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Subject: {ASSM} Sarah and the Stranger {Claire Kellis} (MF MFm Fm oral anal incest) [12/14]
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Date: Tue, 15 Jul 2008 10:10:04 -0400
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Sarah and the Stranger
a Novel by Claire Kellis

Winter, 2007



Chapter 12: _The Arsonist_



"Did you go to church much, Bud?"

They were sitting on the front porch on a windless, rainy Sunday: Sarah,
Bud, Jeff and little Joseph playing with his worn blocks at his mother's
feet.  Sarah looked up from her knitting after asking the question.

"As a kid," said Bud from the rocking chair beside hers.  The background
sound was water running off the porch roof and falling to the ground.

"You remember it?" asked Jeff in the third rocking chair, looking away 
from his study of the distant wet fields.

"I remember a big, huge building with many people and sunlight streaming
through stained glass.  The ceiling was so high you could hardly see 
it."

"What kind of church?"

Bud shrugged.  "Probably Catholic or Episcopalian.  I don't actually 
remember the denomination."  He chuckled.  "Doubt I paid much attention
during the sermon."

"But you know a lot about the bible," Sarah protested.  "Didn't you 
learn it in church?"

"Somebody read bible stories to me at night.  I recall enjoying it."

"Your mama?"

"Maybe.  As I grew up I developed an interest in the nearly absolute 
disparity between what the bible claims and what it can prove.  The more
I studied it the more I marveled at man's powers of wishful thinking."

Jeff said, "You don't believe in it, then?"

"No.  Even less than I believe in _Huckleberry Finn_."  Bud returned the
other's frank gaze.  "What about you?"

Jeff shrugged.  "Never thought much about it.  We ain't a church-going 
family."

"You don't worry about the big questions?"

"What's that?" asked Sarah.

"Such as 'Who made the world?'  'What are we all doing here and where'd
we come from?'  'What's the purpose of life?'"  He grinned at Jeff.  
"When lightning strikes nearby, do you ever suppose God is warning you?"

"Warning?  Damn right!  Warning me to get my ass in the barn."

They laughed.  Bud maintained his grin.  "That's another thing I love 
about this family.  I've never seen one so free of superstition.  What 
made you ask about church, Sarah?"

She sighed.  "I only been to church four or five times, mainly for 
funerals.  I remember the girls talking about it at school.  They had 
lots of fun going to church.  I felt left out."

"At school?  I thought your mother taught you at home."

"Till she died.  Then the county made me go for three years."

Jeff studied her.  "Maybe I should've took you to church.  You might've
met a better set of boys.  Then again you might not've."

"Didn't want one better'n Tim."  She glanced shyly up at Bud.  "Until 
now."

"Speaking of 'better,'" said Jeff: "you noticed ain't no wind today?"

She blinked.  "Yeah, I noticed."

"So how'd you wash dishes and your twat this morning?"

She blinked several more times.  "Why, I reckon --  Oh.  That's right: 
we had plenty of water.  I even took a tub bath.  Did you make the tank
bigger?"

"That's a good idea if we had the concrete.  Bud found an old electric 
motor and hooked it up to the well pump.  If the wind quits, you just 
push the button and you got water."

"Golly!"  Her eyes lit.  She reached over the baby and squeezed Bud's 
knee.  "Thank you, Bud!"

"You're welcome, Sarah."

"You mean we don't need the windmill anymore?"

Jeff said, "Oh, no.  When the wind's blowing, it's still lots cheaper 
than electricity."

Sarah audibly gritted her teeth.  "I want to cuss when I think how nice
a farm that damn Percy's going to get this summer."

Maggie came out onto the porch, wearing one of her hand-me-down dresses
and remembering just in time not to let the screen slam.  She said 
sourly to Sarah, "Guess you'll never forgive me for not snaring Percy."

To her surprise Sarah giggled.  "Yes, I'll forgive you.  If a pussy full
of apple pie won't make a man stick, what will?  How you doing?  Is it 
itching?"

