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Updated: June 23, 2025
Henry left the shelter of the vines, but he lay down almost flat, and crept across the narrow open space to the corncrib. When he saw that no one was looking he darted inside, and cautiously pushed the door shut. As he expected, there were plenty of cracks between the timbers and also a small open window at one end.
Not that he wanted it. God forbid! Ever after he would hate the sight of a corncrib. He simply resented the notion of leaving it behind for the vocal entertainment of Silas, who would likely get up again with the roosters and roar into it at "hoboes." Yes, the corncrib would revert to Silas, from whom he had merely rented it for one night at a most appalling price.
He begged some vaseline from his mother and rubbed it on the sore neck. Then he got two or three empty gunnysacks out of the corncrib, crawled under the house to a warm place beside the chimney and spread them out for a bed. He went into the house whistling; he didn't hear a word of the chapter his mother read out of the Bible. Before he went to bed in the shed-room, he raised the window.
But we are not savages, even if we are down on your way of thinking and acting." "Better give him a sup of coffee to keep the cold out and then chuck him in the old corncrib," suggested Jeff. "He can lay down on the shucks, and I will give him a blanket to keep himself warm." "Will he be quite safe there?" asked the Emergency man. "No chance to get out, is there?
"I'm comin' into my own corncrib, damn you!" shouted the farmer with unexpected malevolence, "and you're going out!" Kenny, resistant, knew instantly that he was not. He sat up. "The acoustics, Silas," he said with cold disapproval, "are excellent. Therefore " It was impossible to finish.
What if he arrived there and the runaway had failed to write? What would he do then? Rags and blisters and a bit of corncrib penance for himself! It was the only way. It would give his need of Brian invincible weight. Kenny climbed a fence and entered the corncrib by a flight of rickety steps. It was something of a wreck and unspeakably dusty.
It remained for an abandoned corncrib to plunge him into his original fever of inspiration and remorse. Brian had lived in a corncrib for seven cents a day. Brian had ploughed and Brian had mended fences. He had even dabbled in whitewash. No, by the powers that be! It was a thing for penance after all. Always at the farmhouse the trail would be waiting.
It made him think of flamingoes in flight. One saw that best in India, flocks and flocks of them in the sky like an exquisite flame of clouds. Ah, India! No, on second thought he'd rather he in Iceland. It sounded cooler. When the moon etched silver bars upon the corncrib floor he went to bed, regretting the preposterous fanlike spread of the corncrib walls.
About fifteen yards from the corncrib burned a fire, meant for light rather than heat, as the night was warm. Around it were gathered about fifty men, of whom six or seven were white, although they were tanned by exposure almost to the darkness of Indians. Henry knew a number of them well. Upon a slightly raised seat sat Timmendiquas, the famous White Lightning of the Wyandots.
Or will we have to put a guard over him?" "There aint no call for nobody to lose sleep guarding on him," was Jeff's confident reply. "There aint no winder to the corncrib, and the door fastens with a bar outside. Some of the chinking has fell out atween the logs, but he can't crawl through the cracks less'n he can flatten himself out like a flying squirrel.
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