“Died?” said the woman. “Dead—he’s ...” she caught back the word. “Seems like I bin sayin’ that a lot o’ times,” she said. “I remember now—he’s dead, an’ how he was—killed.”
The two men behind the screen exchanged swift glances, and the sergeant busied himself with the pencil. And Mrs. Dan knew what they were doing, and she thought of Steve, and how her husband believed his guilt even against his own wishes, and she could hardly bring her tongue to frame the questions that would bring the guilt home to the man who had been a friend to her and hers, or declare him innocent and free.
“You saw it done?” she said at last. “Can you tell me who did it?”
The woman slowly turned her eyes—the strength to turn her head was gone from her, even as the strength to speak was going like running water.
“You sure I’m goin’?” she asked, and again Mrs. Dan said “Yes.” “No mistake—no hope,” persisted the woman, and Mrs. Dan shook her head. “Please tell me if you can,” she said, “before it is too late. You haven’t long now, and you may lift the guilt from an innocent man.”
“I’m glad o’ that,” said the woman, “for I’m goin’ where I s’pose I’ll pay for it. I killed him myself.”
The horror of the thing gripped the trooper’s wife like a hand on her throat, shutting off her speech. Then she thought of Steve, and joy lifted the hand. “You did it yourself?” she repeated clearly, so that behind the screen there could be no mistake.
“Yes,” said the woman. “Gi’ me another sip from that bottle, an’ I’ll tell you.” Mrs. Dan gave her the sip—and wiped her lips.
“I heard him comin’ that night,” said the woman, speaking clearly, but with gasping efforts. “I went to let him in—an’ I gave him the rough o’ my tongue. He spoke back—an’ said he could go’n find another woman—who’d speak decent to ’im. It made me mad—an’ the child comin’ an’ all. I picked up the broom beside the door an’ hit ’im an’ knocked ’is ’at off, an’ hit ’im again.... He fell off the steps, an’ when I went to pick ’im up, his head lolled, limp an’ slack-like, same as I’ve seen a rabbit’s when its neck was broke.... His neck was broke, wasn’t it?”
“Yes,” said Mrs. Dan, mechanically, “his neck was broke.”