Sherwood awoke again shortly after dawn, hungry, clear of eye and as sane as you please. He drank fresh milk, a bottle of which Jim had brought in last night. He recognized Jim and of course he knew Noel Sabattis. He thanked them for all the trouble they were taking for him and said that he wasn’t worth it.
“When I made sure Marion was safe and would soon be happy enough to forget me I didn’t care how soon I pegged out,” he said. “I was ill, very ill. The sickness had been in me for weeks, I think—I don’t know how long. I was delirious even in the daytime and my nights were wide-awake nightmares. All my past haunted me. If I had ever been unkind to Julie or the baby I’d of gone mad and killed myself. But I’d never been unkind to them—not intentionally—just weak and a coward.”
“You a’right now, anyhow,” interrupted Noel. “Marion a’right too. Take annoder drink.”
Sherwood drank obediently.
“The last night I crawled in,” he continued, “and got my hand in that trap—well, that finished me! I don’t know how I got the trap clear of my hand. I don’t know how I got into the woods.”
“My brother Ian set that trap and no one else knew anything about it,” said Jim. “I guess he didn’t stop to think what he was doing. Ben and I were away. But Doctor Scott’ll fix yer hand, don’t you worry.”
“But will I be safe, Jim? From the law?”
“Sure thing! There’s nothing you need fear the law about. I reckon Ben and Dave Brown know exactly who shot Balenger by this time and like enough they’ve caught him. But that don’t matter one way or the other. The police know you didn’t do it. But why didn’t you tell us you wanted food? Why didn’t you come right in and eat with us?”
“I was ashamed. And I was crazy with fear. I was sick, too—sick with fever, I suppose. I thought every one was hunting me to hang me and half the time I thought I’d really shot Balenger. I had a picture in my mind of just how I did it. But I couldn’t go far away from the little girl.”
“How was it the dogs never tackled you?” asked Jim.