“There,” said a man.
“Carry him here,” she ordered, and it was done.
Wrapped in blankets, the thing that had been Sheriff Churchill was laid on the sidewalk at Abner Fownes’s feet.
“Uncover his face. Let this man look at him,” Carmel said. “Make him look.... Make him look....”
Fownes covered his face, staggered back. “No.... No.... Take—take it away.”
“Uncover his face,” said Carmel. “Take this man’s hands from his eyes.... Make him look....”
They obeyed. Fownes stood quivering, eyes tightly shut.
“Look,” said Carmel. “Look!”
She overmastered him. He opened his eyes and looked at the dreadful sight. He stared, bent forward. His hands stretched out, clawlike, as he stared at the horror. Then he threw back his head and laughed, and the laughter ended in a shriek.... He swayed, half turned, and fell back into the arms of the men of Gibeon....
Jared Whitefield forced his way to Fownes’s side. “I will take charge of him,” he said. “Will some one take care of this girl.... She hain’t herself.... Take her back to Doc Stewart’s....”