Then the master came riding up; grey and old he was,
sixty at least. 'Open the gate!' he called out. But I didn't. He thought I
must be mad, no doubt, and lashed out at me with his whip, but I paid no
heed. At last he had to get down himself to open the gate. Then I gave him
the first blow: it got him just by one eye and cut a hole. He said,
'_Augh_!' and dropped. I said a few words to him, but he didn't
understand; after a few more blows he was dead. He'd a deal of money on
him; I took a little to help me on my way, then I mounted and rode off.
Inez was standing in the doorway as I rode past his place. 'It's only
three and a half days to the frontier,' he said."
So Rough told his story, and sat staring coolly in front of him when it
was ended.
I have no murders to tell of, but joys and sufferings and love. And love
is no less violent and perilous than murder.
Green in all the woods now, I thought to myself this morning as I dressed.
The snow is melting on the hills, and everywhere the cattle in their sheds
are eager and anxious to be out; in houses and cottages the windows are
opened wide.
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