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Show page 131 the gun, urging him to take a drink, tapping him on the shoulder with the jug and yanking at the gun all at the same time, until one of them discharged the gun. Forrest was a barrel of energy and strength, especially when drinking, Storey explained, and he could only say for certain that there xvas a sudden change to Forrest's face when the gun went off. "I'll always see Forrest Clinton lying dead on his pre-wedding night," he concluded, almost as an afterthought. "More sorrowfully, that I caused it." "Why did you run away?" Burrows asked. "It's hard to say why I did that," Storey answered. "With drinking there I didn't know what hard feelings might develop. Then there was Sheriff Bone and this court, neither of which I felt I could contend with in my sorrow." His words rang true to those who heard them. Even so, many of us there knew we would have run too, under the circumstances, farther perhaps than Storey did. The courtroom was hushed and expectant, wanting more of this human drama, the entire courtroom acting like folks at a religious revival who lean forward from their folding chairs to catch the last delicious word of a confessor. Burrows posed another question: "This rabbit gun, it was a repeater rifle, wasn't it? Nobody would have had a chance against you." Storey said the rifle was a repeater, a small bore .22 caliber, and Burrows motioned to Farrell. Farrell passed and called SJ-r>Tgv back to the counsel table. |
