the shotgun. It looked fairly clean, clean enough to be safe, anyways. I blew through it a couple of times to make sure, and then I loaded it with the shells I'd taken from Tom's pockets.

Uncle John watched me, all the begging and praying in the world in his eyes. I relatched the barrel, and sighted along it, and he began to cry again. I frowned at him, feeling pretty fretted.

"Now, what you want to carry on like that for?" I said. "You knew what I was goin' to have to do right along."

"No, s-suh, I believe you, Mistah Nick. You different f'm other white folks. I believe every word you say."

"Well, now, I think you're lyin', Uncle John," I said, "an' I'm sorry to hear you. Because it's right in the Bible that lyin's a sin."

"It's a sin to kill folks, too, Mistah Nick. Worse sin than lyin'. Y-You-you-"

"I'll tell you somethin' Uncle John," I said. "I'll tell you something, and I hope it'll be a comfort to you. Each man kills the thing he loves."

"Y-You don't love me, Mistah Nick…"

I told him he was god-danged right about that, a thousand per cent right. What I loved was myself, and I was willing to do anything I god-dang had to to go on lying and cheating and drinking whiskey and screwing women and going to church on Sunday with all the other respectable people.

"I'll tell you something else," I said, "and it makes a shit-pot-ful more sense than most of the goddam scripture I've read. Better the blind man, Uncle John; better the blind man who pisses through a window than the prankster who leads him thereto. You know who the prankster is, Uncle John? Why, it's goddam near everybody, every son-of-a-bitch who turns his head when the crap flies, every bastard who sits on his dong with one thumb in his ass and the other in his mouth and hopes that nothing will happen to him, every whoremonger who thinks that piss will turn into lemonade, every mother-lover supposedly made in God's image, which makes me think I'd hate like hell to meet him on a dark night. Even you, particularly you, Uncle John; people who go around sniffing crap with their mouth open, and acting surprised as hell when someone kicks a turd in it. Yeah, you can't help bein' what you are, jus' a pore ol' black man. That's what you say, Uncle John, and do you know what I say? I say screw you. I say you can't help being what you are, and I can't help being what I am, and you goddam well know what I am and have to be. You goddam well know you've got no friends among the whites. You goddam well ought to know that you're not going to have any because you stink Uncle John, and you go around begging to get screwed and how the hell can anyone have a friend like that?"

I gave him both barrels of the shotgun.

It danged near cut him in two.

15

What I wanted things to look like was that Uncle John had shot Tom with his own gun and then Tom had got the gun away from him and shot Uncle John. Or vice versa. Anyways, when I got to thinking about it afterward, it seemed to me that people weren't going to see it that way at all. Which meant that they were apt to start looking for the real killer. And for a spell there, I was pretty worried. But I didn't need to be. As plumb crazy as it was, with Uncle John getting killed almost two days after Tom and with both of 'em obviously dying almost the instant they was shot, it turned out no one thought anything of it. They didn't wonder at all about how one dead man could've killed another.

Of course, both bodies were wet and muddied up, so you couldn't say offhand just when they'd died; and we just ain't equipped to do a lot of scientific examination and investigation here in Potts County. If things look a certain way, folks usually figure that's the way they are. And if they'd had a mind to kick up a fuss about anyone, it wouldn't be Tom Hauck or Uncle John.

The plain fact was that no one much gave a good god-dang about either one of 'em. It was a plain case of good riddance to bad rubbish as far as Tom was concerned; and who cared about one colored fella more or less, unless it was some other colored folks, and who cared if they did care?

But I guess I'm getting ahead of myself a little…

I dropped the shotgun between Tom and Uncle John. Then, leaving John's horse and wagon where they were, I plodded back across country to the Hauck farm.

It was pretty late by that time, or pretty early I should say. An hour or so short of dawn. I hitched up, without going to the house, and headed for town.

