"Is he dead then?" asked Kit.
"Who's tellin this tale?—you or me?"
He put down his glass.
"That there's a genelman."
His eyes were down, and his hands upon his knees. He began to tell the story over in his own mind, but only here and there his tongue took fire and flashed a light upon the tale for the outsider to read by.
"Drew em off o me…. I couldn't tell you…. Cursin em and killin em…. Down on his knees, aside o me…. Give me his arm same as I might ha been a lady….
"So we goes back to the cottage, me no better nor dead meat on his arm…. I can't tell you…. I don't know…. I'll never forget it."
He drew the back of his hand across his eyes.
"They kep doggin on him—unduds on em…. Sich faces on em…. Ow, my God!—I sees em now." He shivered and glanced behind him. "And he talkin back at em, easy as you please, chaffin em like…. Seem they dursn't go for to touch him…. Round to the back door…. Old Piper."
Parson and boy were hanging over him.