jg.paintedhouse-第57部分

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enture；　and　I　asked　him　if　I　could　e　back　when　the　Cardinals　were　playing。
　　　〃Sure；〃　he　said；　〃but　it　might　be　a　long　time。〃
　　　Walking　back　to　the　gin；　I　asked　Pappy　a　few　questions　about　the　basics　of　television　broadcasting。　He　talked　about　the　signals　and　towers　in　very　vague　and　confusing　terms　and　finally　admitted　that　he　knew　little　about　it；　being　as　how　it　was　such　a　new　invention。　I　asked　when　we　might　get　one。　〃One　of　these　days；〃　he　said；　as　if　it　would　never　happen。　I　felt　ashamed　for　asking。
　　　We　pulled　our　empty　trailer　back　to　the　farm；　and　I　picked　cotton　until　quitting　time。　During　supper　the　adults　gave　me　the　floor。　I　talked　nonstop　about　the　game　and　the　mercials　and　everything　I'd　seen　on　Pop　and　Pearl's　television。
　　　Modern　America　was　slowly　invading　rural　Arkansas。
　
　
　Chapter　25
　　　
　　　Just　before　dark　my　father　and　Mr。　Leon　Spruill　went　for　a　short　walk　past　the　silo。　My　father　explained　that　Stick　Powers　was　preparing　to　arrest　Hank　for　the　murder　of　Jerry　Sisco。　Since　Hank　was　causing　so　much　trouble　anyway；　it　might　be　the　perfect　time　for　him　to　ease　away　into　the　night　and　return　to；　the　hills。　Evidently　Mr。　Spruill　took　it　well　and　made　no　threats　to　leave。　Tally　was　right；　they　needed　the　money。　And　they　were　sick　of　Hank。　It　appeared　as　though　they　would　stay　and　finish　the　harvest。
　　　We　sat　on　the　front　porch　and　watched　and　listened。　There　were　no　sharp　words；　no　signs　of　breaking　camp。　Nor　was　there　any　evidence　that　Hank　might　be　leaving。　Through　the　shadows　we　could　see　him　every　now　and　then；　moving　around　their　camp；　sitting　by　the　fire；　rummaging　for　more　leftovers。　One　by　one　the　Spruills　went　to　bed。　So　did　we。
　　　I　finished　my　prayers　and　was　lying　in　Ricky's　bed；　wide　awake；　thinking　about　the　Yankees　and　Dodgers；　when　an　argument　started　in　the　distance。　I　slid　across　the　floor　and　peeked　through　the　window。　All　was　dark　and　still；　and　for　a　moment　I　couldn't　see　anyone。　The　shadows　shifted；　and　next　to　the　road　I　could　see　Mr。　Spruill　and　Hank　standing　face…to…face；　both　talking　at　once。　I　couldn't　understand　what　they　were　saying；　but　they　were　obviously　angry。
　　　This　was　too　good　to　miss。　I　crawled　into　the　hallway　and　stopped　long　enough　to　make　sure　all　the　adults　were　asleep。　Then　I　crept　across　the　living　room；　through　the　front　screen　door；　onto　the　porch；　down　the　steps；　and　scooted　to　the　hedgerow　on　the　east　side　of　our　property。　There　was　a　half…moon　and　scattered　clouds；　and　after　a　few　minutes　of　silent　stalking　I　was　close　to　the　road。　Mrs。　Spruill　had　joined　the　discussion。　They　were　arguing　about　the　Sisco　beating。
　　　Hank　was　adamant　about　his　innocence。　His　parents　didn't　want　him　arrested。
　　　〃I'll　kill　that　fat　deputy；〃　he　growled。
　　　〃Just　go　back　home；　son；　let　things　cool　down；〃　Mrs。　Spruill　kept　saying。
　　　〃The　Chandlers　want　you　to　leave；〃　Mr。　Spruill　said　at　one　point。
　　　〃I　got　more　money　in　my　pocket　than　these　sodbusters'll　ever　have；〃　Hank　snarled。
　　　The　argument　was　spinning　in　several　directions。　Hank　said　harsh　things　about　us；　the　Mexicans；　Stick　Powers；　the　Siscos；　the　general　population　of　Black　Oak；　and　he　even　had　a　few　choice　words　for　his　parents　and　Bo　and　Dale。　Only　Tally　and　Trot　went　unscathed。　His　language　grew　worse　and　his　voice　louder；　but　Mr。　and　Mrs。　Spruill　did　not　retreat。
　　　〃All　right；　I'll　leave；〃　he　finally　said；　and　he　stormed　toward　a　tent　to　fetch　something。　I　sneaked　to　the　edge　of　the　road；　then　scampered　across　it　and　fell　into　the　depths　of　the　Jeter　cotton　on　the　other　side。　I　had　a　perfect　view　of　our　front　yard。　Hank　was　stuffing　an　old　canvas　bag　with　food　and　clothes。　My　guess　was　that　he　would　walk　to　the　highway　and　start　hitchhiking。　I　cut　through　the　rows　and　crept　along　the　side　of　the　shallow　ditch；　in　the　direction　of　the　river。　I　wanted　to　see　Hank　when　he　walked　by。
　　　They　had　more　words；　then　Mrs。　Spruill　said；　〃We'll　be　home　in　a　few　weeks。〃　The　talking　stopped；　and　Hank　stomped　by　me；　in　the　center　of　the　road；　a　bag　slung　over　his　shoulder。　I　inched　my　way　to　the　end　of　the　row　and　watched　as　he　headed　for　the　bridge。
