- end_line
- 3071
- extracted_at
- 2026-01-28T17:35:34.191Z
- extracted_by
- structure-extraction-lambda
- start_line
- 3029
- text
- never meant to, Joe. Tell me how it was, Joe. Oh, it’s awful—and him so
young and promising.”
“Why, you two was scuffling, and he fetched you one with the headboard
and you fell flat; and then up you come, all reeling and staggering
like, and snatched the knife and jammed it into him, just as he fetched
you another awful clip—and here you’ve laid, as dead as a wedge til
now.”
“Oh, I didn’t know what I was a-doing. I wish I may die this minute if I
did. It was all on account of the whiskey and the excitement, I reckon.
I never used a weepon in my life before, Joe. I’ve fought, but never
with weepons. They’ll all say that. Joe, don’t tell! Say you won’t tell,
Joe—that’s a good feller. I always liked you, Joe, and stood up for you,
too. Don’t you remember? You _won’t_ tell, _will_ you, Joe?” And the
poor creature dropped on his knees before the stolid murderer, and
clasped his appealing hands.
“No, you’ve always been fair and square with me, Muff Potter, and I
won’t go back on you. There, now, that’s as fair as a man can say.”
“Oh, Joe, you’re an angel. I’ll bless you for this the longest day I
live.” And Potter began to cry.
“Come, now, that’s enough of that. This ain’t any time for blubbering.
You be off yonder way and I’ll go this. Move, now, and don’t leave any
tracks behind you.”
Potter started on a trot that quickly increased to a run. The half-breed
stood looking after him. He muttered:
“If he’s as much stunned with the lick and fuddled with the rum as he
had the look of being, he won’t think of the knife till he’s gone so
far he’ll be afraid to come back after it to such a place by
himself—chicken-heart!”
Two or three minutes later the murdered man, the blanketed corpse, the
lidless coffin, and the open grave were under no inspection but the
moon’s. The stillness was complete again, too.
- title
- Chunk 4