I gave him both barrels of the shotgun.
It danged near cut him in two.
15
What I wanted things to look like was that Uncle John had shot Tom with his own gun and then Tom had got the gun away from him and shot Uncle John. Or vice versa. Anyways, when I got to thinking about it afterward, it seemed to me that people weren't going to see it that way at all. Which meant that they were apt to start looking for the real killer. And for a spell there, I was pretty worried. But I didn't need to be. As plumb crazy as it was, with Uncle John getting killed almost two days after Tom and with both of 'em obviously dying almost the instant they was shot, it turned out no one thought anything of it. They didn't wonder at all about how one dead man could've killed another.
Of course, both bodies were wet and muddied up, so you couldn't say offhand just when they'd died; and we just ain't equipped to do a lot of scientific examination and investigation here in Potts County. If things look a certain way, folks usually figure that's the way they are. And if they'd had a mind to kick up a fuss about anyone, it wouldn't be Tom Hauck or Uncle John.
The plain fact was that no one much gave a good god-dang about either one of 'em. It was a plain case of good riddance to bad rubbish as far as Tom was concerned; and who cared about one colored fella more or less, unless it was some other colored folks, and who cared if they did care?
But I guess I'm getting ahead of myself a little…
I dropped the shotgun between Tom and Uncle John. Then, leaving John's horse and wagon where they were, I plodded back across country to the Hauck farm.
It was pretty late by that time, or pretty early I should say. An hour or so short of dawn. I hitched up, without going to the house, and headed for town.
The livery stable door was open, the hostler snoring like a buzz saw up in the hayloft. A lantern stood burning in a tub of sand, casting a flickering light along the row of stalls. I put up the horse and buggy without hardly a sound, and the hostler went on snoring. And I went out into the dark again, the dark and the rain.
There wasn't no one on the street, of course. Even without the rain, no one would have been out at that hour. I got to the courthouse, took off my boots and sneaked upstairs to bed.
The dry-warm felt awful good after them wet clothes, and I guess I was plumb wore out. Because I went to sleep right away, instead of tossing around fifteen, twenty minutes like I usually do.
Then, just about the time my head touched the pillow it seemed like, Myra started yelling and shaking me.
"Nick! Nick Corey, you get up from there! My goodness, do you want to sleep all night and all day, too?"
"Why not?" I mumbled, hanging on to the pillows. "Sounds like a danged good idea."
"I said to get up! It's almost noon, and Rose is on the phone!"
I let her get me up, and I talked to Rose for a minute or two. I said I was sorry to hear that Tom wasn't home yet, and I'd probably get out and take a look around for him, even if I wasn't sure that the sun would stay out and it wouldn't start raining again.
"I'll prob'ly do it, Rose," I said, "so don't you worry none. I reckon I'll prob'ly start lookin' for him today, even if it does start raining again and I spoil my clothes like I did last night, not to mention catchin' an awful cold. Or if I don't get out today, I'll sure do it tomorrow."
I hung up the phone and turned around.
Myra was frowning at me, tight-mouthed and disgusted-looking. She pointed to the table and told me to sit down, for pity's sake.
"Just eat your breakfast and get out of here! Start doing your job, for a change!"
"Me?" I said. "I do my job all the time."
"You! You stupid silly spineless fool! You don't do anything!"
"Well, that's my job," I said. "Not doing nothing, I mean. That's why for people elect me."
She whirled around so fast her skirts spun, and went out into the kitchen. I sat down at the table. I looked at the clock and saw that it was almost twelve o'clock, practically dinner time, so I didn't eat much except some eggs and ham and grits and gravy and seven or eight biscuits, and a bitty bowl of peaches and cream.
I was having a third cup of coffee when Myra came back in. She began to snatch up the dishes, muttering to herself, and I asked her if they was something the matter.
"If they is," I said, "you just tell me all about it, because two heads is better than one."
"You miserable-! Aren't you ever going to get out of here?" she yelled. "Why are you still sitting at the table?"
"Why, I'm drinking this here coffee," I said. "You look real close an' you can see that I am."
"Well-well, take it with you! Drink it somewhere else!"
"You mean you want me to leave the table?" I said.
"Yes! Now, go on and do it, for pity's sake!"
I said I plumb liked to be obliging, but if she studied it over she'd see it didn't make much sense for me to leave the table. "I mean, it's almost time for dinner," I said. "You'll be bringin' it in any minute now, so why for should I leave when I can set right here an' be all ready to start eatin'?"
"Y-You!" Her teeth gritted together. "You get out of here! "
"Without no dinner?" I said. "You mean I got to work all afternoon on an empty stomach?"
"But you just got-" She choked up, and sagged down into a chair.
I said that was fine, she should set down and rest herself up a little, and it didn't matter at all if dinner was maybe a minute or two late. And she said-
I don't know what she said. We just went on talking back and forth for a while, neither of us really listening to the other. Which didn't bother her any, since she never paid any attention to me anyhow, and to tell the truth I never actually paid a lot of attention to her, anyhow. Anyways, I couldn't have done it today even if I'd wanted to, because I was too worried about what would happen when Tom and Uncle John were found dead.
That's why I'd been pestering Myra, I guess. I didn't want to get out and face up to whatever was going to happen, so I'd start gigging at her. That was kind of a habit with me, I reckon, taking it out on her when I felt bad or bothered. More of a habit than I maybe realized.
"Where at is Lennie?" I said, picking up the conversation again. "He don't hurry up he'll be late for dinner!"
"He's had his dinner! I mean, I fixed him a lunch before he left!"
"You mean he's outside when maybe the sun will stop shining pretty soon and it'll start raining to beat heck, and he'll probably spoil his clothes and get himself an awful cold?" I said. "Now, that ain't takin' very good care of your brother, honey."