A finer-fibred man could hardly have resisted the 348 agonized face of Thomas Smith. A cowardly nature would have feared the anger back of it.
“It was gettin’ late and pretty cloudy still, and nobody by, an’ I staid round, an’ staid round, when just at the right place the bank broke away and I see the body of a man—just the skeleton mainly, right where you didn’t commit your pretended suicide. Somebody committed it there for you evidently. There was only a few marks of identification, a big set ring with a jagged break in the set that swiped too swift acrost a man’s face might leave a ugly scar for life, and if the fellow tried too hard to drown hisself he might wrench a man’s right arm so out o’ plum he couldn’t never do much signin’ his name again. I disposed of the remains decent as I could, for Doc Carey was leisurely coming down National pike from Jane Aydelot’s, an’ it was gettin’ late, an’ no cheerful plate nor job in a crowd in sunshiny weather, let alone there in the dusk of the evening. Wow! I dreamt of that there gruesome thing two weeks. I throwed the shovel in the crick. Would you like me to show you where to go to dig, so’s you can be sure your plan with Tank Shirley worked and you didn’t drown, after all? And are you sure you ain’t been misrepresenting things to me a little as agent for Tank Shirley? Are you right sure you ain’t Tank Shirley himself? I’ve kep’ still for four years, not to save you nor myself, but to keep Leigh Shirley’s name from bein’ dragged into court ’longside a name like yours or mine. I never misuse the women, no matter how tricky I am with men.”
Then, as an afterthought, Champers added:
“It’s so danged hot this afternoon I can’t get over to Grass River; and I got word to meet Jacobs over at the 349 Little Wolf Ranch later, so I think I’ll take the crooked trail up to that place; it’s a lot the coolest road, and I’ll wait till the sun’s most down. I guess that three thousand dollar mortgage can wait over a day now, less you feel too cramped.”
Thomas Smith rose from his chair. His face was ashy and his small black eyes burned with a wicked fire. He gave one long, steady look into Champers’ face and slipped from the rear door like a shadow.
Darley Champers knew he had won the day, and no sense of personal danger had ever troubled him. He settled back in his chair, drew a long sigh of relief, and soon snored comfortably through his afternoon’s nap.
When he awoke it was quite dark, for the storm cloud covered the sky and the hot breath from the west was like the air from a furnace mouth.
“It’s not late, but it’s danged hot. I wonder why that Jew wanted me to meet him over there. Couldn’t he have come here? I’m wet with sweat now. How’ll I be by the time I get out to that ranch?” Champers stretched his limbs and mopped his hot neck with his handkerchief. “I reckon I’d better go, though. Jacobs always knows why he wants a thing. And he’s the finest man ever came out of Jewey. With him in town and Asher Aydelot on a farm, no city nor rural communities could be more blessed.”
Then he remembered Thomas Smith and a cold shiver seized his big, perspiring body.
“I wonder why I dread to go,” he said, half aloud. “The creek trail will be cool, but, golly, I’m danged cold right now.”