“No, no! I couldn’t stop him! He’s gone down the brook. Oh, Lord, he’ll see it, and I’m done for! He’s a-goin right for it.”
She broke out, “Here!” and thrust the rifle into his hand. “Now is your chance! It’s a heap of money. Go! go! You are ruined, anyway. Ruined! He’ll see it. He’ll see it, sure. Make it safe. Quick!”
The man stood still. “I can’t! I just can’t!” He was shaking as with ague.
“Coward! Fool! Give it to me.” And she tore the rifle from his hand.
“Susie! Susie! It’s murder.”
He caught her arm, and her gown, which tore in his grasp. She thrust him aside with a blow of her open hand on the chest. He fell over a chair, and got up, limping, unsteady, in extreme pain from his hurt foot. She was gone.
“I will kill you if you follow me,” he heard, as she passed the open window.
He believed her. He was afraid. He went to the door, limped back, and, falling into a chair, stuffed fingers into his ears, while sweat of terror ran down his cheeks. A moment passed, then another, and, despite his childlike precaution, he heard his rifle ring through the forest stillness, and upon this he burst into tears, and cried aloud, “Oh, Lord, oh, Lord God!”
As he spoke, he rose up, and stood in agony of expectation. The woman came in.
“Where’s your powder and ball?”