The memory, no doubt,
was haunting and ghastly.
"Cordts seemed to think his word was guarantee of his good faith. He said he'd
send an Indian in here to find out if he can come to the races. I reckon,
Bostil, thet it wouldn't hurt none to let him come. An' hold your gun hand fer
the time he swears he'll be honest. Queer deal, ain't it, men? A hoss-thief
turnin' honest jest to see a race! Beats me! Bostil, it's a cheap way to get
at least a little honesty from Cordts. An' refusin' might rile him bad. When
all's said Cordts ain't as bad as he could be."
"I'll let him come," replied Bostil, breathing deep. "But it'll be hard to see
him, rememberin' how he's robbed me, an' what he's threatened. An' I ain't
lettin' him come to bribe a few weeks' decency from him. I'm doin' it for only
one reason. . . . Because I know how he loves the King--how he wants to see
the King run away from the field thet day! Thet's why!"
There was a moment of silence, during which all turned to Creech. He was a
stalwart man, no longer young, with a lined face, deep-set, troubled eyes, and
white, thin beard.
Pages:
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67
68