The old man went down the dirtpath slowly, almost reluctantly, with his head twisted up side wise, listening, watching; but the constable sensed nothing strange about the other's gait and posture; the constable was full of the news he brought. He began to unload the burden of it without preamble.
“Mornin', Squire Gathers. There's been a dead man found in Little Niggerwool—and you're wanted.”
He did not notice that the squire was holding on with both hands to the gate; but he did notice that the squire had a sick look out of his eyes and a dead, pasty color in his face; and he noticed—but attached no meaning to it—that when the squire spoke his voice seemed flat and hollow.
“Wanted—fur—whut?” The squire forced the words out of his throat, pumped them out fairly.
“Why, to hold the inquest,” explained the constable. “The coroner's sick abed, and he said you bein' the nearest jestice of the peace you should serve.”
“Oh,” said the squire with more ease. “Well, where is it—the body?”
“They taken it to Bristow's place and put it in his stable for the present. They brought it out over on that side and his place was the nearest. If you'll hop in here with me, squire, I'll ride you right over there now. There's enough men already gathered to make up a jury, I reckin.”
“I—I ain't well,” demurred the squire. “I've been sleepin' porely these last few nights. It's the heat,” he added quickly.
“Well, suh, you don't look very brash, and that's a fact,” said the constable; “but this here job ain't goin' to keep you long. You see it's in such shape—the body is—that there ain't no way of makin' out who the feller was nor whut killed him. There ain't nobody reported missin' in this county as we know of, either; so I jedge a verdict of a unknown person dead from unknown causes would be about the correct thing. And we kin git it all over mighty quick and put him underground right away, suh—if you'll go along now.”
“I'll go,” agreed the squire, almost quivering in his newborn eagerness. “I'll go right now.” He did not wait to get his coat or to notify his wife of the errand that was taking him. In his shirtsleeves he climbed into the buggy, and the constable turned his horse and clucked him into a trot. And now the squire asked the question that knocked at his lips demanding to be asked—the question the answer to which he yearned for and yet dreaded.