blowing a hole as big as your hand in the head or belly of that half-breed bastard Eddie Gilby. “Like that. I’d kill him like that.”
“He better not come then,” Trudy said. She put her hand in Nick’s pocket.
“He better watch out plenty,” said Billy.
“He’s big bluff,” Trudy was exploring with her hand in Nick’s pocket. “But don’t you kill him. You get plenty trouble.”
“I’d kill him like that,” Nick said. Eddie Gilby lay on the ground with all his chest shot away. Nick put his foot on him proudly.
“I’d scalp him,” he said happily.
“No,” said Trudy. “That’s dirty.”
“I’d scalp him and send it to his mother.”
“His mother dead,” Trudy said. “Don’t you kill him, Nickie. Don’t you kill him for me.”
“After I scalped him I’d throw him to the dogs.”
Billy was very depressed. “He better watch out,” he said gloomily.
“They’d tear him to pieces,” Nick said, pleased with the picture. Then, having scalped that half-breed renegade and standing, watching the dogs tear him, his face unchanging, he fell backward against the tree, held tight around the neck, Trudy holding, choking him, and crying, “No kill him! No kill him! No kill him! No. No. No. Nickie. Nickie. Nickie!”
“What’s the matter with you?”
“No kill him.”
“I got to kill him.”
“He just a big bluff.”
“All right,” Nickie said. “I won’t kill him unless he comes around the house. Let go of me.”
“That’s good,” Trudy said. “You want to do anything now? I feel good now.”
“If Billy goes away.” Nick had killed Eddie Gilby, then pardoned him his life, and he was a man now.
