Stump shook his head.
“No more going to sea for Ben Stump. I’m going home and look up my folks.”
“When’s this show coming off?” O’Neil asked, changing the subject; he saw Stump wasn’t keen to go in the navy again.
“Between you and me, Mr. O’Neil,” Stump confided, “I don’t believe this here gallows will ever grow any fruit.” Stump was about to say more, but perceiving Klinger riding his pony toward them, he shuffled awkwardly away, and began again to direct his native workmen.
“Did he mean they ain’t going to hang this murderer?” Marley asked of his friend.
O’Neil nodded. “I think he did,” he replied, “and I guess he’s about right.”
The day before the execution a rumor passed through the native population that the man who had killed the black boy would not be hung, after all.
Alice brought the gossip to the consulate.
“They would hardly dare a rescue,” Mr. Lee declared.
“O’Neil said he had heard from Stump, the man who built the gallows, that it wouldn’t be used,” Phil informed them.