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Updated: May 8, 2025
"It can be told, suh, in three," said the Southerner. His smile had returned. His voice was the cool voice of one who discussed abstract things. "I'm a failyuh. This wold 'ain't no use foh failyuhs. I've given myself all the time and chances I dese'ved, but I cayn't win out, so I've got to git out. The's no one to ca'e. I've no kin, no ons dependin' on me in any way.
"Likely yo' didn't sleep well," Prebol suggested. "A man cayn't sleep days if he ain't used to hit." "Sleep days?" Rasba looked wildly about him. "Sho! When did I git to sleep, why, I ain't slept I Lawse!" Prebol laughed aloud. "Yo' see, Parson, yo' all cayn't set up all night with a pretty gal an' not sleep hit off. Yo' shore'll git tired, sportin' aroun'." "Sho!"
She shook her head despondently. "I cayn't nev' tell you that, Tom-Jeff." "I'd like to know why you can't." "Because he'd shore kill me then." "Then I'll find out some other way." "What differ' does it make to you?" she asked; and again the dark eyes searched him till he was fain to look away from her. "I reckon it doesn't make any difference, if you don't want it to.
The two stared into each other's eyes for a moment, then the old woman went on: "It'll go powerful hard with you now, but you'd better have it over with when you're young 'an to suffer when you're a weak old woman like me. Ol' age cayn't stand such things so well. No, I never once mentioned the woman to yore pa.
I've done all I could; and now I ain't going to have my feelings harrowed up any more, when it won't do me nor the Russians a mite of good." "But I cayn't HELP it, Tilly. I cayn't take any comfort in my meals, thinking of that awful black bread the poor children starve rather than eat; and, Tilly, they ain't so dirty as some folks think!
"He cayn't be gay as Bob Hart all at onct. Give him time." "You're so partial to him you don't see when he's doing wrong. But I see it. Yesterday he hardly spoke when I met him. Ridiculous. It's all right for him to hold back and be kinda reserved with outsiders. But with his friends you and Bob and old Buck Byington and me he ought not to shut himself up in an ice cave.
"I cayn't tell; he'd shore kill me. He's always allowed he'd do hit if I let on." "Tell me his name, and I'll kill him before he ever gets a chance at you," was the savage rejoinder. "D'ye reckon you'd do that, Tom-Jeff for me?" The light of the old allurement was glowing in the dark eyes when she said it, but there was no answering thrill of passion in his blood.
We cayn't let him go back there and take our medicine for us. Mebbe he would be lynched. It's a sure thing he'd be convicted." "Never mind. Let him go. I've got a plan, dad." Her vivid face was alive with the emotion which spoke in it. "When did he say he was going?" she asked buoyantly. "Day after to-morrow. Seems he's got business that keeps him hyer to-morrow. What's yore idee, honey?"
Was that or was it not smoke just over the brow of the hill? "Cayn't be our camp-fire," the squat man said aloud. "I smothered that proper." "Them's clouds," pronounced Doble quickly. "Clouds an' some mist risin' from the gulch." "I reckon," agreed the other, with no sure conviction. Doble must be right, of course.
"Hi-i-i!" a listener cried out, gleefully, "hyar comes the Riveh Prophet after yo sinners. Hi-i-i!" There was a laugh through the crowd. Others strolled out to see the phenomenon. A man who had been playing with fortune at one of the poker tables swore aloud. "I cayn't neveh git started, I don't shift down on my luck!" he whined.
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