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And
it
was
here
that
Bobo
Marchant
's
dogs
had
their
first
and
only
disagreement
of
the
day
.
There
were
six
in
all
,
two
bloodhounds
,
two
bluetick
hounds
,
and
a
couple
of
those
terrierlike
mongrels
border
Southerners
call
coon
hounds
.
The
coonies
wanted
to
go
northwest
,
upstream
along
the
Trapingus
;
the
rest
wanted
to
go
in
the
other
direction
,
southeast
.
They
got
all
tangled
in
their
leads
,
and
although
the
papers
said
nothing
about
this
part
,
I
could
imagine
the
horrible
curses
Bobo
must
have
rained
down
on
them
as
he
used
his
hands
--
surely
the
most
educated
part
of
him
--
to
get
them
straightened
around
again
.
I
have
known
a
few
hound-dog
men
in
my
time
,
and
it
's
been
my
experience
that
,
as
a
class
,
they
run
remarkably
true
to
type
.
Bobo
shortleashed
them
into
a
pack
,
then
ran
Cora
Detterick
's
torn
nightgown
under
their
noses
,
to
kind
of
remind
them
what
they
were
doing
out
on
a
day
when
the
temperature
would
be
in
the
mid-nineties
by
noon
and
the
noseeums
were
already
circling
the
heads
of
the
possemen
in
clouds
.
The
coonies
took
another
sniff
,
decided
to
vote
the
straight
ticket
,
and
off
they
all
went
downstream
,
in
full
cry
.
It
was
n't
but
ten
minutes
later
when
the
men
stopped
,
realizing
they
could
hear
more
than
just
the
dogs
.
It
was
a
howling
rather
than
a
baying
,
and
a
sound
no
dog
had
ever
made
,
not
even
in
its
dying
extremities
.
It
was
a
sound
none
of
them
had
ever
heard
anything
make
,
but
they
knew
right
away
,
all
of
them
,
that
it
was
a
man
.
So
they
said
,
and
I
believed
them
.
I
think
I
would
have
recognized
it
,
too
.
I
have
heard
men
scream
just
that
way
,
I
think
,
on
their
way
to
the
electric
chair
.
Not
a
lot
--
most
button
themselves
up
and
go
either
quiet
or
joking
,
like
it
was
the
class
picnic
--
but
a
few
.
Usually
the
ones
who
believe
in
hell
as
a
real
place
,
and
know
it
is
waiting
for
them
at
the
end
of
the
Green
Mile
.
Bobo
shortleashed
his
dogs
again
.
They
were
valuable
,
and
he
had
no
intention
of
losing
them
to
the
psychopath
howling
and
gibbering
just
down
yonder
.
The
other
men
reloaded
their
guns
and
snapped
them
closed
.
That
howling
had
chilled
them
all
,
and
made
the
sweat
under
their
arms
and
running
down
their
backs
feel
like
icewater
.
When
men
take
a
chill
like
that
,
they
need
a
leader
if
they
are
to
go
on
,
and
Deputy
McGee
led
them
.
He
got
out
in
front
and
walked
briskly
(
I
bet
he
did
n't
feel
very
brisk
right
then
,
though
)
to
a
stand
of
alders
that
jutted
out
of
the
woods
on
the
right
,
with
the
rest
of
them
trundling
along
nervously
about
five
paces
behind
.
He
paused
just
once
,
and
that
was
to
motion
the
biggest
man
among
them
--
Sam
Hollis
--
to
keep
near
Klaus
Detterick
.
On
the
other
side
of
the
alders
there
was
more
open
ground
stretching
back
to
the
woods
on
the
right
.
On
the
left
was
the
long
,
gentle
slope
of
the
riverbank
.
They
all
stopped
where
they
were
,
thunderstruck
.
I
think
they
would
have
given
a
good
deal
to
unsee
what
was
before
them
,
and
none
of
them
would
ever
forget
it
--
it
was
the
sort
of
nightmare
,
bald
and
almost
smoking
in
the
sun
,
that
lies
beyond
the
drapes
and
furnishings
of
good
and
ordinary
lives
--
church
suppers
,
walks
along
country
lanes
,
honest
work
,
love-kisses
in
bed
.
