“I—done—it,” he whispered.
“You did,” Ward repeated clearly. “All right. That’s the stuff, Sanders, tell it straight. Now just tell the whole thing—why you did it and how you did it and all the rest of it. You’ll feel better then, maybe. Come on, spill it all.”
Snake boggled over the start; but with a little more brisk urging by Ward, whose manner was as matter-of-fact as if the crime were nothing more serious than fishing out of season, he began a hang-dog recital. Ward, reaching into an inner pocket, quietly stepped behind Douglas. The latter felt a note-book being pressed against his back, followed by the quiver of a rapidly moving pencil. Unseen by Snake, whose eyes rested on the floor, the whole story was being recorded.
Shorn of twists and turns and blundering attempts to show justification for the attack on the Bumps, the confession corroborated the tale told by Steve that afternoon in Uncle Eb’s kitchen. Snake asserted that the Bump crowd had cheated him in a berry-picking deal, stolen some of his “pick” outright, assaulted him when he demanded his due; all of which perhaps was true. He denied having plied Steve with liquor in order to make him a scapegoat, but admitted having deserted him after the commission of the crime. And, so far as the crime itself was concerned, he cleared Steve absolutely.
When his stumbling narrative was concluded, Ward gave him no rest. Whether or not confession be good for the soul, man-hunters know that it is good for the ends of justice to keep a criminal talking when once he has started. Wherefore he briskly asserted: “That’s good, Sanders, that’s fine. Now tell us what happened to Nat Oaks. You were with him. Come on, open up.”
“I—I—I dunno. I warn’t into this house with him. Honest to Gawd!”
“Not in the house? Outside, though. Sure. Out in the yard, now? You saw him come out, anyway. What did he do?”
Snake wriggled; glanced around; licked his lips again; looked cornerwise into Ward’s eyes.
“Wal—uh—I tell ye. Nat, he was crazy drunk. He come down here to—to git Hampton. He was p’ison mad ’bout them dawgs that Hampton kilt. I come with him—I was tryin’ to git him to go home—I didn’t want no——”
“Never mind that stuff. What did he do?”