“Let him take it back, then.”
“Put up your knife, and he will.”
The man looks at me. He looks at Jewel. Jewel is quiet now.
“Put up your knife,” I say.
The man shuts the knife.
“ ’Fore God,” pa says. “ ’Fore God.”
“Tell him you didn’t mean anything, Jewel,” I say.
“I thought he said something,” Jewel says. “Just because he’s—”
“Hush,” I say. “Tell him you didn’t mean it.”
“I didn’t mean it,” Jewel says.
“He better not,” the man says. “Calling me a—”
“Do you think he’s afraid to call you that?” I say.
The man looks at me. “I never said that,” he said.
“Don’t think it, neither,” Jewel says.
“Shut up,” I say. “Come on. Drive on, pa.”
The wagon moves. The man stands watching us. Jewel does not look back. “Jewel would ’a’ whipped him,” Vardaman says.
We approach the crest, where the street runs, where cars go back and forth; the mules haul the wagon up and on to the crest and the street. Pa stops them. The street runs on ahead, where the square opens and the monument stands before the courthouse. We mount again while the