I release him and face the man.
"Wait," I say.
"He dont mean nothing.
He's sick; got burned in a fire last night, and he aint himself."
"Fire or no fire," the man says, "cant no man call me that."
"He thought you said something to him," I say.
"I never said nothing to him.
I never see him before."
"Fore God," pa says; "Fore God."
"I know," I say.
"He never meant anything.
He'll take it back."
"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.
"Dont 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 onto 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 heads turn with that expression which we know; save Jewel.
He does not get on, even though the wagon has started again.
"Get in, Jewel," I say.
"Come on.
Let's get away from here."
But he does not get in.
Instead he sets his foot on the turning hub of the rear wheel, one hand grasping the stanchion, and with the hub turning smoothly under his sole he lifts the other foot and squats there, staring straight ahead, motionless, lean, wooden-backed, as though carved squatting out of the lean wood.
Cash.