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Updated: June 25, 2025
With his hands raised a little way above the level of his shoulders, he stood rigidly at bay in the circle of light. "Well," he croaked at last, "go ahead and shoot. I ain't aimin' to be took not by no woman. Shoot, damn you, and have it done with. I'm waitin'!" "Keep up those hands!" "I won't!" He lowered them defiantly. "I w-wanted to m-make Partridgeville and see the old lady.
"Are we going to stay here all night?" she asked with a pathetic attempt at lightness. "That's my business." "Don't you want me to help you?" "You've helped me all you can with the gun and food." "If you're going to Partridgeville, I'd go along and show you the way." He leaped up. "Now I know you been lyin!" he bellowed. "You said you was headed for Millington. And you ain't at all.
"It's a term applied to most of the town of Partridgeville in the northern part of the county an inaccessible district back in the mountains peopled with gone-to-seed stock and half-civilized illiterates who only get into the news when they load up with squirrel whisky and start a programme of progressive hell. Ruggam was the local blacksmith." "What's a kitchen-dance?"
You're watchin' your chance to get the drop on me and have me took that's what you're doin'!" "Wait!" she pleaded desperately. "I was going to Millington. But I'd turn back and show you the way to Partridgeville to help you." "What's it to you?" He had drawn the gun from his belt and now was fingering it nervously. "You're lost up here in the mountains, aren't you?" she said.
"I don't see what you're making all this rumpus about," she told him in as indifferent a voice as she could command. "I don't see why you should want to kill a friend who might help you if you're really in need of help." "I want to get to Partridgeville," he muttered after a moment. "You're not far from there. How long have you been on the road?" "None of your business." "Have you had any food?"
She'd 'a' helped me. But anything's better'n goin' back to that hell where I been the last two years. Go on! Why don't you shoot?" "You wanted to make Partridgeville and see who?" "My mother and my wife." "Have you got a mother? Have you got a wife?" "Yes, and three kids. Why don't you shoot?" It seemed an eon that they stood so. The McBride woman was trying to find the nerve to fire.
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