THE HUNT
51
"He starts agaping. It was some past noon, and then
shaking a fist, fighting. He just slid back, let everything leave
him. I rushed Nettie out to git the doctor. He git round to
it too late."
"Kick up a fire. We ain't et all day." His wife hurried to
help Nettie. A child whimpered.
Hub brought out a jug of whiskey. You could smell the
corpse from the other room. Gordon took off his coat. Together
they cleaned the old man up with water and corn. They carried
him into the shed. They covered him over with blankets.
The kitchen remained dark and cold. Mrs. Hone had put
the baby down. "We ain't got a match or drop of kerosene."
Hub jammed his hands thru his pockets. Gordon hadn't
any. The last match spent on the squirrel which had gotten
away. Hub pushed wife and daughter away from the stove.
It
was too late. He swung around as if to strike his wife. The
girl walked up and faced him.
He dug up a flashlight and threw it on the table. "We'll
eat them raw. The boy's staying over."
Gordon looked at him.
"We got the other bed now the old man's moved."
Mrs. Hone nodded. She hurried over cold cabbage and
bread. Hub broke the squirrel and dropped pieces on each plate.
One of the children started crying. "Shut, damn you." Hub
stuck his finger into the corn whis,key and smeared it 9ver the
piece. "Fall on it, now. Got to git used to blood."
Gordon sat down. He rested his head on a hand. The dull
ache was passing. In spite of his weariness, he saw everything
falling into place, easily like the snow. It was around the hunt–
ing licenses the farmers here would get started. Curley, Hub,
and Lanky with the detailed letters that could choke a horse.
Gordon looked up. The girl stood in the shaft of the
Bashlight for a moment like a sapling well heeled in. She sat
down next to him. Mrs. Hone took the hand off the breast she
was guiding the baby to, and pushed bread towards him. Hub
chewed noisly, "There's the jug and the grub. Better snap to,
lad. Y'll be left out in the cold."
Gordon leaned over and reached out for his food.
