Wilbur Daniel Steele

“ It's made a difference in Belle, Luke. Belle's a woman now. These five years have told."
"These five years have told"—it kept echoing in John Petit's brain as he sat there staring down at the knuckles of the hard hands on his knees, afraid to look at his brother. He would scarcely have known him at a casual meeting. Five years in prison had certainly done Luke no good.
Though John touched nothing, Luke had begun to eat ravenously, picking out sardines with his fingers from the can between his elbows. ”

“ You ought to 'a' seen me a year ago, John, after the bit in solitary. Poorer! Did you think five years in prison was going to put flesh on to a man?"
"It's been had, Luke."
"Bad! I guess! I tell you one thing, John; for a man that's been five years in a cell, when he comes out there's nothing in the world too good for him. What's the gun for, John?"
"Nothing. The Wallow folks are a mite ugly, that's all. They won't do anything, though. I just carried it fo luck."
Luke Petit peered about him.
"Where's the mare? I'd 'ave thought you'd 'ave brought the rig, John." ”

“ I'd leave the mare in Kolquist's stable and have him fetch her up in the morning."
Luke leaned his head on the wheel and began to sob. His tears, uncontrolled and painless, mingled with the rain. He could have done nothing more spectacular. John reached across the wheel with a sudden excess of tenderness mingled with self-abasement and patted the sunken shoulders; then, with an urging hand under the other's arm, pulled him into the buggy.
"Dear me, don't take on so!" he pleaded. "Yes, yes, Luke, old fellow, I 'll drive you over. I'm going to take you to Belle's. Don't you hear me?" ”

“ She 'll be round when she finds I'm not running after her." He began pulling off flakes of meat from the chicken's breast and putting them between his teeth.
"Belle," he called aloud, with a taunting gaiety, "we 're eating!"
The note of the rain booming through the darkened rooms beyond was all the answer he got. John, falling in eagerly with his mood, took a chair himself and made a laborious pretense of eating. Luke seemed to forget what he was doing, his hands moving more and more mechanically from plate to lips, and his eyes, fixed on the cloth, filled with dreams. ”

“ The circular muscles about the lips had lost elasticity and let them fall apart. In the eyes alone remained anything penetrating and alive. And they dreamed of the plunder of a new world. Why not? To a man famished in the desert five long years for a brave deed, who will deny all he will drink at the springs? ”

“ You can say 'to-morrow'! You 've never been five years in prison, or you could n't say it like that—'to-morrow!' "
A thwarted devil crept into Luke's eyes. They became less erratic, and moving with a new slowness, they sought the doorway toward the living-room and the stairs. John, studying him, retreated behind the stove and fumbled in the bottom of the boot-closet. ”

“ Denying Luke! Luke!"
Color whipped John Petit's face; the features were set in a grimace of pain. Leaning across the table, he confronted his brother.
"It's not that, Luke. God knows you can never be paid, nor half, nor a quarter paid, for what you 've gone through. Don't you think I'd do it if I could? I'm doing my best, Luke. I 've made over my share in the farm to you, and I'm clearing out. I'm going West to-night on the twelve-two. It's a good farm, Luke; the wheat's splendid this year. You 'll do well."
"And—and with Belle's place, too—" Luke looked up abruptly. "Going West, you say? ”

“ The longest-living author of this work died in 1970, so this work is in the public domain in countries and areas where the copyright term is the author's life plus 52 years or less. This work may be in the public domain in countries and areas with longer native copyright terms that apply the rule of the shorter term to foreign works. ”