Papa wouldn't take time to look. Stray emptied another handful of shells out of his pocket and spread them on the floor, but before I could decide which one to beg for, Papa called Stray to come over to the other side of the store and talk to him and Ned and Black Idd.
"Come on, Stray. Com'ere. We've gotta straighten out just what happened in that cornfield Sunday evening before the sheriff and Mister Hawk and all of them get here. It'll be too late then."
While Shoogie and I were standing all the shells up straight along a crack in the floor, Papa kept on telling Stray not to be scared and that everything was going to be all right.
And Black Idd told Stray not to be afraid of Papa. I noticed Papa was talking to Stray the very same way he talked to me any time he wanted me to be good and not bad.
"I don't aim to scold you a-tall, Stray. Just tell me how come you to shoot Ned's gun."
"I ain't teched the trigger, Mister Jodie. Pa Ned draps his gun and hit goes off. I just picks hit up off'n the ground."
"The Lawd be praised! Hear that, Mister Jodie? The chile didn't kill him! The boy didn't do hit, Mister Jodie! O Lawd God, is I glad!"
"I'm glad too, Ned. But I don't know how many folks will believe your gun went off accidentally and killed Ward. I declare, I don't know what to tell you. It would take the wisdom of Solomon to straighten the tangle we're fixing to have here in a few minutes—if I don't think of something quick!"
"Pa Ned, I wants to tell Mister Jodie somethin'. Mister Jodie, I— Mister Jodie, when we was— Uh, I gets me a new shell, Mister Jodie, when I see'd—"
Black Idd leaned over and tapped his cane against Stray's back. "Son, this ain't no time for talkin' shells to Mister Jodie. He worried. Mister Jodie, I hears 'em comin'!"