David Kinemon walked resolutely up to the little group. His
father gestured for him to go away, but he ignored the elder's command.
He must know what had happened to Allen. The stranger in the checked
suit was speaking excitedly, waving trembling hands--a sharp contrast
to the grim immobility of the Greenstream men:
"He'd been talking about that family, driving out of Beaulings and
saying how they had done this and that; and when we came to where they
lived he pointed out the house. A couple of dark-favored men were
working in a patch by the road, and he waved his whip at them, in a way
of speaking; but they never made a sign. The horses were going slow
then; and, for some reason or other, his little dog jumped to the road
and ran in on the patch. Sirs, one of those men spit, stepped up to the
dog, and kicked it into Kingdom Come."
David's hands clenched; and he drew in a sharp sobbing breath.
"This Allen," the other continued, "pulled in the team and drawed a gun
from under the seat before I could move a hand. You can hear me--I
wouldn't have kicked any dog of his for all the gold there is! He got
down from the stage and started forward, and his face was black; then
he stopped, undecided. He stood studying, with the two men watching
him, one leaning careless on a grub hoe. Then, by heaven, he turned and
rested the gun on the seat, and walked up to where laid the last of his
dog. He picked it up, and says he:
"'Hatburn, I got Government mail on that stage to get in under
contract, and there's a passenger too--paid to Crabapple; but when I
get them two things done I'm coming back to kill you two dead to hear
the last trumpet.
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