Dearest | Page 7

kit, Sergeant," the Colonel said. "And hurry. Mr. Stephen's been shot,
too."
"Yessuh!" Sergeant Williamson executed an automatic salute and about-face and raced
from the room. The Colonel picked up the telephone on the desk.
The County Hospital was three miles from "Greyrock"; the State Police substation a good
five. He dialed the State Police number first.
"Sergeant Mallard? Colonel Hampton, at 'Greyrock.' We've had a little trouble here. My

nephew's wife just went juramentado with one of my pistols, shot and wounded her
husband and another man, and then shot and killed herself.... Yes, indeed it is, Sergeant. I
wish you'd send somebody over here, as soon as possible, to take charge.... Oh, you will?
That's good.... No, it's all over, and nobody to arrest; just the formalities.... Well, thank
you, Sergeant."
The old Negro cavalryman re-entered the room, without the sword-cane and carrying a
heavy leather box on a strap over his shoulder. He set this on the floor and opened it, then
knelt beside Stephen Hampton. The Colonel was calling the hospital.
"... gunshot wounds," he was saying. "One man in the chest and the other in the leg, both
with a .45 pistol. And you'd better send a doctor who's qualified to write a death
certificate; there was a woman killed, too.... Yes, certainly; the State Police have been
notified."
"Dis ain' so bad, Cunnel," Sergeant Williamson raised his head to say. "Ah's seen men
shot wuss'n dis dat was ma'ked 'Duty' inside a month, suh."
Colonel Hampton nodded. "Well, get him fixed up as best you can, till the ambulance
gets here. And there's whiskey and glasses on that table, over there. Better give Doctor
Vehrner a drink." He looked at T. Barnwell Powell, still frozen to his chair, aghast at the
carnage around him. "And give Mr. Powell a drink, too. He needs one."
He did, indeed. Colonel Hampton could have used a drink, too; the library looked like
beef-day at an Indian agency. But he was still Slaughterhouse Hampton, and
consequently could not afford to exhibit queasiness.
It was then, for the first time since the business had started that he felt the presence of
Dearest.
"Oh, Popsy, are you all right?" the voice inside his head was asking. "It's all over, now;
you won't have anything to worry about, any more. But, oh, I was afraid I wouldn't be
able to do it!"
"My God, Dearest!" He almost spoke aloud. "Did you make her do that?"
"Popsy!" The voice in his mind was grief-stricken. "You.... You're afraid of me! Never be
afraid of Dearest, Popsy! And don't hate me for this. It was the only thing I could do. If
he'd given you that injection, he could have made you tell him all about us, and then he'd
have been sure you were crazy, and they'd have taken you away. And they treat people
dreadfully at that place of his. You'd have been driven really crazy before long, and then
your mind would have been closed to me, so that I wouldn't have been able to get through
to you, any more. What I did was the only thing I could do."
"I don't hate you, Dearest," he replied, mentally. "And I don't blame you. It was a little
disconcerting, though, to discover the extent of your capabilities.... How did you manage
it?"

"You remember how I made the Sergeant see an angel, the time you were down in the
snow?" Colonel Hampton nodded. "Well, I made her see ... things that weren't angels,"
Dearest continued. "After I'd driven her almost to distraction, I was able to get into her
mind and take control of her." Colonel Hampton felt a shudder inside of him. "That was
horrible; that woman had a mind like a sewer; I still feel dirty from it! But I made her get
the pistol--I knew where you kept it--and I knew how to use it, even if she didn't.
Remember when we were shooting muskrats, that time, along the river?"
"Uhuh. I wondered how she knew enough to unlock the action and load the chamber." He
turned and faced the others.
Doctor Vehrner was sitting on the floor, with his back to the chair Colonel Hampton had
occupied, his injured leg stretched out in front of him. Albert was hovering over him with
mother-hen solicitude. T. Barnwell Powell was finishing his whiskey and recovering a
fraction of his normal poise.
"Well, I suppose you gentlemen see, now, who was really crazy around here?" Colonel
Hampton addressed them bitingly. "That woman has been dangerously close to the
borderline of sanity for as long as she's been here. I think my precious nephew trumped
up this ridiculous insanity complaint against me as much to discredit any testimony I
might ever give about