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Updated: May 18, 2025
"I like day-dark in Injun country," he whispered. "Come on." They hurried through sloppy footing in the wet grass that flung its dew into their garments from the shoulder down. Suddenly Mr. Binkus stopped. They could hear the sound of heavy feet splashing in the wet meadow. "Scairt moose, runnin' this way!" the scout whispered.
A frantic discarding of ornaments and the nude body of the dancer stood posturing naïvely, timidly. Therewith an end to mystery. The thing was known. It had happened during one of their walks. Leaden clouds over day-dark pavements. Warehouses, railroad tracks, factories a street toiling through a dismantled world. Their hands together, they paused and remained staring as if at a third person.
A long rain was leaning against the walls of the county jail. A dismal yellowish gloom drifted up and down the street. Deputy Cochran, with an effort, detached his eye from the lugubrious scene of the rain and the day-dark and spoke up brightly. "But at that," said he, "I don't think their being doomed for to hang can be held entirely responsible for their losing.
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