Nella-Rose don't talk much
when she's hurt, but she don't forget. I tell yo', young feller, bein' a
sheriff in this settlement ain't no joke. Yo' know folks too well and
see the rights and wrongs more'n is good for plain justice."
"Well?" Jim rose and stretched himself, "yo' won't go on the b'ar hunt
ter-morrer?"
"No, Jim, but I'll walk part of the way with you. When do you start?"
"'Bout two o' the mornin'."
"Then I'll turn in. Good-night, old man! You've given me a great
evening. I feel as if I were suddenly projected into a crowd with human
problems smashing into each other for all they're worth. You cannot
escape, old man; that's the truth. You cannot escape. Life is life no
matter where you find it."
"Now don't git ter talkin' perlite to me," Jim warned. "Old Doc
McPherson's orders was agin perlite conversation. Get a scrabble on yer!
I'll knock yer up 'bout two or thereabouts."
Outside, Truedale stood still and looked at the beauty of the night. The
moon was full and flooded the open space with a radiance which
contrasted sharply with the black shadows and the outlines of the near
and distant peaks.
The silence was so intense that the ear, straining for sound, ached from
the effort. And just then a bewitched hen in White's shed gave a weird
cry and Truedale started. He smiled grimly and thought of the little
no-count and the tragedy of the white bantam.
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