``Get the hell out of here.''

I didn't say anything, trying to get my throat clear, but I watched him. He was like a mean horse to come at from the rear. It was better, though, he'd hit me. He was bitter when he missed.

``Get the hell out of here.''

``Big Hans sent me. He told me to wake you.''

``A fat hell on Big Hans. Get out of here.''

``He found the Pedersen kid by the crib.''

``Get the hell out.''

Pa pulled at the covers. He was tasting his mouth.

``The kid's froze good. Hans is rubbing him with snow. He's got him in the kitchen.''

``Pedersen?''

``No, Pa. It's the Pedersen kid. The kid.''

``Nothing to steal from the crib.''

``Not stealing, Pa. He was just lying there. Hans found him froze. That's where he was when Hans found him.''

Pa laughed.

``I ain't hid nothing in the crib.''

``You don't understand, Pa. The Pedersen kid. The kid'' --

``I god damn well understand.''

Pa had his head up, glaring, his teeth gnawing at the place where he'd grown a mustache once.

``I god damn well understand. You know I don't want to see Pedersen. That cock. Why should I? What did he come for, hey? God dammit, get. And don't come back. Find out something. You're a fool. Both you and Hans. Pedersen. That cock. Don't come back. Out. Out.''

He was shouting and breathing hard and closing his fist on the pillow. He had long black hairs on his wrist. They curled around the cuff of his nightshirt.