His face was as white as the coat was black. "Come here," said Carl, "let me help."
But Nellie ran. He ran out the door and we followed and stared after him. "Let him go," Carl said. "Looks like he's got it coming to him now."
We watched him go for home. He was black as a shadow passing across the yard. Like when the wind blows a cloud in front of the sun. He blew across the road. He blew across a new plowed field until he was a black dot in the red clay. Then he was gone.