　　　I　couldn't　help　but　smile。　Peace　would　be　restored　to　our　farm。　I　squatted　there　for　a　long　time；　long　after　Hank　had　disappeared；　and　thanked　the　stars　above　that　he　was　finally　gone。
　　　I　was　about　to　begin　my　backtracking　when　something　suddenly　moved　directly　across　the　road　from　me。　The　cotton　stalks　rustled　just　slightly；　and　a　man　rose　and　stepped　forward。　He　was　low　and　quick；　obviously　trying　to　avoid　being　seen。　He　glanced　back　down　the　road；　in　the　direction　of　our　house；　and　for　an　instant　the　moonlight　hit　his　face。　It　was　Cowboy。
　　　For　a　few　seconds　I　was　too　scared　to　move。　It　was　safe　on　the　Jeter　side　of　the　road；　hidden　by　their　cotton。　I　wanted　to　retrace　my　steps；　hurry　to　the　house；　crawl　into　Ricky's　bed。
　　　And　I　also　wanted　to　see　what　Cowboy　was　up　to。
　　　Cowboy　stayed　in　the　knee…deep　ditch　and　moved　quickly；　without　a　sound。　He　would　advance；　then　stop　and　listen。　Move　forward；　then　halt。　I　was　a　hundred　feet　behind　him；　still　on　Jeter　property；　moving　as　fast　as　I　dared。　If　he　heard　me；　then　I　would　duck　into　the　thick　cotton。
　　　Before　long　I　could　see　the　hulking　figure　of　Hank；　still　in　the　center　of　the　road；　going　home　in　no　particular　hurry。　Cowboy　slowed　his　chase；　and　I；　too；　slowed　my　pursuit。
　　　I　was　barefoot；　and　if　I　stepped　on　a　cottonmouth　I　would　die　a　horrible　death。　Go　home；　something　told　me。　Get　out　of　there。
　　　If　Cowboy　wanted　to　fight；　why　was　he　waiting？　Our　farm　was　now　out　of　sight　and　sound。　But　the　river　was　just　ahead；　and　maybe　that's　what　Cowboy　wanted。
　　　As　Hank　neared　the　bridge；　Cowboy　quickened　his　pace　and　started　walking　in　the　center　of　the　road。　I　stayed　at　the　edge　of　the　cotton；　sweating　and　out　of　breath　and　wondering　why　I　was　being　so　foolish。
　　　Hank　got　to　the　river　and　started　over　the　bridge。　Cowboy　began　running。　When　Hank　was　about　halfway　over；　Cowboy　stopped　long　enough　to　cock　his　arm　and　throw　a　rock。　It　landed　on　the　boards　near　Hank；　who　stopped　and　whirled　around。　〃e　on；　you　little　wetback；〃　he　growled。
　　　Cowboy　never　stopped　walking。　He　was　on　the　bridge；　heading　up　the　slight　incline；　showing　no　fear　whatsoever　as　Hank　waited　and　cursed　him。　Hank　looked　twice　as　big　as　Cowboy。　They　would　meet　in　the　middle　of　the　bridge；　and　there　was　no　doubt　that　one　of　them　was　about　to　get　wet。
　　　When　they　were　close；　Cowboy　suddenly　cocked　his　arm　again　and　threw　another　rock；　almost　at　point…blank　range。　Hank　ducked；　and　somehow　it　missed　him。　Then　he　charged　at　Cowboy。　The　switchblade　snapped　open；　and　in　a　flash　it　was　introduced　into　the　fray。　Cowboy　held　it　high。　Hank　caught　himself　long　enough　to　swing　wildly　with　his　bag。　It　brushed　Cowboy　and　knocked　off　his　hat。　The　two　circled　each　other　on　the　narrow　bridge；　both　looking　for　an　advantage。　Hank　growled　and　cursed　and　kept　his　eye　on　the　knife；　then　he　reached　into　the　bag　and　removed　a　small　jar　of　something。　He　gripped　it　like　a　baseball　and　got　ready　to　hurl　it。　Cowboy　kept　low；　bending　at　the　knees　and　waist；　waiting　for　the　perfect　moment。　As　they　circled　slowly；　each　came　within　inches　of　the　edge　of　the　bridge。
　　　Hank　gave　a　mighty　grunt　and　threw　the　jar　as　hard　as　he　could　at　Cowboy；　who　was　less　than　ten　feet　away。　It　hit　him　somewhere　in　the　neck　or　throat；　I　couldn't　tell　exactly；　and　for　a　second　Cowboy　wobbled　as　if　he　might　fall。　Hank　threw　the　bag　at　him　and　charged　in。　But　with　amazing　quickness　Cowboy　switched　hands　with　the　knife；　pulled　a　rock　from　his　right　pants　pocket；　and　threw　it　harder　than　any　baseball　he'd　ever　pitched。　It　hit　Hank　somewhere　in　the　face。　I　couldn't　see　it；　but　I　certainly　heard　it。　Hank　screamed　and　clutched　his　face；　and　by　the　time　he　could　recover　it　was　too　late。
　　　Cowboy　ducked　and　hooked　low　and　drove　the　blade　up　through　Hank's　stomach　and　chest。　Hank　let　loose　with　a　painful　squeal；　one　of　horror　and　shock。
　　　Then　Cowboy　yanked　it　out　and　thrust　it　in　again　and　again。　Hank　dropped　to　one　knee；　then　two。　His　mouth　was　open；　but　nothing　came　out。　He　just　stared　at　Cowboy；　his　face　frozen　in　terror。
　　　With　strokes　that　were　quick　and　vicious；　Cowboy　slash