Read Online Knight's Gambit by William Faulkner - Free Book Online
Authors: William Faulkner
Ads: Link
just for a few votes?’
‘Why not? If he murders again, there is always this place for him to come back to.’ Now it was Uncle Gavin who thought for a minute, though he did not look down.
‘Suppose I should repeat what you have just said. I have no proof of that, either, but I would be believed. And that would—’
‘Lose me votes? Yes. But you see, I have already lost those votes because I have never had them. You see? You force me to do what, for all you know, may be against my own principles too—or do you grant me principles?’ Now Uncle Gavin said the Governor looked at him with an expression almost warm, almost pitying—and quite curious. ‘Mr. Stevens, you are what my grandpap would have called a gentleman. He would have snarled it at you, hating you and your kind; he might very probably have shot your horse from under you someday from behind a fence—for a principle. And you are trying to bring the notions of 1860 into the politics of the nineteen hundreds. And politics in the twentieth century is a sorry thing. In fact, I sometimes think that the whole twentieth century is a sorry thing, smelling to high heaven in somebody’s nose. But, no matter.’ He turned now, back toward the table and the room full of faces watching them. ‘Take the advice of a well-wisher even if he cannot call you friend, and let this business alone. As I said before, if we let him out and he murders again, as he probably will, he can always come back here.’
‘And be pardoned again,’ Uncle Gavin said.
‘Probably. Customs do not change that fast, remember.’
‘But you will let me talk to him in private, won’t you?’ The Governor paused, looking back, courteous and pleasant.
‘Why, certainly, Mr. Stevens. It will be a pleasure to oblige you.’
They took them to a cell, so that a guard could stand opposite the barred door with a rifle. ‘Watch yourself,’ the guard told Uncle Gavin. ‘He’s a bad egg. Don’t fool with him.’
‘I’m not afraid,’ Uncle Gavin said; he said he wasn’t even careful now, though the guard didn’t know what he meant. ‘I have less reason to fear him than Mr. Gambrell even, because Monk Odlethrop is dead now.’ So they stood looking at one another in the bare cell—Uncle Gavin and the Indian-looking giant with the fierce, yellow eyes.
‘So you’re the one that crossed me up this time,’ Terrel said, in that queer, almost whining singsong. We knew about that case, too; it was in the Mississippi reports, besides it had not happened very far away, and Terrel not a farmer, either. Uncle Gavin said that that was it, even before he realized that Terrel had spoken the exact words which Monk had spoken on the gallows and which Terrel could not have heard or even known that Monk had spoken; not the similarity of the words, but the fact that neither Terrel nor Monk had ever farmed anything, anywhere. It was another filling station, near a railroad this time, and a brakeman on a night freight testified to seeing two men rush out of the bushes as the train passed, carrying something which proved later to be a man, and whether dead or alive at the time the brakeman could not tell, and fling it under the train. The filling station belonged to Terrel, and the fight was proved, and Terrel was arrested. He denied the fight at first, then he denied that the deceased had been present, then he said that the deceased had seduced his (Terrel’s) daughter and that his (Terrel’s) son had killed the man, and he was merely trying to avert suspicion from his son. The daughter and the son both denied this, and the son proved an alibi, and they dragged Terrel, cursing both his children, from the courtroom.
‘Wait,’ Uncle Gavin said. ‘I’m going to ask you a question first. What did you tell Monk Odlethrop?’
‘Nothing!’ Terrel said. ‘I told him nothing!’
‘All right,’ Uncle Gavin said. ‘That’s all I wanted to know.’ He turned and spoke to the guard beyond the door.
‘Why not? If he murders again, there is always this place for him to come back to.’ Now it was Uncle Gavin who thought for a minute, though he did not look down.
‘Suppose I should repeat what you have just said. I have no proof of that, either, but I would be believed. And that would—’
‘Lose me votes? Yes. But you see, I have already lost those votes because I have never had them. You see? You force me to do what, for all you know, may be against my own principles too—or do you grant me principles?’ Now Uncle Gavin said the Governor looked at him with an expression almost warm, almost pitying—and quite curious. ‘Mr. Stevens, you are what my grandpap would have called a gentleman. He would have snarled it at you, hating you and your kind; he might very probably have shot your horse from under you someday from behind a fence—for a principle. And you are trying to bring the notions of 1860 into the politics of the nineteen hundreds. And politics in the twentieth century is a sorry thing. In fact, I sometimes think that the whole twentieth century is a sorry thing, smelling to high heaven in somebody’s nose. But, no matter.’ He turned now, back toward the table and the room full of faces watching them. ‘Take the advice of a well-wisher even if he cannot call you friend, and let this business alone. As I said before, if we let him out and he murders again, as he probably will, he can always come back here.’
‘And be pardoned again,’ Uncle Gavin said.
‘Probably. Customs do not change that fast, remember.’
‘But you will let me talk to him in private, won’t you?’ The Governor paused, looking back, courteous and pleasant.
‘Why, certainly, Mr. Stevens. It will be a pleasure to oblige you.’
They took them to a cell, so that a guard could stand opposite the barred door with a rifle. ‘Watch yourself,’ the guard told Uncle Gavin. ‘He’s a bad egg. Don’t fool with him.’
‘I’m not afraid,’ Uncle Gavin said; he said he wasn’t even careful now, though the guard didn’t know what he meant. ‘I have less reason to fear him than Mr. Gambrell even, because Monk Odlethrop is dead now.’ So they stood looking at one another in the bare cell—Uncle Gavin and the Indian-looking giant with the fierce, yellow eyes.
‘So you’re the one that crossed me up this time,’ Terrel said, in that queer, almost whining singsong. We knew about that case, too; it was in the Mississippi reports, besides it had not happened very far away, and Terrel not a farmer, either. Uncle Gavin said that that was it, even before he realized that Terrel had spoken the exact words which Monk had spoken on the gallows and which Terrel could not have heard or even known that Monk had spoken; not the similarity of the words, but the fact that neither Terrel nor Monk had ever farmed anything, anywhere. It was another filling station, near a railroad this time, and a brakeman on a night freight testified to seeing two men rush out of the bushes as the train passed, carrying something which proved later to be a man, and whether dead or alive at the time the brakeman could not tell, and fling it under the train. The filling station belonged to Terrel, and the fight was proved, and Terrel was arrested. He denied the fight at first, then he denied that the deceased had been present, then he said that the deceased had seduced his (Terrel’s) daughter and that his (Terrel’s) son had killed the man, and he was merely trying to avert suspicion from his son. The daughter and the son both denied this, and the son proved an alibi, and they dragged Terrel, cursing both his children, from the courtroom.
‘Wait,’ Uncle Gavin said. ‘I’m going to ask you a question first. What did you tell Monk Odlethrop?’
‘Nothing!’ Terrel said. ‘I told him nothing!’
‘All right,’ Uncle Gavin said. ‘That’s all I wanted to know.’ He turned and spoke to the guard beyond the door.
Similar Books
