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Updated: June 14, 2025
"Nearly everybody you talk to say they'd rather have Ascalon a whistling station on the railroad, where you could go to sleep in peace and get up feeling safe, than the awful place it is now," Rhetta said. She removed her sombrero as she spoke, and dropped it on the floor at her feet, as though weary of the turmoil that vexed her days.
"I begged him to give up the office and let things go," said Rhetta, pleading to mitigate her own blame, against whom no blame was laid. "You'd have despised him for it if he had," said Violet. "But he wouldn't do it, and now this has happened, and he's a man-killer like the rest of them. Oh it's terrible to think about!" "Not like the rest of them," Violet corrected, in her firm, gentle way.
That's why I wanted to look at that claim down by the river." "It will keep. Or you could buy it, and hire your crop put in while you're marshal here in town." "And I could edit the paper. Between us we could save the county seat." Rhetta spoke quite seriously, so seriously, indeed, that her father laughed.
Violet said. "If you'd seen somebody somebody that you that was if you'd seen him like I saw him, you wouldn't blame me so," Rhetta defended, beginning again to cry, and bend her head upon her hands and moan like a mother who had lost a child. Violet was moved out of her harshness at once.
They continued toward her father's office in silence, crossing the stretch of barren in which the little catalpa tree stood. Rhetta looked up into his face. "You've never killed a man, Mr. Morgan," she said, more as a positive statement than as a question. "No, I never have, Miss Thayer," Morgan answered her, as ingenuously sincere as she had asked it.
Rhetta Thayer stood at the door, a little aside, as if waiting for him, as if knowing he would come. She was agitated by the anxious hope that spoke out of her white face, but restrained by a fear that could not hide in her wide-straining eyes. She moved almost imperceptibly toward him, her lips parted as if to speak, but said nothing.
"I feel like I share his guilt," said Rhetta, voice sad as if she had suffered an irreparable loss. "He's not guilty," said Violet, stoutly, standing in his defense. Rhetta had fled from Ascalon that morning, following the terrible night of Morgan's sanguinary baptism.
Rhetta wheeled her horse about, a protest on her lips, a sudden pang in her heart that clamored to call him back. But no cry rose to summon him to her side, and Morgan, gloomy as the night around him, went on his way. But the lights of Ascalon were blurred as if she looked on them through a rain-drenched pane when Rhetta faced again to go her way alone, the marshal's badge clutched in her hand.
Nobody had been sworn in to take his place, for, as Judge Thayer had said, it did not appear as if any further calamity could be left in store among the misfortunes for that town, except it might be an earthquake or a cyclone, and a city marshal, even Morgan, could not fend against them if they were to come. "You have trampled your place among the thorns," said Rhetta.
Rhetta seemed touched. She drew near him again, reaching out her hand as if to ease his hurt. "It was different before before that night! you were different, all of us, everything. I can't help it, ungrateful as I seem. You'll forgive me, you'll understand. But you were different to me before then." "Yes, I was different," Morgan returned, not without bitterness in his slow, deep, gentle voice.
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