“Life insured?” he asked.
“You will be my life insurance.”
She took him by surprise; his features actually changed for an instant. “Me?” he said.
“When you are sheriff,” she said.
“I’m fifty. By mindin’ my business I got twenty-odd year to live.”
“He was your friend,” she said.
There was a long silence while she watched his face, and he, looking over the top of her head, stared at the field and woodland stretching to the horizon.
“He was my friend,” said Jared Whitefield.
“Then you will?”
“Can’t be done. Fownes has the say.”