Mac Strann said: "Kind of looks like Jerry was ridin' the home trail,
Haw-Haw. See the way he's smilin'?"
The vulture stroked his lean cheeks and seemed once more to swallow his
silent mirth.
"And his hands," said Mac Strann, "is just like life, except that they's
gettin' sort of chilly. He don't look changed, none, does he, Haw-Haw?
Except that he's seein' something off there--away off there. Looks like
he was all wrapped up in it, eh?" He leaned closer, his voice fell to a
murmur that was almost soft. "Jerry, what you seein'?"
Haw-Haw Langley gasped in inaudible terror and retreated again towards
the door.
Mac Strann laid his giant hand on the shoulder of Jerry. He asked in a
raised voice: "Don't you hear me, lad?" Sudden terror caught hold of
him. He plunged to his knees beside the bed, and the floor quaked and
groaned under the shock. "Jerry, what's the matter? Are you mad at me?
Ain't you going to speak to me? Are you forgettin' me, Jerry?"
He caught the dead face between his hands and turned it strongly towards
his own. Then for a moment his eyes plumbed the shadows into which they
looked. He stumbled back to his feet and said apologetically to Haw-Haw
at the door: "I kind of forgot he wasn't livin', for a minute." He
stared fixedly at the gaunt cowpuncher. "Speakin' man to man, Haw-Haw,
d'you think Jerry will forget me?"
The terror was still white upon the face of Haw-Haw, but something
stronger than fear kept him in the room and even drew him a slow step
towards Mac Strann; and his eyes moved from the face of the dead man to
the face of the living and seemed to draw sustenance from both.
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