"Everything's fine, though Jack says he can still taste the cinnamon."

Sarah lost her smile.  "Where is Jack?"

"Asleep."  Because all the chairs were taken, Maggie sat down on the 
porch floor and leaned back against Jeff's legs.

The old man announced, "I been thinking about Percy.  I'll bet he never
had a woman or anybody else do for him what Maggie did the other night.
When he gets to thinking that over, when his dick remembers, his opinion
ought to improve.  Talk about a sweet pussy!"

The brunette looked up wonderingly.  "Despite his bloody nose?"

Jeff grinned.  "We might have to wait on the soreness going away."

"How long will that take?" asked Sarah.

"Oh, I'd guess a week or so."

"Well, it's only been two days and a half."

"We been waiting on Percy all spring.  What's another few days?"

Bud nodded.  "There's something in what you say.  The longer he waits to
respond, the stronger he'll remember Maggie."

"You think so?"  The younger woman looked up hopefully.  "I've been told
that's the sweetest way to treat a man, even if you wouldn't have it."

Sarah's eyes widened.  "You offered Bud pie in the puss' too?"

"I offered to let him fuck my mouth while he squeezed my boobs."

"The same night?"

"No, no.  The other day while you were visiting your friend, the 
doctor."

"Oh."  Sarah subsided, lowering her head.

Maggie pushed her advantage.  "Just before you tried to shoot me dead."

Jeff said hastily, "If you're interested in our religion, Bud, Maggie's
the one to ask about that."

"Religion?" asked Maggie, blinking up at him.

"Yeah.  Your mama was a religious nut, wa'n't she?  Ain't she?"

"She made me go to church till my belly started swelling."  The woman 
grinned.  "But that was fun."

"I envied you," said Sarah.

"And I envied you not having to go.  Then Harvey took me behind the 
bushes."

"Harvey?"

"Preacher's son.  He got my cherry."

"Really?  I thought that was Uncle Ted."

Jeff inserted wryly, "So did Ted."

"I took Harvey between my legs two weeks before Ted.  Ted got my mouth 
cherry.  He's the one who taught me to love cocksucking."

Jeff said, "You might like to know Harvey Pringle went to jail."

"He did?"

"When he had a falling out with his father, the widow Jones took him on
as a hired hand.  He knocked her up, stole her savings and dee-parted.
She went to the sheriff and they caught him."

"How long's he in for?"

"Oh, he's out and gone.  You want to see him?"

"Hell, no!  He was the worst poke of all."

Jeff chuckled.  "A gal's first usually is."

"If it hadn't been for Uncle Ted, I might've hated fucking."

"That would've been a shame.  Come up here and put that soft tail in my
lap."

She stood up but hesitated.  "Won't it make your legs stiff?"

"Yeah, the middle one."  He caught her around the waist and pulled her 
down upon him backwards.  His hands compressed her breasts, covered only
by the thin dress material.

"Ooo, Uncle!"  Hooking her knees over his, she rose enough for her hands
to reach beneath her and loosen the buttons of his fly.  A quick swipe 
drew her skirt up to her waist.  She settled slowly.

Sarah grimaced.  "You two mean to fuck on the porch?"

"Fuck porch!" declared little Joe, pulling up with a tight grip on Bud's
pants leg.  He had taken an interest when the woman collapsed onto 
grandfather's lap.

"Don't say that!" wailed Sarah.  She snatched up the baby and exposed a
nipple for his mouth.  Nothing loathe, the child began to suck.

Maggie raised bare feet to rest on Jeff's knees.  With her son safe, 
Sarah took in the view before her.  She snarled, "Damn it, Maggie, where
are your panties?"

The woman snickered.  "Last I saw, Jack was wearing them around his 
neck.  Ooo, Uncle!  Did I ever tell you how much I love your sweet 
cock?"


* * *


The following morning Sarah sat taking breakfast with the others, eating
heartily of scrambled eggs and hominy grits, washed down by coffee 
sweetened with refined sugar courtesy of Maggie's adventures, while 
little Joe enjoyed his own breakfast at her breast.  A heavy rain was 
falling again, tinkling on the kitchen's tin roof.

