silence which he finally broke with a
vehement interrogation.

"Asa, did ye ever heer anybody norrate thet hit's cowardly ter shoot an
enemy from ther bresh?"

Asa paused, his laden knife suspended midway twixt platter and mouth.
For an instant his clear-chiseled features pictured only surprise for
the unexpected question--then they hardened as Athenian faces hardened
when Plato "corrupted the youth with the raising up of new gods."

"Who's been a'talkin' blamed nonsense ter ye, Boone?" he demanded in a
terse manner tinctured with sharpness.

The boy felt his cheeks grow suddenly hot with a quandary of
embarrassment. To McCalloway he stood pledged to keep inviolate the
confidence of their conversations, and it was only after an awkward
pause that he replied with a halting lameness:

"Hit hain't jist p'intedly what nobody's been a'tellin' me. I ... I seed
in a book whar hit said somethin' ter thet amount." Suddenly with an
inspirational light of augmented authority, he added, "The Circuit-rider
hisself read outen ther Scriptures suthin' 'bout not doin' no murder."

Asa carried the knife up to his lips and emptied its blade. Having done
so, he spoke with a deliberate and humourless sincerity.

"Murder's a right ugly word, Boone, an' one a feller ought ter be
kinderly heedful erbout usin'. Barrin' ther Carrs an' Blairs an'
sich-like, I don't know nobody mean enough ter foller murderin'.
Sometimes a man's p'intedly fo'ced into a _killin'_, but thar's a heap
of differ betwixt them two things."

The grave face of the boy was still clouded with his new-born
misgivings, and reading that perplexity, his kinsman went on:

"Myself I've done been obleeged ter kill some sev'ral men. I plum
deplores hit. I wouldn't hold no high notion of anybody thet tuck ther
life of a feller-bein' without he _was_ plum obleeged ter do hit--ner of
no man thet _didn't_ ef hit war his cl'ar duty. Hit's done been ther
rise of fifty y'ars now since ther war first started up betwixt us an'
ther Carrs. Hit warn't none of my doin', but ever since then--off an'
on--my kinsfolk an' yourn hes done been shot down from ther la'rel--an'
we've done hit back an' sought ter hold ther score even--or a leetle
mite better. I've got my choice atween bein' run away from ther land
whar I was born at or else"--he let his hand drop back with a simple
gesture of rude eloquence until its fingers rested on the leaning
rifle--"or else I hev need ter give my enemies t