him, and he’s been killing the rest of us since then. Brad was a smart little brother, a real sharp little fellow.

Brad and I never got along.

“You like Omaha, huh? That’s good—glad to hear it. But how does it stack up next to all the other big towns?”

This time I didn’t answer.

“Did you really do the town or just go to the feed store? I hear they have a real fine feed store in Omaha. Lots of feed and all.”

“Stop it.”

He said something that I didn’t catch, and then he said a little louder, “How does Margie stack up next to the Omaha chippies?”

I wanted to kill him. If he were right close instead of twenty yards off, I would have hit him. I could feel the bag slipping off my shoulder and my fist balling up and sinking into that soft belly of his. My fist would have gone through him like the wind was going through me right then.

I should have raised the gun and shot his head off.

Instead I clenched one fist and let it relax. I didn’t say anything.

“She’d make a good one,” he said. “It’s her trade, all right. She’s got the shape for it. And plenty long years of experience.”

“Stop it, Brad.”

“All she’d have to do,” he went on, “is what they call relinquishing her amateur standing. Just sell it instead of giving it away. But maybe she likes it too much to set a price on it. Is it as good as I hear it is?”

“You never touched her.”

It was out of me before I could stop it. It was part question even though I knew he hadn’t. I had to make sure and I had to tell myself, and at the same time I didn’t want to know if he had. It didn’t matter. It didn’t make any difference at all, but I just didn’t want to hear about it.

“You sure about that, Brother John? Well, maybe yes and maybe no. But I guess I’m fixing to try her, all right. If she’s as good as everybody says, I must be missing a hell of a lot. Is she that good?”

I closed my eyes and listened to the wind. His voice seemed to come over the wind, cutting and burning just like that wind, just as bad and holding up just as long.

“Or are you waiting until you’re married? Is that it, Brother John? That’s a good one—waiting it out on the town tramp!”

He started to laugh. His laugh was like the wind, ice cold and mean as a mad dog, cutting like a sword through a piece of silk. I gave a whistle for Lady and she came like she always did and I headed back toward home, walking away and leaving him laughing that laugh of his in the middle of the fields.

Ten minutes later I was still walking and I could still hear him laughing and the wind was as bad as ever.

He didn’t understand.

Nobody understood the whole thing, but no one else got on my back the way Brad did. Everybody knew about Margie, but everybody else kept to their own business and let me mind my own.

Except for Brad.

The others knew about Margie, but they also knew that Margie was different, that she wasn’t like any other woman who ever lived. It was something they could feel even if they didn’t know just why.

She was beautiful. That was something all of them could see. It wasn’t exactly hard to see; it jumped out at you until all you were conscious of was the beauty of her. Her hair was the color of corn and she wore it long, letting it flow down pure and golden and glowing. Her body was so smooth and rounded that she seemed to be made out of liquid. She looked like she was moving even when she was standing absolutely still.

When she slept, she looked like a big cat crouched and ready to spring.

Her skin was clear as a cameo. Her mouth was tiny and red and her eyes were a soft brown and her ears were little shells covered with a furry fuzz.

These were things that anybody could see—even Brad.

But nobody else could see inside. Nobody else could see her eyes when she cried because she never cried when anybody else was around. Most of her beauty was inside, and nobody else could see inside her. Their eyes stopped at the clear skin and the corn-colored hair and the gently curved