Ma Chester wagged her head. “Joe ain’t come,” she said. “It ain’t like Joe to say one thing an’ do another.”
Dillon made to move on. “Maybe he’s busy,” he said. That decided him, he’d go soon. He told himself he might even go that night. He went on, leaving her with her work. He didn’t look back.
It was decided for him not to go that night. On a telegraph pole, several miles from the farm, he saw a notice. It carried his photograph. He stood there, his mouth going dry, reading the notice. They offered five thousand dollars for him dead or alive.
A faint feeling of panic crept into him as he read. Here in the wilderness of hills was a picture, calling attention to himself. Anyone he met might recognize him. Anyone who suspected him could bring the Federal agents in their airplanes or their cars to seize him. He turned hastily and almost ran back to the farm.
He spent the rest of the day in his room, sitting by the window, watching. His nerves got so bad that the slightest noise made him stiffen.
He began to brood about Roxy. He couldn’t bring himself to think that Roxy was dead. It would have seemed quite natural if Roxy had opened the door and come in. There was no one to grumble at, and he suddenly realized that there was no one to play cards with. That was serious. He had the long hours of the night before him with nothing to do, and sleep far off.
Well, Roxy had asked for it, he thought savagely. That guy had certainly narrow ideas. This brought his mind back to Chrissie again. He leant against the wall and thought about her. What went through his mind made him restless. He got to his feet and paced the room. He was nervous of going out in case he ran into her, and she raised a squawk. Maybe the old woman would get mad. He couldn’t afford at the moment to have trouble with her.
He remained shut in his room until after sundown. Then, guessing that Chrissie had gone to bed, he went outside.
Ma Chester was dishing up the evening meal. She shot him a hard look.
“What’s up with Chrissie?” she asked.