him. The boy reahzed his mistake too late, and Davis snagged him by the collar. Lou ran
toward them. "Diamond!" screamed Lou once more. "Help!"
Davis had Oz pinned against his leg with one hand and was trying to reload his gun with
the other.
"Gawd damn you," the man thundered at the cowering boy.
Lou flung her fists into him but didn't do any damage, for though he was short, George
Davis was hard as brick.
"You let him go," Lou yelled. "Let him go!"
Davis did let go of Oz, but only so he could strike Lou. She crumpled to the ground, her
mouth bleeding. But the man never saw Diamond. The boy picked up the fallen post,
swung it, and clipped Davis's legs out from under him, sending the man down hard. Then
Diamond conked Davis on the head with the post for good measure. Lou grabbed Oz, and
Diamond grabbed Lou, and the three were more than fifty yards from the hollow by the
time George Davis regained his legs in a lathered fury. A few seconds after that, they
heard one more shotgun blast, but they were well out of range by then.
They heard running behind them and picked up their pace. Then Diamond looked back
and said that it was okay, it was only Jeb. They ran all the way back to the farmhouse,
where they collapsed on the front porch, their breathing tortured, their limbs shaking
from both fatigue and fright.
When they sat up, Lou considered taking up the run once more because Louisa was
standing there in her nightdress looking at them and holding a kerosene lamp. She wanted
to know where they'd been. Diamond tried to answer for them, but Louisa told him to
hush in a tone so sharp it struck the always chatty Diamond mute.
"The truth, Lou," ordered the woman.
And Lou told her, including the almost deadly run-in with George Davis. "But it wasn't
our fault," she said. "That bear—"
Louisa snapped, "Get yourself to the barn, Diamond. And take that dang dog with you."
"Yes'm," said Diamond, and he and Jeb slunk away.
Louisa turned back to Lou and Oz. Lou could see she was trembling. "Oz, you get
yourself to bed. Right now."
Oz glanced once at Lou and fled inside. And then it was just Lou and Louisa.
Lou stood there as nervous as she had ever been.
"You could'a got yourself kilt tonight. Worse'n that you could'a got you and your brother
kilt."
"But, Louisa, it wasn't our fault. You see—"
"Is your fault!" Louisa said fiercely, and Lou felt the tears rush to her eyes at the woman's
tone.
"I didn't have you come to this mountain to die at the sorry hands of George Davis, girl.
You gone off on your own bad enough. But taking your little brother too—and he follow
you cross fire, not knowing no better—I'm ashamed of you!"
Lou bowed her head. "I'm sorry. I'm really sorry."
Louisa stood very erect. "I ain't never raised my hand to a child, though my patience run
sore over the years. But if you ever do somethin' like that agin, you gonna find my hand
'cross your skin, missy, and it be somethin' you ain't never forget. You unnerstand me?"
Lou nodded dumbly. "Then get to bed," said Louisa. "And we speak no more of it."
The next morning George Davis rode up on his wagon pulled by a pair of mules. Louisa
came outside to face him, her hands behind her back.
Davis spit chew onto the ground next to the wagon wheel. "Them devils broke up my
propity. Here to get paid."
"You mean for busting up your still."
Lou and Oz came outside and stared at the man.
"Devils!" he roared. "Gawd damn you!"
Louisa stepped off the porch. "If you gonna talk that way, git yourself off my land.
Now!"
"I want my money! And I want them beat bad for what they done!"
"You fetch the sheriff and go show him what they done to your still, and then he can tell
me what's fair."
Davis stared at her dumbly, the mule whip clenched in one hand. "You knowed I can't do
that, woman."
"Then you know the way off my land, George."
"How 'bout I put the torch to your farm?"
Eugene came outside, a long stick in his big hand.
Davis held up the whip. "Hell No, you keep your nigger self right there afore I put the
whip to you just like your granddaddy had 'cross his back!" Davis started to get down
from the wagon. "Mebbe I'll just do it anyway, boy. Mebbe all'a you!"
Louisa pulled the rifle from behind her back and leveled it at George Davis. The man
stopped halfway off his wagon when he saw the Winchester's long barrel pointed at him.
"Get off my land," Louisa said quietly, as she cocked the weapon and rested its butt
against her shoulder, her finger on the trigger. "Afore I lose my patience, and you lose