Reivers, The - William Faulkner [117]
"Thank you," Grandfather said. "If there's any charge. I'll let you know. What happened to Boon? You haven't told me yet."
"Oh yes. They unlocked What's-his-name first; that was the mistake, because they hadn't even got the key back out of Boon's lock before he was out of the cell and on—"
"Butch," I said.
"Butch," Miss Reba said. "—one good lick anyhow, knocked him down and was right on top of him before anybody woke up. So they never even let Boon stop; all the out he got was that trip across the corridor and back, into the cell and locked up again before they even had time to take the key out of the lock. But at least you got to admire him for it." But she stopped.
"For what?" I said.
"What did you say?" she said.
"What he did that we're going to admire him for. You didn't tell us that. What did he do?"
"You think that still trying to tear that—"
"Butch," I said.
"—Butch's head off before they even let him out of jail, aint nothing?" Miss Reba said.
"He had to do that," I said.
"I'll be damned," Miss Reba said. "Let's get started; we got to catch that train. You wont forget to send that bill," she told Grandfather.
"Get out and come in," Colonel Linscomb said. "Supper's about ready. You can catch the midnight train."
"No much obliged," Miss Reba said. "No matter how long your wife stays at Monteagle, she'll come back home some day and you'll have to explain it."
"Nonsense," Colonel Linscomb said. "I'm boss in my house."
"I hope you'll keep on being," Miss Reba said. "Oh yes," she said to Minnie. "Show them." She—Minnie— didn't smile at us: she smiled at me. It was beautiful: the even, matched and matchless unblemished porcelain march, curving outward to embrace, almost with passion, the restored gold tooth which looked bigger than any three of the natural merely white ones possibly could. Then she closed her lips again, serene, composed, once more immune, once more invulnerable to that extent which our frail webs of bone and flesh and coincidence ever hold or claim on Invulnerability. "Well," Miss Reba said. Mc-Willie's father cranked the engine and got back in; the automobile moved on. Grandfather and Colonel Linscomb turned and went back toward the house and I had begun to move too when the automobile horn tooted, not loud, once, and I turned back. It had stopped and Sam was standing beside it, beckoning to me.
"Come here," he said. "Miss Reba wants to see you a minute." He watched me while I came up. "Why didn't you and Ned tell me that horse was really going to run?" he said.
"I thought you knew," I said. "I thought that was why we came here."
"Sure, sure," he said. "Ned told me. You told me. Everybody told me. Only, why didnt somebody make me believe it? Oh sure, I never broke a leg. But if I'd just had Miss Reba's nerve, maybe I could have got that boxcar covered too. Here," he said. It was a tight roll of money, bills. "This is Ned's. Tell him the next time he finds a horse that wont run, not to wait to come and get me: just telegraph me." Miss Reba was leaning out, hard and handsome. Everbe was on the other side of her, not moving but still too big not to notice. Miss Reba said:
"I didn't expect to wind up in jail here too. But then, maybe I didn't expect not to, neither. Anyway, Sam bet for me too. I put up fifty for Mr Binford and five for Minnie. Sam got three for two. I—I mean we—want to split fifty-fifty with you. I aint got that much cash now, what with this unexpected side trip I took this morning—"
"I dont want it," I said.
"I thought you'd say that," she said. "So I had Sam put up another five for you. You got seven-fifty coming. Here." She held out her