I looked past the House clan, appealing to the others. I had not come back looking for trouble, I said earnestly. I came back to notify my neighbors that the killer Cox was dead. I had kept my promise. Knowing I was innocent, it was not right to ask me for my gun, try to take me prisoner.
“What’s more,” I said, “today is my wife’s birthday. I made my wife a promise.” The more I pleaded, the more humiliated I felt and the more enraged. “I came here to pick up my family. We’ll leave right now for Ever-glade, go north tomorrow. You won’t see us again.” And I shouted out for Kate to hear, “Come quickly, Mrs. Watson! Bring the children!”
That old man said, “Nosir, you ain’t leavin.”
“We’re done talkin, Watson.” Bill House hitched his gun. “Drop your weapon on the count of three or take the consequences.”
“One,” the old man barked, raising his rifle.
The others backed and filled. The guns came up a little. I turned toward Henry Short, holding his eye. “Finish it,” I whispered.
I took a deep breath and threw my shoulders back. “You boys want Watson’s gun that bad, you will have to take it.” And I swung the gun up in the face of D. D. House as if to fire.
finish it? that what he said?
good godamighty
well, he sure is finished
godamighty
star
moon masks
a mouth
eyes come eyes go
in the star shadow
how the world hurts hurts
a star
this world is painted on a wild dark metal
About the Author
PETER MATTHIESSEN was born in New York City in 1927 and had already begun his writing career by the time he graduated from Yale University in 1950. The following year, he was a founder of
