After the terrifying experience of seeing blood coming out of her husband’s head, Mrs. Macomber did not know what to do. She looked helpless, and regret was written all over her face. Wilson looked at Macomber in awe, almost as if nothing had happened.
“I am a witness so don’t let yourself be burdened with grief,” Wilson said.
At this moment, Mrs. Macomber was holding her head in the palms of her hands. She could not drive away the thought from her mind. They were many miles away from America, yet her husband had just died from a bullet fired by her.
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“I thought I took shooting lessons,” remarked Mrs. Macomber.
“Well, you took shooting lessons, but you need to acknowledge that it was an accident,” replied Wilson.
“You are speaking as if he were your husband. I beg you not to talk like that because you are only making the situation worse than it currently is,” objected Mrs. Macomber.
“Okay, I am sorry, I am not going to talk about this, but how do you want me to keep quiet? He was also my friend, so don’t act like you are the only one, who is emotionally affected,” replied Wilson.
Mrs. Macomber could not help it. She developed a sudden sense of hatred for Wilson. According to Mrs. Macomber, Wilson was not acting like a gentleman should. She silently though that Wilson was accusing her of murder. The car was still moving and they were about to reach the camp. Mrs. Macomber wondered how they will be received at the camp. In her mind, she wished Wilson and other witnesses to change the story because she could not come to terms with fact that she had shot her husband. It seemed like man slaughter to her.
“What are you going to tell the people at the camp?” asked Mrs. Macomber.
Wilson did not reply to her question, instead he simply glanced at her then looked in the opposite direction. Tears filled his eyes. He was crying. He knocked the barrel of the rifle on the floor of the car. Suddenly, the driver stepped on the breaks. The car came to a stop. A group of buffalos was passing in front of the vehicle. Mrs. Macomber snatched the rifle from Wilson’s hands and aimed a shot at the buffalos.
“Hey, what do you think you are doing? You need to calm down,” objected Wilson.
“I am talking to you. Please put the rifle down,” pleaded Wilson.
Mrs. Macomber fired two shots in a row. The buffalos charged quickly after hearing the shots. Meanwhile, the driver had jumped to the opposite passenger seat, probably fearing another accidental shot. He did not want to put his life on the line for the sake of wild animals that lived in the bush. At this point, Wilson did not hesitate. He quickly snatched the rifle from Mrs. Macomber’s hands and put it on the floor of the vehicle. Then, he held her arms and looked into her eyes.
“I know you are feeling very awful about what happened. You need to stay calm. Like I told you, I am going to handle the situation. Once we reach camp, I will send communication to the relevant authorities. “There is no need to panic,” said Wilson.
Mrs. Macomber’s face had turned red in color. It showed the grief that she was undergoing at the moment. Her world had literally come to a standstill. The vehicle reached the camp and Wilson communicated to the authorities. Later, the corpse was taken from the spot and buried. After the burial, Wilson and Mrs. Macomber went back to the spot where Mr. Macomber died and built a monument. At least, this way his spirit was going to rest in peace. They left the place together.
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