“Good. If Emory was limping at all, I couldn’t tell, but he was still bleeding from his shoulder. He followed me docilely, and again the unfairness of it all embittered me. Why couldn’t people just leave things alone? We hadn’t been hurting anybody. My dad was waiting for me on the back deck. His face looked tired. “Emory’s been shot!” I shouted at him. I went straight to the pole barn, as if physically avoiding my dad’s wrath would be possible. Emory strode over to the couch and eased himself d...own on it. My dad came up from behind me. “Give me my rifle, Son,” he said quietly. I snapped the bolt back and released the shell, then handed him the weapon butt first, barrel down. He nodded at the other one. “Where did you get that?” I told him what had happened with McHenry and the dogs at the Old Cabin. My father listened without expression at first, but he grew contemplative when I explained that Emory had pushed the rifle away when I pointed it at the man lying on the ground.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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