All Heads Turn When the Hunt Goes By by John Farris Read Free Book Online

it."
    I shook my head irritably. Everett John Wilkes looked no better than I felt. There was blood in his sandy hair matching the freckles that pattered across his flat nose and cheeks. He was holding himself stiffly, one shoulder higher than the other. His Palm Beach suit was ripped and the remains of a red carnation drooped on his left lapel. A doctor had bound the knuckles of one big hand in tape.
    He let go of me and stared at Nancy. "How's your little doll? Sleeping it off? Godalmighty, last thing I remember, boy, Clipper was swingin' that big old swift sword. I could've got there in time, maybe, but I tripped up, and then it felt like a hundred maniacs running over me. Worse than the Alabama game in '26, and buddy after that one they had to take my spleen out down there in Tuscaloosa. I'm one big bruise all over. Don't let me bore you with my troubles. I just came up here to tell you we're gettin' organized. Plenty of good people now to help out. I can sort of take over from here on, Champ. You go get yourself looked at. Save yourself for later, y'know? We'll talk when you're ready. Legally there are questions to be answered, but plenty time, Champ."
    I readily forgave him for running on in a manner one could feel was insensitive; it was his nature to talk when there was nothing much to say. Evvy was middle partner in the law office that looked after the affairs of Dasharoons. He was a Harvard Law School graduate, third in his class, I believe. He had a great deal of lazy charm, but his brain never stopped working. Boss had thought he would make a fine governor of Arkansas after a few years of seasoning. He would've been Boss's third governor.
    I was suddenly too weary, and too much in pain. There was no need for me to sit the rest of the day by Nancy's side.
    "Don't leave Nancy," I said to Aunt Clary Gene. "As soon as she's conscious tell her I'm all right. Keep telling her until you're certain that she understands."
    Downstairs a whiff of ammonium carbonate cleared my head, but I refused analgesics, afraid of the lull that was sure to follow. The doctor who examined my ankle was of the opinion there was no fracture, but undoubtedly I had torn ligaments. He recommended soaking in Epsom salts and told me to stay off my feet for several days.
    Evvy Wilkes reported that Nhora, still badly shaken but in control of herself, had returned to the train, where she felt she would be most useful. Hackaliah drove me back to the superintendent's home. I borrowed a fresh tailored uniform from my old French instructor, Col. Ben Giles, which fit me almost perfectly; it was only a trifle snug across the shoulders. Then Hackaliah accompanied me to the Stonewall Jackson Hotel, where the bride's wedding party was staying.
    I sought to express my sorrow to Corrie Billings's immediate family. I don't know what reaction I expected; I think I would have been relieved if they had spit on me. But for the most part they were subdued and as bewildered as I. Clipper's homicidal behavior they described as an "accident." Apparently not one of them had a clear picture of the tragedy. Corrie's father, for the most part quite lucid, could recall nothing of events subsequent to his arrival at the chapel. He rolled an empty shot glass between his hands the entire time I was there, and on several occasions referred to me as "commander." I don't know who he thought I was.
    Memory is capricious at the best of times; the panic in which they participated had forced reality into grotesque images best encountered in the safety of our dreams. But to Clipper and me, Boss had always stressed the "quality of our observation." If we were going to be good soldiers, he said.
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    R eturned to General Bucknam's at a quarter to six. Reporters had gathered in front of, indeed they blocked access to, the gate. Their behavior was outrageous. Unfortunate that the house is located outside the post, on a public street. We went in a back way so as not to be photographed. I