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He forgot again what he was doing there. The springing motion in his legs seemed to be growing stronger with each step. He bent forward so far he could almost touch the ground with his fingertips. He could not stop now. He was keeping up with the circle of men.

The fifteen men were drawing closer and closer together. The dawn had broken enough to show the time on the face of a watch. The sun was beginning to color the sky above.

Lonnie was far in advance of anyone else by then. He could not hold himself back. The strength in his legs was more than he could hold in check.

He had for so long been unable to buy shells for his gun that he had forgotten how much he liked to hunt.

The sound of the men’s steady creeping had become a rhythm in his ears.

“Here’s the bastard!” somebody shouted, and there was a concerted crashing through the dry underbrush. Lonnie dashed forward, reaching the tree almost as quickly as anyone else.

He could see everybody with guns raised, and far into the sky above the sharply outlined face of Clem Henry gleamed in the rising sun. His body was hugging the slender top of the pine.

Lonnie did not know who was the first to fire, but the rest of the men did not hesitate. There was a deafening roar as the shotguns and revolvers flared and smoked around the trunk of the tree.

He closed his eyes; he was afraid to look again at the face above. The firing continued without break. Clem hugged the tree with all his might, and then, with the far-away sound of splintering wood, the top of the tree and Clem came crashing through the lower limbs to the ground. The body, sprawling and torn, landed on the ground with a thud that stopped Lonnie’s heart for a moment.

He turned, clutching for the support of a tree, as the firing began once more. The crumpled body was tossed time after time, like a sackful of kittens being killed with an automatic shotgun, as charges of lead were fired into it from all sides. A cloud of dust rose from the ground and drifted overhead with the choking odor of burned powder.

Lonnie did not remember how long the shooting lasted. He found himself running from tree to tree, clutching at the rough pine bark, stumbling wildly towards the cleared ground. The sky had turned from gray to red when he emerged in the open, and as he ran, falling over the hard clods in the plowed field, he tried to keep his eyes on the house ahead.

Once he fell and found it almost impossible to rise again to his feet. He struggled to his knees, facing the round red sun. The warmth gave him the strength to rise to his feet, and he muttered unintelligibly to himself. He tried to say things he had never thought to say before.

When he got home, Hatty was waiting for him in the yard. She had heard the shots in the woods, and she had seen him stumbling over the hard clods in the field, and she had seen him kneeling there looking straight into the face of the sun. Hatty was trembling as she ran to Lonnie to find out what the matter was.

Once in his own yard, Lonnie turned and looked for a second over his shoulder. He saw the men climbing over the fence at Arch Gunnard’s. Arch’s wife was standing on the back porch, and she was speaking to them.

“Where’s your pa, Lonnie? ” Hatty said.”And what in the world was all that shooting in the woods for?” Lonnie stumbled forward until he had reached the front porch. He fell upon the steps.

“Lonnie, Lonnie!” Hattie was saying.”Wake up and tell me what in the world is the matter. I’ve never seen the like of all that’s going on.”

“Nothing,” Lonnie said.”Nothing.”

“Well, if there’s nothing the matter, can’t you go up to the big house and ask for a little piece of streak-of-lean? We aint got a thing to cook for breakfast. Your pa’s going to be hungrier than ever after being up walking around all night.”

“What?” Lonnie said, his voice rising to a shout as he jumped to his feet.

“Why, I only said go up to the big house and get a little piece of streak-of-lean, Lonnie. That’s all I said.”

He grabbed his wife about the shoulders.

“Meat?” he yelled, shaking her roughly.

“Yes,” she said, pulling away from him in surprise.”Couldn’t you go ask Arch Gunnard for a little bit of streak-of-lean?”

Lonnie slumped down again on the steps, his hands falling between his outspread legs and his chin falling on his chest.

“No,” he said almost inaudibly.”No. I aint hungry.”