"No, because Davey is your boy."
"Yes--that's true."
"And when one comes to the end of belief there is faith to carry one
further."
* * * * *
Sam got slowly to his feet and now seemed suddenly weary. He spoke
softly as though to himself. "I should not need faith. After all,
I've put my finger in the wound--" He looked at Biddy with his
characteristic suddenness. "Biddy-baby--perhaps your friend in the
ridges--maybe he would--"
Sam stopped, floundering--suddenly out of his depth. All his life he
had been a proud man; never in his life had he asked anyone for a favor
and even though it was for Davey, he did not know the process of asking.
Perhaps he would have got the words out even then, but before Jane
could help him, another fear blocked the way--Dan Parker's fear. In
his mind he saw Davey whole and unbroken, riding the saddle Dan Parker
now rode. And while he hated his selfishness--recognized it for the
evil and the criminal weakness it was--he still instinctively blocked
the way--spoke the words that stopped Sam Taber's plea: "I think you'd
better lie down a while, young lady. Get some rest. You were out too
early this morning."
It was an inconsequential barrier, but enough to straighten Sam
Taber--bring his natural coldness to the surface--end his plea. He
turned toward the door. "You might as well take the rest of the day
off, Dan. Won't be much work done today anyhow. See you tomorrow
morning."
Then he was gone; into the black's saddle and leading his quiet riders
out of town.
They watched him from the door and Jane said, "That was cruel Dan. And
you did it on purpose. I know you did. A boy's life restored against
that miserable job of yours."
Dan Parker knew inwardly the shame of his weakness but he hid it behind
surliness. "Well, somebody's got to look out for Biddy. You'd be
perfectly willing to let things go to hell and then moan because there
was no food in the house. Somebody's got to be practical." Dan snatched
his hat and without another word headed for the tavern....
* * * * *
Art Haney had never had it so good. He chuckled and took another swig
from the bottle Cecil Bates offered and thought by God it was about
time this town gave a poor blind man a break.
Cecil Bates leaned forward and took the bottle back. He didn't want
this old souse to get plastered and thus become useless. He said, "So
you met this guy out in the desert, eh, Haney?"
"Sure did. At least it was a stranger because I know every voice in
these parts. You see when a man's blind like I am, his sense of hearing
gets almighty sharp and you take notice--"
"Yeah, I know. Now he walked along with you and took you to the cave
he's got out there?"
"Nope--he didn't take me--well, not very far. I'm no slouch in getting
around even if I am blind and nobody ever helps me. I go out in them
ridges sometimes just to sort of hear the quiet sounds. You see a blind
man--"
"I know--I know. So you were out there and--"
"And he said hello. We got to talking--"
"What about?"
"Oh, just this and that. It was getting almighty hot and I asked him if
he could give a poor blind man a little something to drink."
"That was when he took you to the cave."
"Uh-huh. It was only about fifty feet from where I was. He took me
inside and gave me a swig of the damndest stuff you ever drank. Had a
kick to it, but not like any whiskey you ever drank."