Destined to Die

Mr Gershel, dirtied up and unshaven after early hours working his fields, he looked out of place on the swept stoop in the recently white-painted doorframe flanked by shiningly clean windows. ‘Mornin’ to you, stranger,’ he growled, unsmiling. ‘Joanne, what you doin’ ridin’ with a stranger?’ His Tennessee dialect was more pronounced than that of the girl. As he spoke, somebody else moved in the shadowed interior of the house behind him. ‘Name’s Baraaby Gold, Mr Gershel. Bring you some bad news.’ He hitched the reins around the brake lever and started to swing down from the wagon. Aware of the suspicion in Gershel’s hard-set face and of the stone-like posture of Joanne who seemed petrified to the seat. Was still in the process of getting off the wagon when the girl sprang to her feet, pointed at Gold and shrieked: ‘He killed them and raped me!’