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He thought of Grandfather on a huge white horse, marshaling the people. Across his mind marched the great phantoms, and they marched off the earth and they were gone.
He came back to the ranch for a moment, then. He heard one of the dull rushing sound that space and silence make. He heard one of the dogs, out in the doghouse, scratching a flea and dumping his elbow against the floor with every stroke. Then the wind arose again and the black cypress groaned and Jody went to sleep.
He was up half an hour before the triangle sounded for breakfast. His mother was rattling the stove to make the flames roar when Jody went through the kitchen. “You’re up early,” she said. “Where are you going?”
“Out to get a good stick. We’re going to kill the mice today.”
“Who is ‘we’?”
“Why, Grandfather and I.”
“So you’ve got him in it. You always like to have someone in with you in case there’s blame to share.”
“I’ll be right back,” said Jody. “I just want to have a good stick ready for after breakfast.”
He closed the screen door after him and went out into the cool blue morning. The birds were noisy