"What you doing today, Daddy?" she asked.  "You can't go to the fields."

"Seeding's about finished anyway," the old man answered.  "We'll work in
the barn."

"Maybe we ought to take the day off," Maggie suggested, winking at him.

"Did that yesterday.  They's work to do.  Ought to fix that broke-out 
place in the hay loft.  Or we could muck out the stalls."

"Yuck!" was Jack's opinion.

Jeff turned to Bud.  "You ever done any capentry?"

"A little.  On the boat."

"Boat?  You worked on a boat?"

"I recall crewing on one in the Med: handling sails, holding a course, 
making repairs now and then."

"Sails -- a rich man's yacht?"

"Must have been, although I don't remember the particulars."

"That's how you got them calluses."

"I think so."

"Then you can help me fix the hay loft.  We got enough lumber in --"

"No, he can't," Sarah interjected.  "I want Bud to help _me_ this 
morning."

Her father studied her with wide eyes.  A grin developed slowly.  "I 
thought he was a-helping you last night -- helping you squeal, at 
least."

"Daddy!"

"How long you need him?"

"I want to talk to him for an hour or two.  Maybe Maggie can help you in
the barn."

The younger woman's face brightened.  "Yeah, Uncle Jeff.  I do good in 
barns."  She giggled.  "Just ask Chuck Hazlett."

Jack grinned around his mouthful of eggs.  "I want to go to the barn 
too.  What d'you call that sandwich Maggie showed us?"

"Greek," said Jeff.

"Oh, yeah!" exclaimed Maggie.

Jack stood up, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand.  "Let's get 
started."

Jeff took a last sip of coffee and said, "Okay.  You can come on, 
Maggie, soon as you put on your clothes."

"Clothes?  They'd just get wet.  I don't need clothes to walk across the
yard."

When the three departed, slamming the back screen, Bud took the last of
the eggs onto his plate and continued eating, looking at Sarah 
expectantly.

Barefoot in a belted flannel nightgown, she rose and said, "I'll just 
put the baby in his crib."

She was gone long enough for him to finish the eggs and drink the last 
of his coffee.  When she returned, she cleaned everything off the table
and wiped its top with a dishrag before sitting down beside the curious
man.

She smiled at him.  "Bud, how you feeling these days?  I mean 
generally."

"Good."  He smiled in return and covered her hand with his.  "Especially
when you're nearby."

"Then you don't mind staying in here with me?"

"Mind?  I love you, Sarah."

"I love you too.  But I know ... just me ain't enough for a man like 
you."

He didn't contradict her.  "Sarah, is there a library in Faresville?"

"Sort of.  The county pays Miss Bostitch a little something for one of 
her rooms.  You have to call ahead and get her to open up for you."

His face brightened.  "Wonderful!  I'd like to do that when it quits 
raining.  I'll walk to town."

"You can ride Ben.  Uh, did you ever ride a horse?"

"I think so.  That's very kind of you, my dear."  He grinned.  "If I 
find another farm hand, I hope he doesn't fall in love with you too."

"'Find another --'  Oh!"  But she giggled.

He squeezed her hand.  "Although I can't see how he could avoid it."

Her arms went around his neck.  They kissed lingeringly.  When their 
lips separated, she sighed.  "Bud ... Bud ..."

"Yes, dear?"

"You'll never guess why I didn't let you go to the barn."

He smiled.  "It must be something special."

"Well ..."  Unaccountably she blushed.  "I laid awake a lot last night 
thinking."

"Of what?"

"What Maggie told of her doings with Percy."  She glanced up to see his
reaction.

"Hmm.  What did you conclude?"

"I mean what they did on this tabletop."  Her blush deepened.

He asked with rising interest, "The pie inside her?"

"And what came next.  You'll think I'm terrible."

