Этюд в багровых тонах
John Ferrier talks with the Prophet.
“LeaveUtah!”
“That’saboutthesizeofit.”
“Butthefarm?”
“Wewillraiseasmuchaswecaninmoney,andlettherestgo. Totellthetruth,Lucy,itisn’tthefirsttimeIhavethoughtofdoingit. Idon’tcareaboutknucklingundertoanyman,asthesefolkdototheirdarnedprophet. I’mafree-bornAmerican,andit’sallnewtome. GuessI’mtoooldtolearn. Ifhecomesbrowsingaboutthisfarm,hemightchancetorunupagainstachargeofbuckshottravellingintheoppositedirection.”
“Buttheywon’tletusleave,”hisdaughterobjected.
“WaittillJeffersoncomes,andwe’llsoonmanagethat. Inthemeantime,don’tyoufretyourself,mydearie,anddon’tgetyoureyesswelledup,elsehe’llbewalkingintomewhenheseesyou. There’snothingtobeafearedabout,andthere’snodangeratall.”
JohnFerrierutteredtheseconsolingremarksinaveryconfidenttone,butshecouldnothelpobservingthathepaidunusualcaretothefasteningofthedoorsthatnight,andthathecarefullycleanedandloadedtherustyoldshotgunwhichhunguponthewallofhisbedroom.