The livery stable door was open, the hostler snoring like a buzz saw up in the hayloft. A lantern stood burning in a tub of sand, casting a flickering light along the row of stalls. I put up the horse and buggy without hardly a sound, and the hostler went on snoring. And I went out into the dark again, the dark and the rain.

There wasn't no one on the street, of course. Even without the rain, no one would have been out at that hour. I got to the courthouse, took off my boots and sneaked upstairs to bed.

The dry-warm felt awful good after them wet clothes, and I guess I was plumb wore out. Because I went to sleep right away, instead of tossing around fifteen, twenty minutes like I usually do.

Then, just about the time my head touched the pillow it seemed like, Myra started yelling and shaking me.

"Nick! Nick Corey, you get up from there! My goodness, do you want to sleep all night and all day, too?"

"Why not?" I mumbled, hanging on to the pillows. "Sounds like a danged good idea."

"I said to get up! It's almost noon, and Rose is on the phone!"

I let her get me up, and I talked to Rose for a minute or two. I said I was sorry to hear that Tom wasn't home yet, and I'd probably get out and take a look around for him, even if I wasn't sure that the sun would stay out and it wouldn't start raining again.

"I'll prob'ly do it, Rose," I said, "so don't you worry none. I reckon I'll prob'ly start lookin' for him today, even if it does start raining again and I spoil my clothes like I did last night, not to mention catchin' an awful cold. Or if I don't get out today, I'll sure do it tomorrow."

I hung up the phone and turned around.

Myra was frowning at me, tight-mouthed and disgusted-looking. She pointed to the table and told me to sit down, for pity's sake.

"Just eat your breakfast and get out of here! Start doing your job, for a change!"

"Me?" I said. "I do my job all the time."

"You! You stupid silly spineless fool! You don't do anything!"

"Well, that's my job," I said. "Not doing nothing, I mean. That's why for people elect me."

She whirled around so fast her skirts spun, and went out into the kitchen. I sat down at the table. I looked at the clock and saw that it was almost twelve o'clock, practically dinner time, so I didn't eat much except some eggs and ham and grits and gravy and seven or eight biscuits, and a bitty bowl of peaches and cream.

I was having a third cup of coffee when Myra came back in. She began to snatch up the dishes, muttering to herself, and I asked her if they was something the matter.

"If they is," I said, "you just tell me all about it, because two heads is better than one."

"You miserable-! Aren't you ever going to get out of here?" she yelled. "Why are you still sitting at the table?"

"Why, I'm drinking this here coffee," I said. "You look real close an' you can see that I am."

"Well-well, take it with you! Drink it somewhere else!"

"You mean you want me to leave the table?" I said.

"Yes! Now, go on and do it, for pity's sake!"

I said I plumb liked to be obliging, but if she studied it over she'd see it didn't make much sense for me to leave the table. "I mean, it's almost time for dinner," I said. "You'll be bringin' it in any minute now, so why for should I leave when I can set right here an' be all ready to start eatin'?"

"Y-You!" Her teeth gritted together. "You get out of here! "

"Without no dinner?" I said. "You mean I got to work all afternoon on an empty stomach?"

"But you just got-" She choked up, and sagged down into a chair.

I said that was fine, she should set down and rest herself up a little, and it didn't matter at all if dinner was maybe a minute or two late. And she said-

I don't know what she said. We just went on talking back and forth for a while, neither of us really listening to the other. Which didn't bother her any, since she never paid any attention to me anyhow, and to tell the truth I never actually paid a lot of attention to her, anyhow. Anyways, I couldn't have done it today even if I'd wanted to, because I was too worried about what would happen when Tom and Uncle John were found dead.

That's why I'd been pestering Myra, I guess. I didn't want to get out and face up to whatever was going to happen, so I'd start gigging at her. That was kind of a habit with me, I reckon, taking it out on her when I felt bad or bothered. More of a habit than I maybe realized.

"Where at is Lennie?" I said, picking up the conversation again. "He don't hurry up he'll be late for dinner!"

