When next he spoke, it was evident that his mood had changed. He was no longer harshly self-assertive, vainglorious, or brutally frank concerning the passion that consumed him. He was, instead, strangely reminiscent, with involuntary revelation of the weakness that preyed upon him. The girl was grateful for the change in him, but her bewilderment increased.
"I seen a feller hung once," Hodges said. His guttural, awed tones were hushed almost to a whisper. "They pulled a black cap down over 'is face, so's he couldn't see nothin' 'bout what he was up ag'inst. An' his han's was tied together behind 'is neck, with the knot up under his ear--'is left ear, I 'member hit was. I 'member partic'lar."
The speaker's gaze had been downcast; not once had he looked at Plutina. It was as if he had forgotten the girl's presence there with him, and communed aloud with his own gristly memories of the death-scene he had witnessed. His huge bulk seemed somehow shrunken--a physical shriveling in response to the craven fear in his soul. That gray, mottled purple of his face showed again. Plutina wondered, if, indeed, this same memory had been in his thoughts the night before. But, if so, it only made the thing the more inexplicable. Why should a hanging, long-past, thus haunt him? He was no nervous weakling, to be tortured by imaginary fears. Yet, now, he displayed unmistakable signs of terror, in his voice, his eyes, his whole mien, in the shaking haste that spilled the half of the drink he poured out.
"I seen 'im hung," he repeated, abjectly. "They let the trap drap from under his feet--an' 'im all tied, an' thet-thar black cap pulled down over 'is face to blind 'im. Hit were plumb awful fer to see 'im drap. An' then the rope stopped 'im right in the air. Hit were a drefful yank he got. They say, hit broke 'is neck, so's he didn't feel nothin' more. But I dunno. Hit looked like he felt a heap, fer he kicked an' squirmed like hell. Hit weren't purty fer to see. I've seen a big bull-frog what I've speared kick an' squirm jest like 'im. No, hit weren't purty. I'd shore hate fer to have my neck bruk thet-thar way. Damn the law, anyhow! They hadn't orter treat no white man thet-thar way. Hit must feel awful, a-standin' up thar, with thet-thar cap down over ye, shuttin' out everythin'--ferever; an' with thet-thar noose round yer neck, an' the knot a-ticklin' yer ear--yer left ear. I 'member specially. An' a-knowin' the noose is a-goin' to tighten, an' cut off yer breath--fer always. An' a-standin' on thet-thar trap, an' a-knowin' hit's goin' to drap--a-knowin' the bottom's a-goin' to drap right out o'--everythin'! I don't never want my neck bruk no sech way's thet. Hit hain't right."