the one holding his head while the thumb of the second pushed into the socket. Pain was like a knife turning in his skull. The eye started from its hole. He let go of Bedwell's throat and tore himself free and scrambled to his feet. Bedwell stood blurred before him, stood dripping, his lips a little open, not saying anything, the lines making small half circles at the corners of his mouth. His eyes studied Boone. Boone lunged in, swinging at the face. Bedwell's knee jerked up, and his hands pushed Boone away as if the last lick had been struck. Boone doubled and stumbled back. A straining noise came out of his throat. He tried to straighten against the fierce pain in his groin.
"Well?" asked Bedwell. His hand brushed at the mud on his coat.
"You taken my rifle!"
"So?"
"I aim to git it back."
"Aim ahead."
"I ain't through yit."
Bedwell's eyes slid off Boone, looking over his shoulder, and a sudden glint came into them that Boone did not understand. He was smiling now, smiling on one side of his face. "Afraid, aren't you, pup?"
Boone's shoulder caught him in the chest. The man went over, easy this time, with Boone on top of him. The strength seemed to have drained out of Bedwell. He tried to squirm from under and fell back, grunting. His hands fluttered, fending Boone's thumbs from his eyes. He was yelling, making a roar in Boone's ears. "Help! Help!" Boone got his hand beneath the flutter. His thumb poked for an eye. It had just found it when a voice like a horn sounded. "Stop it, damn you! Stop it!"
A hand grabbed Boone's shoulder and jerked him loose.
The man in the black coat stood over him, and now Boone saw there was a star on the coat. "I'm the sheriff."
"Thank God, sheriff!" It was Bedwell speaking. He got to his feet and picked his white hat from the water and brushed at it. "He would have killed me." He pointed at Boone. "Must be crazy."
The sheriff's gaze went to Boone. "I seen him afore, sneakin' through the woods."
"He slipped up on me. I was letting my horse drink, and he charged me from behind."
"What's the idee, boy?" the sheriff asked, and answered his own question. "Robbery, that's what." His eyes went to Bedwell's horse, standing hip-shot across the creek. "Wanted to get the gentleman's horse and rifle and outfit, didn't you?"
"No."
Bedwell was nodding his head. "I hadn't thought of that, sheriff."
The sheriff went on, "I bet you'd've jumped me, only you seen my pistol."
"He stoled my gun. I aimed to git it back," Boone said.
The sheriff's voice was a pounding in Boone's ears. "That why you got to go sneakin' through the woods like a varmint?"
"He stoled it."
"What you doin" -the sheriff's eyes went over Boone's dirty homespun-"with a handsome piece like that?"
"He stoled it, I said."
Bedwell gave the sheriff a small smile. "Poor excuse."
"Worser than none. Come along, both of you."
Chapter VII
The sheriff's thumb signaled the direction. "March!" he said. "No funny business, now." He had his pistol in his hand. To Bedwell he said, "You climb your horse and go ahead. We'll keep him 'twixt us." He strode back, keeping his eyes fixed over his shoulder on Boone, and caught up his own horse. Bedwell grinned at Boone. He said softly, "Looks like you won't get to St. Louis for a spell." They set off, Bedwell and the sheriff, mounted, at head and tail of the line and Boone, afoot, between them.
They came into a town a mile farther on. Boone took it for Paoli. Alongside Louisville it was a little place, but it was still big enough, and it was all eyes and moving lips.
The eyes looked at Boone from windows and doorways and the lips said things, and people closed the doors and walked over to fall in with the sheriff, and he could feel their eyes boring at his back and hear their lips talking.
"What is it, sheriff?"
"That young'n there."
"Looks rough, sure enough."
"Is there gonna be a trial?"
The sheriff's big voice said, "Could be."
"The jury ain't been excused, from
"Well?" asked Bedwell. His hand brushed at the mud on his coat.
"You taken my rifle!"
"So?"
"I aim to git it back."
"Aim ahead."
"I ain't through yit."
Bedwell's eyes slid off Boone, looking over his shoulder, and a sudden glint came into them that Boone did not understand. He was smiling now, smiling on one side of his face. "Afraid, aren't you, pup?"
Boone's shoulder caught him in the chest. The man went over, easy this time, with Boone on top of him. The strength seemed to have drained out of Bedwell. He tried to squirm from under and fell back, grunting. His hands fluttered, fending Boone's thumbs from his eyes. He was yelling, making a roar in Boone's ears. "Help! Help!" Boone got his hand beneath the flutter. His thumb poked for an eye. It had just found it when a voice like a horn sounded. "Stop it, damn you! Stop it!"
A hand grabbed Boone's shoulder and jerked him loose.
The man in the black coat stood over him, and now Boone saw there was a star on the coat. "I'm the sheriff."
"Thank God, sheriff!" It was Bedwell speaking. He got to his feet and picked his white hat from the water and brushed at it. "He would have killed me." He pointed at Boone. "Must be crazy."
The sheriff's gaze went to Boone. "I seen him afore, sneakin' through the woods."
"He slipped up on me. I was letting my horse drink, and he charged me from behind."
"What's the idee, boy?" the sheriff asked, and answered his own question. "Robbery, that's what." His eyes went to Bedwell's horse, standing hip-shot across the creek. "Wanted to get the gentleman's horse and rifle and outfit, didn't you?"
"No."
Bedwell was nodding his head. "I hadn't thought of that, sheriff."
The sheriff went on, "I bet you'd've jumped me, only you seen my pistol."
"He stoled my gun. I aimed to git it back," Boone said.
The sheriff's voice was a pounding in Boone's ears. "That why you got to go sneakin' through the woods like a varmint?"
"He stoled it."
"What you doin" -the sheriff's eyes went over Boone's dirty homespun-"with a handsome piece like that?"
"He stoled it, I said."
Bedwell gave the sheriff a small smile. "Poor excuse."
"Worser than none. Come along, both of you."
Chapter VII
The sheriff's thumb signaled the direction. "March!" he said. "No funny business, now." He had his pistol in his hand. To Bedwell he said, "You climb your horse and go ahead. We'll keep him 'twixt us." He strode back, keeping his eyes fixed over his shoulder on Boone, and caught up his own horse. Bedwell grinned at Boone. He said softly, "Looks like you won't get to St. Louis for a spell." They set off, Bedwell and the sheriff, mounted, at head and tail of the line and Boone, afoot, between them.
They came into a town a mile farther on. Boone took it for Paoli. Alongside Louisville it was a little place, but it was still big enough, and it was all eyes and moving lips.
The eyes looked at Boone from windows and doorways and the lips said things, and people closed the doors and walked over to fall in with the sheriff, and he could feel their eyes boring at his back and hear their lips talking.
"What is it, sheriff?"
"That young'n there."
"Looks rough, sure enough."
"Is there gonna be a trial?"
The sheriff's big voice said, "Could be."
"The jury ain't been excused, from
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