There
is
a
skull
in
every
man
,
and
I
tell
you
there
is
a
skull
in
the
lives
of
all
men
.
They
saw
it
that
day
,
those
men
--
they
saw
what
sometimes
grins
behind
the
smile
.
Sitting
on
the
riverbank
in
a
faded
,
bloodstained
jumper
was
the
biggest
man
any
of
them
had
ever
seen
--
John
Coffey
.
His
enormous
,
splay-toed
feet
were
bare
.
On
his
head
he
wore
a
faded
red
bandanna
,
the
way
a
country
woman
would
wear
a
kerchief
into
church
.
Gnats
circled
him
in
a
black
cloud
.
Curled
in
each
arm
was
the
body
of
a
naked
girl
.
Their
blonde
hair
,
once
curly
and
light
as
milkweed
fluff
,
was
now
matted
to
their
heads
and
streaked
red
.
The
man
holding
them
sat
bawling
up
at
the
sky
like
a
moonstruck
calf
,
his
dark
brown
cheeks
slicked
with
tears
,
his
face
twisted
in
a
monstrous
cramp
of
grief
He
drew
breath
in
hitches
,
his
chest
rising
until
the
snaps
holding
the
straps
of
his
jumper
were
strained
,
and
then
let
that
vast
catch
of
air
out
in
another
of
those
howls
.
So
often
you
read
in
the
paper
that
"
the
killer
showed
no
remorse
,
"
but
that
was
n't
the
case
here
.
John
Coffey
was
torn
open
by
what
he
had
done
...
but
he
would
live
.
The
girls
would
not
.
They
had
been
torn
open
in
a
more
fundamental
way
.
No
one
seemed
to
know
how
long
they
stood
there
,
looking
at
the
howling
man
who
was
,
in
his
turn
,
looking
across
the
great
still
plate
of
the
river
at
a
train
on
the
other
side
,
storming
down
the
tracks
toward
the
trestle
that
crossed
the
river
.
It
seemed
they
looked
for
an
hour
or
for
forever
,
and
yet
the
train
got
no
farther
along
,
it
seemed
to
storm
only
in
one
place
,
like
a
child
doing
a
tantrum
,
and
the
sun
did
not
go
behind
a
cloud
,
and
the
sight
was
not
blotted
from
their
eyes
.
It
was
there
before
them
,
as
real
as
a
dogbite
.
The
black
man
rocked
back
and
forth
;
Cora
and
Kathe
rocked
with
him
like
dolls
in
the
arms
of
a
giant
.
The
bloodstained
muscles
in
the
man
's
huge
,
bare
arms
flexed
and
relaxed
,
flexed
and
relaxed
,
flexed
and
relaxed
.
It
was
Klaus
Detterick
who
broke
the
tableau
.
Screaming
,
he
flung
himself
at
the
monster
who
had
raped
and
killed
his
daughters
.
Sam
Hollis
knew
his
job
and
tried
to
do
it
,
but
could
n't
.
He
was
six
inches
taller
than
Klaus
and
outweighed
him
by
at
least
seventy
pounds
,
but
Klaus
seemed
to
almost
shrug
his
encircling
arms
off
.
Klaus
flew
across
the
intervening
open
ground
and
launched
a
flying
kick
at
Coffey
's
head
.
His
workboot
,
caked
with
spilled
milk
that
had
already
soured
in
the
heat
,
scored
a
direct
hit
on
Coffey
's
left
temple
,
but
Coffey
seemed
not
to
feel
it
at
all
.
He
only
sat
there
,
keening
and
rocking
and
looking
out
across
the
river
;
the
way
I
imagine
it
,
he
could
almost
have
been
a
picture
out
of
some
piney
woods
Pentecostal
sermon
,
the
faithful
follower
of
the
Cross
looking
out
toward
Goshen
Land
...
if
not
for
the
corpses
,
that
was
.