"Wonderful, maybe!"  He grinned hugely.  "You want to try it?"  Without
waiting for her answer he shoved the chair back, jumped to his feet and
began stripping off his clothing.  She watched, licking her lips 
expectantly.

"Maggie was naked," he noted.  "Take off that robe."

When both were nude, he caught her by the hips and set her round 
buttocks on the table edge before his chair.  After hitching it closer 
he dropped into it, leaned forward and guided her legs over his 
shoulders.

Though she stared down in eager anticipation at his grin, honesty 
compelled her to remind him, "Jack ate up all the pie."

"That's fine.  I prefer your natural flavor anyway."

She gasped and shivered when his tongue penetrated.  Lapping sounds 
competed with the light rain on the roof.  She moaned.  "Oh, god, Bud!"
Soon she was mewling and shuddering in climax.

When she pushed his head away, he asked, eyes twinkling, "Shall we 
continue as Maggie and Percy did?"

She caught her breath, shivered again and said, "I didn't understand at
first -- how he could fuck her mouth and squeeze her boobs at the same 
time.  But I think I figured it out."  She slid farther onto the table,
spun around and subsided on her back, head upside down over the table 
edge.  "Is this right?"

"Exactly right!" he declared, rising to his feet.

"Squeeze me hard," she ordered just before his large and very firm organ
filled her mouth.

"Maggie wasn't fresh," he pointed out, beginning a shallow piston 
stroke.  Nevertheless he squeezed as directed, half an engorged breast 
in each fist.  Milk sprayed in fine threads.

"Uh-huh!" she approved nasally.  Her hands closed on his hips and urged
him to faster strokes.  Although his deepest thrusts gagged her, 
revealed by nasal retching sounds, her forceful hands prevented his 
withdrawal.

"God, Sarah!  How do you make your throat so tight?  I don't know how 
you stand it, but I love it.  Here I come!"

Nostrils flaring, she snatched a deep breath and held it, closing her 
throat while her mouth overflowed with his cool ejaculate.  He withdrew
and fell into the nearby chair.  She rolled over and rose on her elbows.

Her eyes crossed as her long tongue swept upwards.  She explained, "It 
went up my nose."

"And your eyebrows.  You're lucky it didn't run into your eyes."

She blinked.  "It did."

"Some girls say it burns."

"Not your juice, Bud.  I love any way it gets in me."  She giggled and 
clambered off the table, long legs scissoring.  At the sink she wiped 
her face and turned to watch him as he licked her milk off his hands.  
She commented, "Maggie said men really like to fuck like that."

"I suppose they do."

"How about you?"

"I liked it, although I'd rather see your eyes.  Why'd you want to try 
it?"

She shrugged.  "Like jumping off the shed."

"Something different?  I loved how deep it went.  Why didn't you vomit?"

She grinned.  "Uncle Ted knew an old girl in Springfield who was proud 
to swallow one whole.  She told him you just had to practice.  She was 
right."

He chuckled.  "You had a unique upbringing, Sarah, and I'm glad to enjoy
the results."  He stood and gathered his clothing.  "Rain on a tin roof!
Nothing is more soothing, especially right after a little loving.  Come
and rest with me."

She shook her head and made a regretful sound.  "When Joe takes his 
morning nap is when I get the most done."

She pressed close, lips upturned.  They kissed deeply.  Upon parting, 
they both sighed.  She smiled and murmured, "Oh, Bud!  I love you so."

"I'm confident of one thing, Sarah: I've never known a sweeter woman."

"You darling!  Go take your nap before I forget my housework."

But she turned off the kitchen light, sat in the chair he had vacated 
and savored the drumming rain sound herself, along with the dim 
solitude.  She had noticed with Tim that the arms of a tenderly loving 
man could leave her almost as strong a glow as sexual climax.  Bud was 
perfect in that regard, ready for anything.  Tim had been more reserved,
refusing to do her up the ass and rejecting blowjobs outside the house,
where a slight risk of discovery sharpened her pleasure.  Such a 
difference between men!  Yet she had known four adults who loved her 
deeply, each in his own way.  Were all women so lucky?

