"Nothing, nothing," he said, his glance following Kenneth into the house. "Don't ask me, sis. It is all right."
"But I know something has gone wrong!" Mary cried. "You and Kensy look it; you can't hide it. What is it?"
He shrugged his shoulders, lifted his brows, and then said, reluctantly: "Well, we got in a little scrape, that's all, and had to make a break to get away. The sheriff and a deputy are after us."
"After you! after you!" Mary gasped. "What have you done?"
Martin hesitated sullenly, his eyes on the grass.
"Tell yo' sister de trufe, boy," Aunt Zilla suddenly broke in. "Be ershamed er yo'se'f, keepin' 'er awake all night wid worry. Tell 'er what's de matter. Don't yer see she's half 'stracted over yo-all's doin's?"
"Oh, well," he responded, "it was a little shooting-scrape. Ken and Tobe Keith had a dispute in Gardener's pool-room about an hour ago. Tobe drew a knife. Some say he didn't, but I saw it; I'm sure I saw it. I grabbed him around the waist, and—well, Ken was a little full and had a gun, and while I and Tobe were wrestling he fired."
"And killed him!" Mary cried. "Oh God, have mercy!"
"No, no, don't be a fool, sis! Please don't! He was just wounded slightly, that's all."
"But why did you run away, then?" Mary's pale lips shook as the words dropped from them.