βThese youngβuns is got scarlet fever. You ainβt leaving βem for this town to deal with. Jist take βem on back where you come from.βΒ The sheriff steadfastly refused responsibility for the children.
βBut they ainβt mine.Β I donβt even know their names.β
βYa married their ma ago ainβt cha?Β Then theyβs yourn!Β I hate it for βya, but I ainβt gonna letcha leave βem here to sicken the whole town.Β Weβll getcha some provisions to help out, but thatβs it.Β Ya got to git outβa town with them sick youngβuns.Β Pull this wagon out to that mesquite tree βnΒ Iβll git βcha some supplies.
Morosely, Joe waited on the edge of the sorry town as a wagon pulled up.Β Shouting at him to stay back, a gimpy old geezerΒ rolled offΒ a barrel of flour, putting a burlap bag of beans beside it, and piling a few cans of milk, a bolt of material, and a few paper wrapped parcels on top of it.Β He went on his way, leaving Joe to wrestle them into the wagon the best he could, stowing them so they wouldnβt crush the burning children.
JoeΒ felt as low as heβd ever had, pulling up to his rough cabin.Β He knew nothing about children or the sick.Β Β Maybe these poor wretches wouldnβt suffer too long.