McCullough simply shook his head and stood blocking the doorway.
Watts glanced around at the other men again. One of them shrugged self-consciously and turned away, and after a moment the others trailed after.
"All right," Watts growled. He shook his fist under McCullough's nose. "All right, John McCullough, I'll remember this, and I'll be back. Native-lover!" He spat on the step and went off after the others.
McCullough watched them go, uneasy under his surface stolidity. He liked to be on good terms with his neighbors, not enough to give in to them on anything he felt strongly about, but he knew this would be held against him, and it worried him, more for the sake of Mary and the kids than for himself.
He sensed his wife standing behind him.
"What did they want?" she asked.
He told her.
"But, John, why? Haven't we had enough trouble today? Do you have to get in a fight with your neighbors over a stupid native? What difference does it make to you?"
McCullough shook his head helplessly. "I don't know. I just don't like the idea, that's all."
His wife stared wordlessly at him for a moment. She went into the kitchen and sat down at the table and began crying again. The children ran to her and began whimpering also. McCullough prowled restlessly about the living-room, stooping now and then to peer out the windows as men shouted and ran by. The native lay silent on the cot, unmoving except for his eyes which followed McCullough.