"Maybe," answered Jack, overlooking the irony. "Maybe he'll just put
you on my shoulders to guard."
He moved the gun significantly.
"And I can do it."
"Of course. But he would have to let me go sometime."
"Not till you'd promised to stick by him. I told him that myself, but
he said that you're young and that he'd teach you to like this life
whether you wanted to or not. Me speaking personally, I agree with
Black Gandil: This is the worst fool thing that dad has ever done.
What do we want with you--in Hal's place!"
"But I've got a thing to do right away--today; it can't wait."
"Give dad your word to come back and he'll let you go. He says you're
the kind that will keep your word. You see, he found you with a
cross in your hand."
And Jack's lips curled again.
It was all absurd, too impossible to be real. The only real things
were the body of yellow-haired Mary Brown, under the tumbled rocks and
dirt of the landslide, and the body of Martin Ryder waiting to be
placed in that corner plot where the grass grew quicker than all other
grass in the spring of the year.
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