“I’ll ride in and see Steven,” he said. “It’s got to be done, and it’s no work for him!”
When he reached the Cross-roads there were already two or three early arrivals lounging on the store-porch and wondering why the doors were not opened.
The first man who saw him, opened upon him the usual course of elephantine witticisms.
“Look a yere, Tom,” he drawled, “this ain’t a-gwine to do. You a-gittin’ up ’fore daybreak like the rest of us folks and ridin’ off Goddlemighty knows whar. It ain’t a-gwine to do now. Whar air ye from?”
But as he rode up and dismounted at the porch, each saw that something unusual had happened. He tied his horse and came up the steps in silence.
“Boys,” he said, when he stood among them, “I want Steven. I’ve been out to the Hollow, and there’s a job for him there. The—the woman’s dead.”
“Dead!” they echoed, drawing nearer to him in their excitement. “When, Tom?”
“Last night. Mornin’s out there. There’s a child.”
“Thunder ‘n’ molasses!” ejaculated the only family man of the group, reflectively. “Thunder ‘n’ molasses!” And then he began to edge away, still with a reflective air, towards his mule.
“Boys,” he explained, “there’d ought to be some women folks around. I’m gwine for Minty, and she’ll start the rest on ’em. Women folks is what’s needed. They kin kinder organize things whar thar’s trouble.”