Free The Devil's Collector by J. R. Roberts

always remember my dreams. Especially the bad ones.”
    â€œIf you say I didn’t sleep well,” Sonnet said, “I guess that explains why I’m so tired.”
    â€œDon’t worry,” Clint said. “When this is over, you can sleep for a week.”
    â€œMaybe more,” Sonnet said.
    â€œSure,” Clint said, “maybe more.”
    â€¢Â â€¢Â â€¢
    As they approached the house, the sun was just starting to come up. They could see a man walking toward the house, shoulders already slumped, and smoke tendrils coming from the chimney.
    As they approached, the man stopped walking and turned to face them.
    â€œGood morning, Mr. Rayfield,” Jack Sonnet said. “Remember me?”
    â€œI remember,” the farmer said, but he didn’t look happy about it. “Yer just in time for breakfast. Put your horses in the barn.”
    â€œThank you kindly,” Sonnet said.
    The farmer grunted and went inside the house.
    Clint and Sonnet rode to the barn, dismounted, and walked their horses inside.
    â€œHe doesn’t look too happy to see you,” Clint said.
    â€œI don’t think Mr. Rayfield is happy about the way Betty and I feel about each other.”
    â€œYou’re talking like a man in love, Jack.”
    Sonnet ducked his head, but not before Clint saw his face color.
    They took their horses to the barn, left them saddled, and gave them a little hay before walking to the house.
    As they approached the house, the door opened and a woman stepped out, carrying a bucket of water.
    â€œYou can both wash up in here,” she said.
    â€œHello, Mrs. Rayfield,” Sonnet said.
    â€œHello, Jack,” she said, and went back inside.
    â€œWow,” Clint said, “also not very happy to see you.”
    â€œShe’s all right.”
    They rolled up their sleeves, washed up, and then went into the house.
    â€œJack!” a young girl said happily.
    â€œKeep to your chores, girl!” Rayfield ordered from his seat at the table. “Get these men some coffee.”
    â€œYes, Pa.”
    â€œHave a seat,” Rayfield told them.
    They sat at the table, across from Rayfield and another man who looked enough like the farmer to be his brother.
    Betty came over and poured them some coffee.
    â€œThanks, Betty,” Sonnet said.
    She smiled and went back to the stove.
    â€œIntroduce your friend, Jack,” Rayfield said.
    â€œMr. Rayfield, this is my friend, Clint Adams,” Sonnet said.
    â€œClint Adams,” the farmer said. “You bringin’ trouble to my door, boy?”
    â€œPapa!” his wife scolded. “These are our guests.”
    â€œIt’s all right, ma’am,” Clint said. “He’s got a right to ask. It seems to me, Mr. Rayfield, that you brought trouble to your door when you took Jack in a few months ago when he was injured.”
    Rayfield picked up a butter knife and pointed it at Clint.
    â€œThat wasn’t my idea,” the farmer said. “That was these foolish women.”
    The foolish women brought plates to the table that were piled high with eggs, ham, and biscuits.
    â€œWe couldn’t very well leave him lying out there bleeding the way he was,” the farmer’s wife said.
    â€œStill . . .” was all the farmer offered. He used his knife to spear a piece of ham.
    â€œPapa, we have guests!” his wife scolded again. “Please, gentlemen, help yourselves.”
    â€œThank you, ma’am,” Sonnet said. “It all sure looks good.”
    The ladies took their seats and breakfast commenced. Everyone was either too hungry, or too nervous, to talk during the meal.

TWENTY-SIX
    After breakfast Rayfield said, “Ben and me gotta get back to work.”
    Ben was the uncle that Sonnet had told Clint about. The man seemed very quiet, apparently did whatever his brother told him to do.
    â€œGet your hat, Ben!” Rayfield snapped.
    Ben