"I don't----"
"Did they git Frank, las' night?" Brit's eyes seemed to bore into her
soul, searching pitilessly for the truth. "Don't lie to me, Raine--it
ain't going to help any. Was it Frank or Lone? They's a dead man laid
out on this ranch. Who is it?"
"F-frank," Lorraine stammered, backing away from him. "H-how did you
know?"
"How did it happen?" Brit's eyes were terrible.
Lorraine shuddered while she told him.
"Rabbits in a trap," Brit muttered, staring at the low ceiling. "Can't
prove nothing--couldn't convict anybody if we could prove it. Bill
Warfield's got this county under his thumb. Rabbits in a trap. Raine,
you better pack up and go home to your mother. There's goin' to be hell
a-poppin' if I live to git outa this bed."
Lorraine stooped over him, and her eyes were almost as terrible as were
Brit's. "Let it pop. We aren't quitters, are we, dad? I'm going to stay
with you." Then she saw tears spilling over Brit's eyelids and left the
room hurriedly, fighting back a storm of weeping. She herself could not
mourn for Frank with any sense of great personal loss, but it was
different with her dad.
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