you know a woman don't want no man like that. I'm jus' waitin' to see whut he's goin' to say when he gits back."
II
But Joe Kanty never came back, never. The men in the store heard the sharp report of a pistol somewhere distant in the palmetto thicket and soon Spunk came walking leisurely, with his big black Stetson set at the same rakish angle and Lena clinging to his arm, came walking right into the general store. Lena wept in a frightened manner.
“Well,” Spunk announced calmly, "Joe come out there wid a meatax an' made me kill him."
He sent Lena home and led the men back to Joe—Joe crumpled and limp with his right hand still clutching his razor.
“See mah back? Mah cloes cut clear through. He sneaked up an' tried to kill me from the back, but Ah got him, an' got him good, first shot," Spunk said.
The men glared at Elijah, accusingly.
“Take him up an' plant him in 'Stoney lonesome,'" Spunk said in a careless voice. “Ah didn't wanna shoot him but he made me do it. He's a dirty coward, jumpin' on a man from behind.”
Spunk turned on his heel and sauntered away to where he knew his love wept in fear for him and no man stopped him. At the general store later on, they all talked of locking him up until the sheriff should come from Orlando, but no one did anything but talk.
A clear case of self-defense, the trial was a short one, and Spunk walked out of the court house to freedom again. He could work again, ride the dangerous log-carriage that fed the singing, snarling, biting, circle-saw; he could stroll the soft dark lanes with his guitar. He was free to roam the woods again; he was free to return to Lena. He did all of these things.