The rain slackened.  She was cataloguing the differences among her men 
in looks, odor and behavior, dwelling on favorite characteristics of 
each, when her reverie was violently interrupted.

To her left the screen door was snatched open.  She turned to stare at a
strange man, roughly-clothed with a leering grin in a face badly needing
a shave.

"Too bad I ain't got time to help you with that leaking nipple, ain't 
it, sugar?"

She snatched her robe up from the floor beside her chair and held it 
against her torso with both hands.

The man's grin became a sneer.  "What was you doing, airing out your 
tits?"  He stepped further into the kitchen and raised a heavy 
galvanized tin, about the size and shape of a lidded two-gallon milk 
can, by its wire handle.  With a heave he slid it onto the tabletop.  
The contents gurgled.  She smelled kerosene.

Glaring at him, she cried, "Don't you have sense enough to knock before
you come charging into a woman's kitchen?  If my menfolks was in here, 
you'd be flying back out that door about now."

He chuckled.  "Don't worry, I made sure the old man and the boy is in 
the barn."  His leer returned as he added, "Playing with their Chicago 
slut."

"Who are you?  What do you want?"

He shook his head.  "I ain't saying my name 'cause I don't want to kill
you."  The can lid rasped as he began to unscrew it.  "Go get your baby
and take your sweet ass outdoors."

"Out_doors_!"  Her glare intensified.  "Take my baby out in the rain?"

"Yeah.  I'm going to drench these rooms with kerosene, let your cook 
stove set it alight and run like hell myself."  His voice became a 
shout.  "Now get the hell out of here!"

She jerked erect, the forgotten robe falling away, and matched his 
shout.  "Burn my house down, will you?  Over my dead body!"

Naked, she darted around him, snatched up a butcher knife from the sink
and spun to face him.  But he had followed close behind her and grabbed
the wrist of her knife arm as she raised it.  She screamed, a 
blood-curdling full-throated shriek, and kicked hard at his testicles.
Guessing her intent, he swiveled his hips so that her bare toes impacted
his hard outer thigh.  Wincing in pain, she struck with the other hand,
nails raking his cheeks, narrowly missing his eyes.

"You bitch!" he shouted, smashing a hard right fist to her cheek, 
producing colorful stars in a black surround.  She dropped the knife and
fell backwards on the sink drain, sliding from there down to the floor 
on hands and knees, drawing her limbs close in expectation of a kick.

The kick never came.  Her ears filled with masculine oaths and stomping
boots.  She opened her eyes and realized Bud and the stranger were 
fighting.  As she watched, the grappling figures collapsed to the floor,
in the process shoving the table against the wall.  The can of kerosene
teetered and fell with a clunk.  A yellowish fluid slopped from its 
partly open lid.  That got her attention!  Eyes wide, she scooted on 
hands and knees around the edge of the kitchen and tightened the lid 
before the leak became a flood.

The stranger pulled Bud to his feet and struck him a flurry of blows 
that drove him back against the far wall.  The sight suggested that Bud
had not yet regained his full strength.  Bud dodged and twisted under 
the stranger's fists.

She leapt erect and dashed down the hall to Daddy's room, snatched the 
double-barreled shotgun out from the closet and opened the breech.  
Moaning with urgency, she grabbed the box of shells off the high shelf 
and flipped it open, spraying shotgun rounds across the room, hearing 
her mother's voice: _Haste makes waste_.  She managed to force two 
shells into the breech and snap it closed.

She arrived back in the kitchen just as Bud landed a powerful blow that
knocked his assailant into a seat in the woodbox.  Bud had turned the 
tables and seemed to be winning.  She smiled and relaxed her tense grip
on the gun.

Bud grabbed the man's shoulders, tugged him out of the woodbox and 
braced him with one hand while cocking the other for a knock-out punch.
But the stranger's hand came out of the box gripping a three-inch tree 
limb at least two feet long.  His arm swung forward, aided by Bud's 
pull, and the impromptu club struck the side of Bud's head with a 
sickening thud.  Bud collapsed on his back and lay still.

