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"
Dean
!
"
I
yelled
.
"
Turn
it
on
!
All
the
way
!
"
Wharton
jumped
forward
,
and
Brutal
hit
him
a
good
smart
lick
--
the
kind
of
lick
I
'm
sure
Percy
dreamed
of
--
across
his
forehead
,
laying
his
baton
right
over
Wharton
's
eyebrows
.
Wharton
,
who
seemed
to
think
we
'd
never
seen
trouble
until
we
'd
seen
him
,
went
to
his
knees
,
his
eyes
open
but
blind
.
Then
the
water
came
,
Harry
staggering
back
a
step
under
its
power
and
then
holding
steady
,
the
nozzle
firm
in
his
hands
,
pointed
like
a
gun
.
The
stream
caught
Wild
Bill
Wharton
square
in
the
middle
of
his
chest
,
spun
him
halfway
around
,
and
drove
him
back
under
his
bunk
.
Down
the
hall
,
Delacroix
was
jumping
from
foot
to
foot
,
cackling
shrilly
,
and
cursing
at
John
Coffey
,
demanding
that
Coffey
tell
him
what
was
going
on
,
who
was
winning
,
and
how
dat
gran
"
fou
new
boy
like
dat
Chinee
water
treatment
.
John
said
nothing
,
just
stood
there
quietly
in
his
too-short
pants
and
his
prison
slippers
.
I
only
had
one
quick
glance
at
him
,
but
that
was
enough
to
observe
his
same
old
expression
,
both
sad
and
serene
.
It
was
as
if
he
'd
seen
the
whole
thing
before
,
not
just
once
or
twice
but
a
thousand
times
.
"
Kill
the
water
!
"
Brutal
shouted
back
over
his
shoulder
,
then
raced
forward
into
the
cell
.
He
sank
his
hands
into
the
semi-conscious
Wharton
's
armpits
and
dragged
him
out
from
under
his
bunk
.
Wharton
was
coughing
and
making
a
glub-glub
sound
.
Blood
was
dribbling
into
his
dazed
eyes
from
above
his
brows
,
where
Brutal
's
stick
had
popped
the
skin
open
in
a
line
.
We
had
the
straitjacket
business
down
to
a
science
,
did
Brutus
Howell
and
me
;
we
'd
practiced
it
like
a
couple
of
vaudeville
hoofers
working
up
a
new
dance
routine
.
Every
now
and
then
,
that
practice
paid
off
.
Now
,
for
instance
.
Brutal
sat
Wharton
up
and
held
out
his
arms
toward
me
the
way
a
kid
might
hold
out
the
arms
of
a
Raggedy
Andy
doll
.
Awareness
was
just
starting
to
seep
back
into
Wharton
's
eyes
,
the
knowledge
that
if
he
did
n't
start
fighting
right
away
,
it
was
going
to
be
too
late
,
but
the
lines
were
still
down
between
his
brain
and
his
muscles
,
and
before
he
could
repair
them
,
I
had
rammed
the
sleeves
of
the
coat
up
his
arms
and
Brutal
was
doing
the
buckles
up
the
back
.
While
he
took
care
of
that
,
I
grabbed
the
cuff-straps
,
pulled
Wharton
's
arms
around
his
sides
,
and
linked
his
wrists
together
with
another
canvas
strap
.
He
ended
up
looking
like
he
was
hugging
himself
.
"
Goddam
you
,
big
dummy
,
how
dey
doin
widdim
?
"
Delacroix
screamed
.
I
heard
Mr.
Jingles
squeaking
,
as
if
he
wanted
to
know
,
too
.
Percy
arrived
,
his
shirt
wet
and
sticking
to
him
from
his
struggles
with
the
watermain
,
his
face
glowing
with
excitement
.
Dean
came
along
behind
him
,
wearing
a
bracelet
of
purplish
bruise
around
his
throat
and
looking
a
lot
less
thrilled
.
"
Come
on
,
now
,
Wild
Bill
,
"
I
said
,
and
yanked
Wharton
to
his
feet
.
"
Little
walky-walky
.
"
"
Do
n't
you
call
me
that
!
"
Wharton
screamed
shrilly
,
and
I
think
that
for
the
first
time
we
were
seeing
real
feelings
,
and
not
just
a
clever
animal
's
camouflage
spots
.
"
Wild
Bill
Hickok
was
n't
no
range-rider
!
He
never
fought
him
no
bear
with
a
Bowie
knife
,
either
!
He
was
just
another
bushwhackin
John
Law
!
Dumb
sonofabitch
sat
with
his
back
to
the
door
and
got
kilt
by
a
drunk
!
"
