It was, in fact, some of the Outliers who had not been at Deep Fern,
drawn from their own places by that mysterious capacity of evil news to
spread. They came hurrying all that day and the next. The Covers were
peopled thick as a rabbit warren. Coveys of quail whirred up from it
with a sharp explosive sound and broke toward the wooded land. Except
for that, and the fact that the quail did not come back again, there was
no sign. Men sat close in the tunnels, and it was dreadful to see the
working in them of their resentment of betrayal. So much the worse
because they knew it had been half invited. They had accepted a hostage
of the Far-Folk, who never spoke straight nor did truly. What wonder,
then, if he had done after his kind? They knew—at this point resentment
rose to its burningest—they had always known, and knowing, could not
have done otherwise. Ravenutzi came under honorable conditions, and they
had served him honorably, being so much the debtor to their own natures.
They were not only sick to be dishonored, they sickened of dishonor. As
they sat in the green glooms of Windy Covers their bodies heaved and
flushed, eyes reddened, hands wrenching at invisible things. Now and
then, at the mention of a name or a circumstance, some quick, explosive
breath would struggle with a curse; the gorge of the spirit rose.
Never among the Outliers had I found myself so unfriended. I felt myself
burned upon by their rages, but they cared nothing for my burning. To
have harped upon my own resentment was to advertise myself a witness of
their betrayal. I judged best to be as little in evidence as was
compatible without making myself a target for the Far-Folk. I found
myself as lonely as could well be expected.
Late of the second day I went down to the edge of the chaparral where
the trees began to invade it, standing apart and singly, and the
chaparral had made itself small to run under the trees. I found an
island of dry litter under a pine, and drew myself up in it, out of the
pervading bitterness and betrayal, flooding so fiercely under Windy
Covers.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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