"He's had his dinner! I mean, I fixed him a lunch before he left!"

"You mean he's outside when maybe the sun will stop shining pretty soon and it'll start raining to beat heck, and he'll probably spoil his clothes and get himself an awful cold?" I said. "Now, that ain't takin' very good care of your brother, honey."

Myra's face began to swell, kind of like she was blowing out her cheeks. She stared at me, her eyes popping, and god-dang if she didn't sort of tremble all over.

"Why for did Lennie go out in the daytime, anyways?" I said. "He can't peek in no windows when it's light."

"You!" Myra said, pushing herself up from the chair. "Y-You-" She pointed toward the door, her hand shaking like a leaf. "You get out of here, you hear me? GET OUT OF HERE!"

"You mean, you want me to leave?" I said. "Well, you should've said so sooner. Maybe given me a little hint."

I put on my hat, and told her to be sure and call me when dinner was ready. She made a wild grab for the sugar bowl, and I got on down the stairs pretty fast.

I sat down in my office. I tilted my hat over my eyes, and put my boots up on the desk. It looked to me like it was a good time to take a little nap, because people still weren't getting around much on account of the mud. But this was one day I just couldn't keep my eyes closed.

Finally, I stopped trying. There just wasn't much point to it with me so scared-worried. I figured the best thing I could do was to get things over with; get some fellas together and start the hunt for Tom. Then, whatever happened, I'd know what it was, at least, and I wouldn't have to fret myself anymore.

I got up and started for the door. The phone rang, and I went back to answer it. And just as I did, Lennie came busting in.

He was waving his arms, burbling and spitting all-the-heck over everything with excitement.

I waved him to simmer down, and spoke into the phone. "Just a minute, Robert Lee. Lennie just came in, and it looks like he wants to tell me somethin'."

"Never mind. I know what he wants to tell you," Robert Lee Jefferson said, and he told me what it was. "Now, you better get right down here and take charge."

I said I'd do that, and I did.

It was Henry Clay Fanning, a farmer who lived a couple miles south of the Hauck place, who'd found the bodies. He'd been out cutting cordwood at the time, and he'd just pitched 'em up on top of his load and brought 'em on into town.

"Didn't waste a minute," he said proudly, spitting snuff into the mud. "You reckon the county'll sort of take care o' me for my trouble?"

"Well, I'm not real sure they will, Henry Clay," I said, noticing how Uncle John's head was crushed between the wood and the wagon bed. "After all, you was comin' to town anyways."

"But what about that nigger?" he said. "A white man ought to get some kind of ree-ward for handlin' a nigger."

"Well, maybe you will," I said. "If not in this world, the next one."

He went on arguing about it. Some of the people in the crowd picked up the argument, debating it back and forth between themselves. They were about evenly divided on the subject, one group claiming that Henry Clay was entitled to a reward, and the other saying that a white that was fool enough to bother with a nigger didn't deserve nothing but an ass-kicking.

I grabbed hold of a couple of colored fellas, and told 'em to carry Uncle John's body back to his folks. And they kind of dragged their feet, but of course they did it. Then, me and Robert Lee and one of his clerks carried Tom into Taylor's Emporium, Furniture and Undertaking.

I told Robert Lee I'd kind of like his opinion on things, and he turned on me, looking sickish. "Can't you at least let me wash my hands?" he snapped. "Are you in such an all-fired hurry I can't even do that?"

"Not me," I said. "I ain't in no more hurry than ol' Tom is, and I sure don't see him bein' in one, do you, Robert Lee? Kind of hard to tell which is the biggest, ol' Tom or the hole in him!"

We all washed up in the rear of the Emporium, Robert Lee looking awful pale and sickish. Then his clerk went on back to the hardware store, me an' Robert Lee following him maybe ten minutes later. We couldn't make it any sooner than that, because Robert Lee had to make himself another quick trip and a long visit to the wash-sink.