Breathing hard, the stranger straightened and looked around the room.  
His eye stopped at Sarah.  She raised the shotgun to her shoulder.

"You little fool," he asserted between gasps, "give me that gun ... 
before you get hurt."

He took a step toward her.

"I'll kill you," she warned.

As his hand darted toward the barrels, her fingertip closed on one 
trigger, slid off and pulled the other.  The gun roared twice in quick 
succession, two unprecedented blows to her ears and two bright flares 
that licked the man's chest, smashing him against the wall.  The 
gunstock slammed her shoulder twice, spinning her partly around, but her
terrified gaze was locked on the man.  Eyes wide, he slid down to the 
floor, leaving a red streak.

His lips moved.  She read them: "I didn't think you'd do it!"

The gun had leapt from her hands and was somewhere behind her.  She had
stumbled and fallen to her knees.  She could hear nothing.  As she 
watched, the man's head fell forward, chin on his chest above a red and
black wound larger than her fist.

Dazedly she became aware of pain on her cheekbone, in her right shoulder
and both knees.  Her hand went to her face: no blood.  The shotgun butt
had left a red impression in her shoulder; no doubt a large bruise was 
on the way.  She wondered if her hearing would return.

Bud!  Dear god, was Bud dead too?  She crawled over the floor to him.  
Oh, his poor handsome face!  Now it was blue in spots, red in others, 
with bleeding cuts on the forehead and the jaw line.  His knuckles were
skinned and raw.  But his chest moved under the shirt.  She was thrilled
to see him breathing.  She thought of the doctor and determined to call
him as soon as her hearing returned -- if it ever did.  Nothing in her 
life had ever been so loud as those indoor shotgun blasts.  They had the
feel of ice picks driven into her ears.

As to the intruder -- to hell with him!  Beyond noting from the corner 
of her eye that he still sagged against the wall, she would not even 
look in his direction.

After delicately kissing Bud's sagging mouth she rose and went tiredly 
to her bedroom.  She had donned bra, panties and blouse and was stepping
into a skirt when motion attracted her eye.  Her son, Jack, stood in the
doorway, huge eyes regarding her.  He dashed around the bed and clutched
her in his arms, obviously meaning to kiss her but hesitating at sight 
of her face.

With a sudden pop her hearing returned as a high-pitched ringing that 
gradually faded.  Jack's voice was now audible.  "What happened, Mamma?
What happened to you?  What happened in the kitchen."

His clothing was dry.  "Has it quit raining?" she asked.

He blinked.  "I guess so.  Did _you_ shoot him?"

"Where's your grandpa?"

"In the kitchen."

She pulled free of the lad and started down the hall.  Joseph was 
bawling.  She stopped long enough to raise him from crib to hip, which 
reduced his noise to sniffles.

In the kitchen Jeff was examining the sitting intruder.  Maggie, fully 
nude, had straightened one of the overturned chairs and sat at the 
misaligned table, eyes wide, chin in hand.

Sarah asked, "Is he dead?"

Jeff looked up.  "As a doornail.  Why not, with a chest full of 
buckshot?  You the shooter?"

She sighed.  "Yeah.  He knocked Bud down with a piece of stove wood."

Jeff squinted at her face.  "What'd he do to you?"

"Knocked me down first off."

"With stove wood?"

"With his fist."

"So what happened here, Sarah?"

"It was bad, Daddy.  That guy came right in the back door and told me to
get me and my baby outdoors; he was going to burn the house down."

"With that kerosene?"

"Yeah.  I tried to stop him.  Bud must've heard me scream.  He came and
fought, saved me from a worse beating.  I went after your shotgun, got 
back in time to see him get laid out with that tree limb."  She took a 
deep breath.  "I warned that guy I'd kill him, but he grabbed for the 
gun."

"So you shot him.  Good girl!"

"I couldn't let him burn my house down."  She burst into tears.

