“You was kind o’ sweet on him, sis,” he said presently. “That’s why I tried to help him some. I kind o’ like him, too. I feel sort o’ queer Jim’s goin’ to get hanged––hanged, sis, at dawn.” He paused, but beyond the racking sobs that shook the woman’s frame she made no movement. “I sure feel queer about it, tho’. Y’see he came right up when Will had nigh kicked the life out o’ me, an’ he hit Will a smash that knocked him cold. Gee, it was a smash! Jim hurt Will bad, an’ it was for me. Say, that’s why I feel queer they’re goin’ to––hang him at dawn. Somehow, it don’t seem good stretchin’ Jim’s neck. I don’t seem to feel I’d like to see Jim hurted. Must be because he hurted Will fer me. Will ’ud ’a’ killed me, sure, but fer Jim.”
His words had become a sort of soliloquy. He had forgotten his sister for the moment. But now, as she looked up, he remembered.
“You tried to––to save him?” she demanded. “You told them what Will was doing? You told them how––how it all happened?”
The boy shook his head, and again his eyes lit with malice.
“I ain’t been inside the saloon. I––I was scared. 375 Y’see Will wasn’t killed by the blow Jim give him. Guess that on’y jest knocked him out. Y’see he was killed with Jim’s knife––after. Y’see Jim’s a fule. After he’d hit him he fixed his face up with his han’k’chiefs, an’ after he was good an’ dead he went fer to leave his knife stickin’ in his chest. That’s wher’ I helped him some. I took that knife out––an’ them rags. Here they are, right here.”
He suddenly produced the blood-stained knife and the handkerchiefs, and held them out toward her. But the woman shrank away from them.
“I guessed if I took ’em right away no one ’ud know how he come by his death, an’ who did it. Y’see Jim had helped me some.”
But Eve was not heeding the explanation.
“Then he did––kill him?” Her question was a low, horrified whisper.
“Ye––es.”