A Time For Hanging Read Online Free PDF Page B

how he's the one killed her."
      "I don't want to hear any more of that kind of talk," Vincent said.   "Not until it's proved."
    "It's proved enough for me," Ross said.   "I say we hang the bastard right now."
    "You all tried that idea out once already," Jack said.   "It didn't wash, and it still won't.   Go on home now.   Get some sleep."
    The men grumbled for a few more minutes, but finally they gave it up.   They went over to where their horses were tied to some low-hanging branches, mounted up, and rode away.
    "I think we'll be hearin' some more from them," Jack said.
    "I'm afraid you're right," Vincent said.   "Doc, you go on into town.   I'll ride along with Jack, and you can meet us at the jail.   In the mornin' we'll see what you can tell us about the girl."
    He watched Bigby climb wearily into the buggy and thought about what he was going to tell the Randalls.   Whatever he said, it would not be easy.

7.

    It turned out to be worse than he thought.
    The Randall's house was on the outskirts of town.   It had a neatly kept yard, surrounded by a picket fence, and someone, probably Mrs. Randall, had tried to start a flower garden.   It had not done well, and Vincent could see only a couple of droopy-headed roses on a scraggly bush.
    Martha Randall let him in the door at his knock, leading him to the lamp-lit sitting room.   There was a hooked rug on the floor, and Vincent looked at its pattern as if there might be a message there for him.
    There wasn't, and he took off his hat, bringing his head up and met Mrs. Randall's eyes.   "Where's your husband?" he asked.
    "He's in the back room, praying.   Have you found my daughter?   Have you found Lizzie?"
    "We'd better get your husband in here," Vincent said, knowing it was the wrong thing but unable to think of anything better.
    Mrs. Randall looked at him stonily, then turned and left the room, her broad back tensed as if she expected Vincent to hit her.
    In a few seconds, Randall entered the room, clutching his Bible.   His wife stood behind him in the doorway, filling it.
    "You've found her?" Randall said.   "Where is she?"
    "Yes," Vincent said, twisting his hat in his hands.   "We've found her.   She . . . she's at Doc Bigby's office."
    "She's hurt?   What happened?   A fall?   Did she --"
    "She's dead," Vincent blurted out.   He couldn't think of any other way to put it.   Hell, there wasn't any other way.
    Mrs. Randall gave a brief, strangled cry and fell forward.   She hit the floor hard, and Vincent was glad for the momentary distraction.   He stepped past Randall and knelt down beside her.   There was a horsehair sofa on one side of the room, and it had been his intent to get her to it, but he saw that he could not do so without help.
    He got her rolled over onto her back, and then he felt Randall's heavy hand on his shoulder.   "Leave her.   Tell me what happened to me daughter."
    Vincent stood up slowly.   His knees popped.   Maybe it was better this way.   Mrs. Randall wouldn't have to hear the terrible details, at least not from the sheriff.
    Randall stood stiffly while Vincent told him.
    "There must be some mistake," he said when the sheriff had finished.   "My daughter can't have been killed like that."
    There was a faint stirring from Mrs. Randall, and what   might have been a sigh.   Vincent looked down at her, but she gave no sign of being aware of anything.   Her eyes were closed.
    "It's her," Vincent said.   "There's no mistake."
    Randall walked over to the sofa and sat down.   He put his Bible down carefully on an end table covered with a white crocheted doily.   Then he clasped his hands and bowed his head.
    Vincent stood there awkwardly.   He didn't know whether to say or go, but he felt he should do something for Mrs. Randall if her husband didn't intend to.
    She lay on the floor unmoving, however, and Randall continued to pray silently.   Or Vincent guessed he was praying.   That was what it looked like he