“Don’t think I’m trying anything—­come here.”

They went on, the little bent man ahead, holding the candle well up.  His room was at the far end of the long house.  When they reached it, he closed the door and fixed the candle on the table in some of its own grease.  Then he pointed Follett to the one stool in the little cell-like room, and threw himself face down on the bed.

Follett, still standing, waited for him to speak.  After a moment’s silence he grew impatient.

“Come, come!  What would you be saying if you were talking?  I can’t wait here all night.”

But the little man on the bed was still silent, nor did he stir, and after another wait Follett broke out again.

“If you want to talk, talk, I tell you.  If you don’t want to, I can say all I have to say, quick.”

Then the other turned himself over on the bed and half sat up, leaning on his elbow.

“I’m sorry to keep you waiting, but you see I’m so weak”—­the strained little smile came to his face—­“and tremble so, there’s so much to think of—­do you hear those women scream—­there! did you hear that?—­but of course not.  Now—­wait just a moment—­have you come to kill me?”

“You and those two other hellions—­the two that took me and that boy out that night to bury us.”

“Did you think of the consequences?”

“I reckoned you’d be called paid for, any time any one come gunning for you.  I didn’t think there’d be any consequences.”

“Hereafter, I mean; to your soul.  What a pity you didn’t wait a little longer!  Those other two are already punished.”

“Don’t lie to me now?”

The little smile lighted his face again.

“I have a load of sin on me—­but I don’t think I ever did lie to any one—­I guess I never was tempted—­”

“Oh, you’ve acted lies enough.”

[Illustration:  “OH, MAN ...  HOW I’VE LONGED FOR THAT BULLET OF YOURS!”]

“You’re right—­that’s so.  But I’m telling you truth now—­those two men had both been in the Meadows that day and it killed them.  One went crazy and ran off into the desert.  They found his bones.  The other shot himself a few years ago.  Those of us that live are already in hell—­”

He sat up, now, animated for the moment.

“—­in hell right here, I tell you.  I’d have welcomed you, or any other man that would kill me, any time this fifteen years.  I’d have gone out to meet you.  Do you think I like to hear the women scream?  Do you think I’m not crazed myself by this thing—­right back of me here, now—­crawling, bleeding, breathing on me—­trying to come here in front where I must see it?  Don’t you see God has known how to punish me worse than you could, just by keeping me alive and sane?  Oh, man! you don’t know how I’ve longed for that bullet of yours, right here through the temples where the cries sound worst.  I didn’t dare to do it myself—­I was afraid I’d make my punishment worse if I tried to shirk; but I used to hope you would come as you said you would.  I wonder I didn’t know you at once.”