Chapter 23The next week, on a Saturday afternoon, I was sitting on the porch of the boarding house when I saw Jeff climb from his horse. He wore a dismayed look.
“I thought you’d want to know,” he said. “I just saw Nellie Wisler leaving the train station. Preacher Wisler is dying.”
“Yes. I do want to know. I’m going over there. I’ll be back… well, I don’t know when I’ll be back.”
I rode the five miles, taking time to think what I would say to Nellie, or to her husband if he was there. I wasn’t afraid of him. In other circumstances, I’d almost wish him to start something. I think I would get some kind of satisfaction from smashing my fist into his face. To watch the blood flow freely from his mouth, his nose. To show him I was the better man. To show Nellie I was the better m
