“Nearly stopped,” Leon said. He turned his horse, and when he was halfway across the yard, twisted in the saddle to wave. She and the dog were still in the doorway, the fire behind them showing them in silhouette. Leon walked the horse all the way home, peaceful and calm.

Turnip and Puddy had often talked of Leon’s visits, and they had argued about them, the question being whether or not they should tell Roscoe. If they didn’t and he found out, they would be blamed and beaten, perhaps sold; and they preferred to go on as they were rather than risk the uncertainties of life with another master. But if they told him, they knew they would still be faulted somehow. They reckoned finally that no harm was done, and they could pretend not to see and know, and so kept quiet as long as Clovis and Leon met away from the house. But Leon’s coming in today had changed things. While Leon and Clovis rocked themselves before the fire, the dog on the floor between them, Turnip went to town to Roscoe.

He had only stumblingly got through the introduction to his story when Roscoe without a word to him went out and got on the horse that Turnip had ridden into town and trotted away. Panicked now, doubting that he had done right, Turnip begged Junior the loan of a mule and followed Roscoe a few minutes later riding bareback, having put only a bridle on the mule.

Roscoe had needed to hear no more of Turnip’s tale than: “Master Leon of Beulah Land—Miss Clovis—drinking together—” to set him off. What he felt was more in the way of cold irritation than hot anger. Certainly jealousy had little to do with it. He gave not a damn for Clovis as she was, and whatever jealousy he felt was for the distant past, for the fact that Leon had fucked her before he did, and made the bastard Roman, who had grown to manhood and killed his son Alonzo.

When he arrived at the farm, he slowed the horse and picked his way through the darkness around the house to the barn. The horse was property to be taken care of. One of the field hands was in the barn and came to meet Roscoe. Roscoe gave the horse to him, ignoring the man’s nervous jibber-jabber.