"Ef I went an did what I OUGHT to did, I'd march straight out
'iss stable, git a policeman, an' tell him 'rest you an' take you
off to jail. 'At's what you need--blowin' man's head off! Listen
me: I'm goin' take 'iss gun an' th'ow her away where you can't do
no mo' harm with her. I'm goin' take her way off in the woods an'
th'ow her away where can't nobody fine her an' go blowin' man's
head off with her. 'At's what I'm goin' do!" And placing the
revolver inside his coat as inconspicuously as possible, he
proceeded to the open door and into the alley, where he turned
for a final word. "I let you off 'iss one time," he said, "but
listen me--you listen, white boy: you bet' not tell you' pa. _I_
ain' goin' tell him, an' YOU ain' goin' tell him. He want know
where gun gone, you tell him you los' her."
He disappeared rapidly.
Sam Williams, swallowing continuously, presently walked to the
alley door, and remarked in a weak voice, "I'm sick at my
stummick." He paused, then added more decidedly: "I'm goin' home.
I guess I've stood about enough around here for one day!" And
bestowing a last glance upon his friend, who was now sitting
dumbly upon the floor in the exact spot where he had stood to
fire the dreadful shot, Sam moved slowly away.
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