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Uncle Pros's chin dropped to his breast, his eyes half closed as he sat thinking intently. "Well," he said finally, "they won't have nothing worse than manslaughter against Shade. It can't be proved that he intended to shoot Pap 'cause he didn't. If he was shootin' after us there's the thing we don't want to bring up.
Stoddard, dazed, bruised, abraded, was back in the tonneau struggling up with Uncle Pros's assistance. He could not help her. She must know for herself and do the right thing. The track led through the bushes, as they had found it that morning. It was fairly good, but terribly steep. She noted that the speed lever was at neutral.
Uncle Pros's injuries brought these two into closer relations than anything had yet done. So far, Johnnie had conducted her affairs with a judgment and propriety extraordinary, clinging as it were to the skirts of Lydia Sessions, keeping that not unwilling lady between her and Stoddard always. But the injured man took a great fancy to Gray.
I ain't never asked you, but you'd have knowed if they had." "I should have known anything that Rudd Dawson or Groner or Venters knew," Gray said, "but I'm not sure about Buckheath or Himes. However, Himes is dead, and Buckheath I don't suppose anybody in Cottonville will ever see him again." Pros's face changed instantly. He leaned abruptly forward and laid a hand on the other's knee.
"Gray!" it was Uncle Pros's voice, and Uncle Pros's face looked in at the office door. "Could I bother you a minute about the sidewalk in front of the place up yon? Mr. Hexter told me you'd know whether the grade was right, and I could let the workmen go ahead." Stoddard swung around from his desk and looked at the old man. "Come right in," he said. "I'm not busy I'm just pretending this morning.
We've got the patent all right, and Johnnie cain't help herself. But him with all his money he can help her damn him!" "Yes, and he'll take a holt and hunt up about Pros's silver mine, too," said Himes. "I've always mistrusted the way he's been hangin' round Pros Passmore. Like enough he's hearn of that silver mine, and that's the reason he's after Johnnie."
I he'ped make the coffin an' dig the grave." After a time there came a sort of ruth to Johnnie for the poor creatures, furtive, stealing glances at each other, and answering her inquiries or Uncle Pros's with dry, evasive platitudes.
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