It was just before sundown. We were sitting on the porch when the wagon came up the road with the five of them in it and the other one on the horse behind. One of them raised his hand, but they was going on past the store without stopping.
“Who’s that?” MacCallum says: I can’t think of his name: Rafe’s twin; that one it was.
“It’s Bundren, from down beyond New Hope,” Quick says. “There’s one of them Snopes horses Jewel’s riding.”
“I didn’t know there was ere a one of them horses left,” MacCallum says. “I thought you folks down there finally contrived to give them all away.”
“Try and get that one,” Quick says. The wagon went on.
“I bet old man Lon never gave it to him,” I says.
“No,” Quick says. “He bought it from pappy.” The wagon went on. “They must not a heard about the bridge,” he says.
“What’re they doing up here, anyway?” MacCallum says.
“Taking a holiday since he got his wife buried, I reckon,” Quick says. “Heading for town, I reckon, with Tull’s bridge gone too. I wonder if they ain’t heard about the bridge.”
“They’ll have to fly, then,” I says. “I don’t reckon there’s ere a bridge between here and Mouth of Ishatawa.”
They had something in the wagon. But Quick had been to the funeral three days ago and we naturally never thought anything about it except