He had been shot through the liver, which pleased him a lot as bein’ so in keepin’ with his name; but we couldn’t see why a feller who had survived bein’ shot in so many other places, should have to give in on account of an extra hole in his liver. Horace divided his time between waitin’ on The and spurrin’ up the doctor to try some new treatment. He read aloud to The out o’ Ty’s books, and he seemed as fond o’ those old Greek fellers as Horace was himself. He was also mighty pleased to have the Friar read and talk to him, and it softened us all a lot to see how patient and gentle Promotheus had become. Humanity is about the finest thing the’ is about a human; and all humans have a showin’ growth of it, if ya can just scratch the weeds away and give it a chance.
The prisoners bothered us a heap; we feared they might have some leanin’s toward revenge; so we didn’t dare turn ’em loose until they showed some decided symptoms of repentance. Finally we got to bringin’ ’em up two at a time to talk with The. At first it didn’t do any good, as Ty sat propped up in a bunk, grinnin’ scornful, while The lay flat on his back lookin’ mighty weak and wan; but after several trials at it, they seemed to pay more heed to what The told ’em. We figured that Ty must have ten or a dozen men still out on the range somewhere; but they never showed up.
In about two weeks, or it might ’a’ been three, all the wounded were able to walk about except Promotheus, Ty Jones, and Oscar. Oscar was doin’ fine; but the noise of the other men bothered The a little at night, though he denied it up and down. Still, we thought best to move him and Ty to a couple o’ cots at the east end of the mess-hall, which was large and airy, with a big fireplace for cool nights. By this time Janet was able to take short walks, leanin’ on the Friar’s arm; but the Friar hadn’t come any closer to findin’ out what it was she had lost, nor whether or not she was Ty’s wife. The only reply Ty ever made to questions, was to skin back his lips in a wolf-grin.
The used to lay with his eyes fixed on Ty’s face and a look of hopeless sadness in his own. When we’d come and talk to him, his face would light up; but as soon as we left him, he would look at Ty again with a sorrow that fair wrung a feller’s heart. I wanted to separate ’em; but when I suggested this to The, he shook his head. “Nope,” he said, “he may speak to me before the vultures finish with my liver; and if ever the mood crosses his mind for a second, I want to be so handy ’at he won’t have time to change his mind.”
I told The ’at what was worryin’ the Friar most was that all the fightin’ had been on his account; but that next to this, it was because he didn’t know whether or not Ty was married to Janet.
That evenin’ just when the thinky time o’ twilight came along, I was settin’ by the fire in the mess-hall, where I could see Ty, and his face didn’t have quite so much the eagle look to it as common. The’s eyes rested on Ty’s face most o’ the time, and he, too, noticed it bein’ a little less fierce than usual.
“Ty,” he said in a low tone, “I was drove into turnin’ again’ ya. Not by force, ya understand, nor by fear; but by something which has crept into me durin’ the last few years, and which I can’t understand, myself. Horace and the Friar have been mighty good to me—they saved my life, ya know, after I had forfeited it by raidin’ ’em durin’ the night. I told ’em I wouldn’t be a spy on you about anything else except the woman. You haven’t much excuse to bear me any ill will, seein’ as it was your own hand which shot the move-on order into me. I’m goin’ to slip out yonder before long; but the’s no knowin’ how long you’ll have to sit penned up in a chair.”
The’s voice gave out here, and he stopped a few minutes to cough. Ty’s face hadn’t changed, and his eyes looked out through the south window to where the western sky was still lighted into glory by the rays o’ the sun, which had already sunk.
“I’ve been locked up in a stone prison, Ty,” said Promotheus as soon as he had quieted down again; “and I want to tell you that the minutes drag over ya like a spike-tooth harrow, when you haven’t nothin’ to look at but four gray walls and the pictures on your memory. A feller feeds himself on bitter recollections in order to keep his hate lusty; but all this pilin’ up o’ hate is just one parchin’ hot day after another—like we’ve had this summer. Everything green and pleasant in a feller’s nature is burned down to the roots, and in tryin’ to hate all the world, he ends by hatin’ himself worst of all. Every kindly deed he’s done seems like a soothin’ shower, and counts a lot in keepin’ him from fallin’ down below the level o’ snakes and coyotes.
“I’m not preachin’ at ya, I’m tellin’ you just what I know to be so from actual experience. I don’t bear you no ill will, Ty, whether you tell me what I want to know, or not; but you have it in your power to give me more content than airy other man in all the world. Are you married to the woman, Ty?”