"I could hear the boy's voice, hoarse and throbbing, as though he
dragged words out bleeding, then I heard the other one laugh--a
nasty, sneering laugh that ended in a choking rattle, like a noose
had tightened on his throat.
"I jumped for the door, and rounding the corner, something near took
me off my feet; something that shot through the air, all pretty and
knickerbockery, with a two-faced cap, and nice brown leggin's. Also,
a little camera was harnessed to it by tugs. It arose, displaying
the face of R. Alonzo Struthers, black and swollen, with chips
stickin' in it where he'd hit the woodpile. He glared at Morrow, and
his lips foamed like a crab out of water.
"'I hope I'm not intrudin', I ventures.
"When the kid seen me, he says, soft and weak, like something ailed
his palate:
"'Don't let me kill him, Billy.'"
[Illustration: "Don't let me kill him, Billy."]
"Struthers spit, and picked splinters forth from his complexion.
"'I told you for your own good. It's common gossip,' says he.
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