Now these here old boots of mine, the man said, is plumb wore out.
Holme looked at the boots. They were cracked and weatherblackened and one was cleft from tongue to toe like a hoof. He looked at Harmon and he looked at the fire, chewing.
Ain’t they? the man said.
I reckon, Holme said. He rearranged the shirt and felt of it.
Get ye some more meat there, the man said.
Thank ye, Holme said. I’ve a plenty.
Did that ferryman not have nary better shirt than that?
What?
I said did that ferryman not have no better a shirt on him than that? I never noticed his shirt.
The man watched him. After a minute he turned to Harmon. He says he never noticed his shirt, he said.
Harmon squeezed his shins and giggled and nodded his head up and down.
The man had stretched out before the fire and was propped up on one elbow. He said: I wonder where a feller might find him a pair of bullhide boots like them you got.
Holme’s mouth was dust dry and the piece of meat seemed to have grown bigger in it. I don’t know, he said.
Don’t know?
He turned the shirt again. He was very white and naked sitting there. They was give to me, he said.
They look a mite turned up at the toes, the man said. Did they not know your size?
They was bought for somebody else. He died and I got em give to me is how come they a little big. They all right.
The man shifted slightly and raised one of his own broken boots and looked at it and lowered it again. Holme could see part of one naked foot within the rent leather.
I reckon a dead man’s boots is better than near no boots a-tall, the man said.
He felt cold all over. Harmon raised his head and looked at him and even the one with the rifle that had appeared to be sleeping had now opened his eyes without moving at all and was regarding him with malign imbecility.
You say you was just goin crost the river? the man said.
Holme’s voice came out quavering and alien. He heard it with alarm. I was huntin my sister, he said. She run off and I been huntin her. I think she might of run off with this here tinker. Little old scrawnylookin kind of a feller. Herself she’s just young. I been huntin her since early in the spring and I cain’t have no luck about findin her. She ain’t got nobody but me to see about her. They ain’t no tellin what all kind of mess she’s got into. She was sick anyways. She never was a real stout person.
The man was listening closely but what he said next: I wouldn’t name him because if you cain’t name somethin you cain’t claim it. You cain’t talk about it even. You cain’t say what it is. I got Harmon to look after him if they do fight. I keep studyin him. He’s close, but I keep at it.
Holme stared at him. The man had sat up again and had his legs crossed before him.
He’s the one set the skiff adrift this mornin, he said. Even if it just drifted off he still done it. I knowed they’s a reason. We waited all day and half the night. I kept up a good fire. You seen it didn’t ye?
Yes, Holme said.
How come ye to run your sister off? the man said.
I never.
How come her to run off?
I don’t know. She just run off.
You don’t know much, do ye?
Holme looked past him and past Harmon to the one with the rifle. He appeared to be sleeping but he wasn’t sleeping. He looked at the man again. I ain’t bothered you, he said.
I ain’t in a position to be bothered.
Holme didn’t answer.
That ain’t the way it is, the man said.
Holme leaned slightly forward and held his elbows. He could feel the meat weighty and truculent in the pit of his stomach.
Is it? the man said.
No.
Get ye another piece of meat yander.
I’ve got about all I can hold.
You know, I would think them there big boots would chafe on a feller’s heels, the man said.
They all right, Holme said.
I don’t believe they are, the man said.
Are what?
All right. I don’t believe they are.
Well, it don’t make no difference.
When I believe somethin it makes a difference.
Holme watched the fire. In his unfocused vision the coals beaded up in pins of light and drifted like hot spores. Blood had come up in his ears and they were warm and half deaf with it. I don’t care, he said.
You will care mister. I think maybe you are somebody else. Because you don’t seem to understand me very much. Now get them boots off.
Harmon looked up and smiled. Holme looked at the man. The fire had died some and he could see him better, sitting beyond it and the scene compressed into a kind of depthlessness so that the black woods beyond them hung across his eyes oppressively and the man seemed to be seated in the fire itself, cradling the flames to his body as if there were something there beyond all warming. He reached and slid the boots from his feet, one, the other, and stood them before him.