Jeff came to her and clasped her against his chest, holding her head to
her shoulders.  "Don't cry, darling.  Looks like it's all over."

She accepted his comfort briefly then looked up with teary eyes.  "Bud 
don't look so good."

"I checked him first.  He's got a big knot on the side of his head."  
The old man chuckled.  "The last one was in the back.  He's breathing 
okay, a hell of a lot faster than your arson man, at least!"

"Not _my_ arson man!  I never saw him before."

"Maggie, you know that guy?"

The young woman shook her head slowly.  "I was thinking about the johns
at the dance, but I don't recall this one."

"Well, what'd he want to burn our house for?"  As he asked the question,
Jeff stooped over the man, caught his shoulder and stretched him along 
the floor on his side, exposing the bloody hamburger that remained of 
his back.  Jeff felt of the man's buttocks, removed a wallet from a hip
pocket and straightened up.

"Looks like he might be James Dillard.  Least here's a release card for
a guy by that name, from Grissom State Prison dated last week.  No 
driving license but ... huh! ...  Eight, nine, ten fifty-dollar bills."

"What?" exclaimed Sarah, Maggie and Jack in one voice.  Sarah added, 
"Fifty-dollar bills?"

"Yeah.  I guess we know what he wanted to burn us for.  Now the question
is who paid him?"

They were briefly silent.  Suddenly Maggie declared, "Percy!"

Jeff shook his head.  "You don't know that, Maggie."

"Yes, I do -- good as if he told me!"

Sarah said thoughtfully, "Bud bloodied Percy's nose.  Who else would 
have any reason?"

Jeff nodded slowly.  "And Percy's got the dough."  He stuffed the money
back into the wallet, bent and returned the wallet to the dead man's 
pocket.

"Don't give it _back_!" Maggie complained.

"Got to leave it for the sheriff.  That money was this guy's motive."

Sarah's eyes widened.  "Get Bud out of here before you call the 
sheriff."

Jeff blinked.  "And put him where?"

"In ... in his room and close the door."  Sarah straightened resolutely.
"Jack, you and Maggie help Daddy.  And Maggie, for god's sake get some 
clothes on!"

She followed the others to Bud's bedroom and watched him laid tenderly 
in his bed.

The child on her hip asked, "Bud sick?"

"Yeah, honey.  He needs to take a nap."

She went resolutely to the kitchen telephone, removed the receiver, 
listened to the dial tone and jiggled the hook.

A woman's voice announced, "Central."

Sarah said hoarsely, "Mabel, get me Sheriff Bates, will you, dear?"

"What's the matter?"

"We got trouble."

"That bad?"

"Yeah, that bad."

She waited through whirring sounds and a click.  A man's voice 
proclaimed, "Christian County Sheriff's Department, Deputy Kindle 
speaking."

"Ray, this is Sarah Martin."

"How you doing, Sarah?"

"I'm okay.  Now."

"Trouble?"

"Yeah, Ray, big trouble.  I ... I just ... shot a man."

"You what?"

She took a breath.  "He's dead.  He said he was going to burn us out."

"Dead, is he?  Don't need a doctor?"

"Umm.  _He_ don't."

"Who else is hurt?  Are you okay, Sarah?  How 'bout your pa?"

"We're ... all okay."

"Hold on.  Let me see if Hailey wants to talk to you."

She waited.  Her family had followed her back into the kitchen.  Jack 
reached for the fallen shotgun but Jeff stopped him.  "Leave it for the
sheriff."

A deeper voice sounded in the telephone receiver.  "This is Hailey 
Bates, Sarah.  Who's the man you shot?"

"Umm.  I never saw him before, Sheriff."

"How do you know he meant to burn you out?"

"He said so.  And he fetched a can of kerosene."

"All right.  Don't touch anything.  Don't disturb the scene of the 
crime."

"Crime?  I stopped him, Sheriff."

"It seems you did.  All right.  We'll be there in half an hour."

She sighed.  "I don't guess they's any rush now."

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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