"You think you'll see him now," I said.
"I know I will. Bessie, that gun is special. When he comes you have to shoot him. Otherwise he will take me away. I'll be dead for sure."
"I will," I promised him. "I'll watch over you. You rest now." But he was already out.
I kept his gun on my lap, neglecting the mending basket to watch him as he struggled to breath. I didn't know what to make of his story, but it certainly explained why he had such an odd gun. At least it looked like it had some intrinsic value; whoever had sold it to him hadn't taken total advantage of his superstitious fears.
Si's fitful breathing slowed to a labored rhythm and my eyelids grew heavy. I still wasn't quite recovered from the last time I'd sat vigil at a bedside, young Jacob finally beating the fever that had k
