Jewel whirls. “Son of a bitches,” he says. As he does so he is abreast of the white man, who has paused. It is as though Jewel had gone blind for the moment, for it is the white man toward whom he whirls.
“Darl!” Cash says from the wagon. I grasp at Jewel. The white man has fallen back a pace, his face still slack-jawed; then his jaw tightens, claps to. Jewel leans above him, his jaw muscles gone white.
“What did you say?” he says.
“Here,” I say. “He don’t mean anything, mister. Jewel,” I say. When I touch him he swings at the man. I grasp his arm; we struggle. Jewel has never looked at me. He is trying to free his arm. When I see the man again he has an open knife in his hand.
“Hold up, mister,” I say; “I’ve got him. Jewel,” I say.
“Thinks because he’s a goddamn town fellow,” Jewel says, panting, wrenching at me. “Son of a bitch,” he says.
The man moves. He begins to edge around me, watching Jewel, the knife low against his flank. “Can’t no man call me that,” he says. Pa has got down, and Dewey Dell is holding Jewel, pushing at him. I release him and face the man.
“Wait,” I say. “He don’t mean nothing. He’s sick; got burned in a fire last night, and he ain’t himself.”
“Fire or no fire,” the man says, “can’t no man call me that.”
“He thought you said something to him,” I say.
“I never said nothing to him. I never see him before.”
“ ’Fore God,” pa says; “ ’fore God.”
“I know,” I say. “He never meant anything. He’ll take it back.”