Mystery fiction; Sawyer, Tom (Fictitious character) -- Fiction
troubles and gone to a better shore—” So he broke down and choked up
again, and most all the women was crying now. Pretty soon he got
another start and says: “But it warn’t no use; so at last I went home
and tried to get some sleep, but couldn’t. Well, in a day or two
everybody was uneasy, and they got to talking about this prisoner’s
threats, and took to the idea, which I didn’t take no stock in, that my
brother was murdered so they hunted around and tried to find his body,
but couldn’t and give it up. And so I reckoned he was gone off somers
to have a little peace, and would come back to us when his troubles was
kind of healed. But late Saturday night, the 9th, Lem Beebe and Jim
Lane come to my house and told me all—told me the whole awful
’sassination, and my heart was broke. And _then_ I remembered something
that hadn’t took no hold of me at the time, because reports said this
prisoner had took to walking in his sleep and doing all kind of things
of no consequence, not knowing what he was about. I will tell you what
that thing was that come back into my memory. Away late that awful
Saturday night when I was wandering around about this prisoner’s place,
grieving and troubled, I was down by the corner of the tobacker-field
and I heard a sound like digging in a gritty soil; and I crope nearer
and peeped through the vines that hung on the rail fence and seen this
prisoner _shoveling_—shoveling with a long-handled shovel—heaving earth
into a big hole that was most filled up; his back was to me, but it was
bright moonlight and I knowed him by his old green baize work-gown with
a splattery white patch in the middle of the back like somebody had hit
him with a snowball. _He was burying the man he’d murdered!_”
And he slumped down in his chair crying and sobbing, and ’most
everybody in the house busted out wailing, and crying, and saying, “Oh,
it’s awful—awful—horrible!” and there was a most tremendous excitement,
and you couldn’t hear yourself think; and right in the midst of it up
jumps old Uncle Silas, white as a sheet, and sings out:
“_It’s true, every word—I murdered him in cold blood!_”
By Jackson, it petrified them! People rose up wild all over the house,
straining and staring for a better look at him, and the judge was
hammering with his mallet and the sheriff yelling “Order—order in the
court—order!”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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