jg.paintedhouse-第51部分

快捷操作: 按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页 按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页 按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部! 如果本书没有阅读完，想下次继续接着阅读，可使用上方 "收藏到我的浏览器" 功能 和 "加入书签" 功能！

anding　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　slashed　away　and　finished　the　job。　When　Hank　was　down　and　still；　Cowboy　quickly　went　through　his　pants　pockets　and　robbed　him。　Then　he　dragged　him　to　the　side　of　the　bridge　and　shoved　him　over。　The　corpse　landed　with　a　splash　and　immediately　went　under。　Cowboy　went　through　the　bag；　found　nothing　he　wanted；　and　threw　it　over；　too。　He　stood　at　the　edge　of　the　bridge　and　watched　the　water　for　a　long　time。
　　　I　had　no　desire　to　join　Hank；　so　I　burrowed　between　two　rows　of　cotton　and　hid　so　low　that　I　couldn't　have　found　myself。　My　heart　was　pounding　faster　than　ever　before。　I　was　shaking　and　sweating　and　crying　and　praying；　too。　I　should've　been　in　bed；　safe　and　asleep　with　my　parents　next　door　and　my　grandparents　just　down　the　hall。　But　they　seemed　so　far　away。　I　was　alone　in　a　shallow　foxhole；　alone　and　frightened　and　in　great　danger。　I'd　just　seen　something　that　I　still　didn't　believe。
　　　I　don't　know　how　long　Cowboy　stood　there　on　the　bridge；　watching　the　water；　making　sure　Hank　was　gone。　The　clouds　would　move　over　the　half…moon；　and　I　could　barely　see　him。　They'd　move　again；　and　there　he　was；　still　standing；　his　dirty　cowboy　hat　cocked　to　one　side。　After　a　long　time；　he　walked　off　the　bridge　and　stopped　by　the　edge　of　the　river　to　wash　his　knife。　He　watched　the　river　some　more；　then　turned　and　started　walking　down　the　road。　When　he　passed　me　he　was　twenty　feet　away；　and　I　felt　like　I　was　buried　at　least　two　feet　in　the　ground。
　　　I　waited　forever；　until　he　was　long　out　of　sight；　until　there　was　no　possible　way　he　could　hear　me；　then　I　crawled　out　of　my　little　hole　and　began　my　journey　home。　I　wasn't　sure　what　I　would　do　once　I　got　there；　but　I'd　be　safe。　I'd　think　of　something。
　　　I　stayed　low；　moving　through　the　tall　Johnson　grass　along　the　edge　of　the　field。　As　farmers　we　hated　Johnson　grass；　but　for　the　first　time　in　my　life　I　was　thankful　for　it。　I　wanted　to　hurry；　to　sprint　down　the　middle　of　the　road　and　get　home　as　fast　as　possible；　but　I　was　terrified；　and　my　feet　were　heavy。　Fatigue　and　fear　gripped　me；　and　I　could　hardly　move　at　times。　It　took　forever　before　I　saw　the　outlines　of　our　house　and　barn。　I　watched　the　road　in　front　of　me；　certain　that　Cowboy　was　up　there　somewhere；　watching　his　rear；　watching　his　flanks。　I　tried　not　to　think　about　Hank。　I　was　too　concerned　with　getting　to　the　house。
　　　When　I　stopped　to　catch　my　breath；　I　picked　up　the　unmistakable　smell　of　a　Mexican。　They　seldom　bathed；　and　after　a　few　days　of　picking　cotton　they　took　on　their　own　particular　odor。
　　　It　passed　quickly；　and　after　a　minute　or　two　of　heavy　breathing　I　wondered　if　I　was　just　imagining　things。　Not　taking　chances；　I　retreated　once　again　to　the　depths　of　the　Jeter　cotton　and　slowly　headed　east；　cutting　through　row　after　row　without　a　sound。　When　I　could　see　the　white　tents　of　Camp　Spruill；　I　knew　I　was　almost　home。
　　　What　would　I　tell　about　Hank？　The　truth；　nothing　but。　I　was　burdened　with　enough　secrets；　there　was　room　for　no　more；　especially　one　as　heavy　as　this。　I'd　crawl　into　Ricky's　room；　try　and　get　some　sle