Randy Shepperton Character Analysis

He just lifted that little rifle in his powerful black hands as if it were a toy, without seeming to take aim, pointed it toward a strip of tin on which we had crudely marked out some bull’s-eye circles, and he simply peppered the center of the bull’s-eye, putting twelve holes through a space one inch square, so fast we could not even count the shots.

He never boxed with us, of course, but Randy had two sets of gloves, and Dick used to coach us while we sparred. There was something amazingly tender and watchful about him. He taught us many things—how to lead, to hook, to counter and to block—but he was careful to see that we did not hurt each other.

“Oh, young white fokes,” he would begin, moaning gently, “de dry bones in de valley. I tell you, white fokes, de day is comin’ when He’s comin’ on dis earth again to sit in judgment. He’ll put the sheep upon de right hand and de goats upon de left. Oh, white fokes, white fokes, de Armageddon day’s a comin’[.]”

See it! My eyes were glued upon it. Squarely across the bare board table, blue-dull, deadly in its murderous efficiency, lay a modern repeating rifle. Beside it lay a box containing one hundred rounds of ammunition, and behind it, squarely in the center, face downward on the table, was the familiar cover of Dick’s worn old Bible.

He looked at me and whispered, “It’s Dick!” And in a moment, “They say he’s killed four people.” “With— ” I couldn’t finish. Randy nodded dumbly, and we both stared there for a minute, aware now of the murderous significance of the secret we had kept, with a sudden sense of guilt and fear, as if somehow the crime lay on our shoulders.

We saw it, tried wretchedly to make ourselves believe that once this thing had spoken to us gently, had been partner to our confidence, object of our affection and respect. And we were sick with nausea and fear, for something had come into our lives we could not understand.

“Yeah— we!” he grunted. “We killed a big one! We— we killed a ba’r, we did! . . . Come on, boys,” he said gruffly. “Let’s be on our way!”

And, fearless and unshaken, untouched by any terror or any doubt, he moved away. And two white-faced nauseated boys went with him.

He just lifted that little rifle in his powerful black hands as if it were a toy, without seeming to take aim, pointed it toward a strip of tin on which we had crudely marked out some bull’s-eye circles, and he simply peppered the center of the bull’s-eye, putting twelve holes through a space one inch square, so fast we could not even count the shots.

He never boxed with us, of course, but Randy had two sets of gloves, and Dick used to coach us while we sparred. There was something amazingly tender and watchful about him. He taught us many things—how to lead, to hook, to counter and to block—but he was careful to see that we did not hurt each other.

“Oh, young white fokes,” he would begin, moaning gently, “de dry bones in de valley. I tell you, white fokes, de day is comin’ when He’s comin’ on dis earth again to sit in judgment. He’ll put the sheep upon de right hand and de goats upon de left. Oh, white fokes, white fokes, de Armageddon day’s a comin’[.]”

See it! My eyes were glued upon it. Squarely across the bare board table, blue-dull, deadly in its murderous efficiency, lay a modern repeating rifle. Beside it lay a box containing one hundred rounds of ammunition, and behind it, squarely in the center, face downward on the table, was the familiar cover of Dick’s worn old Bible.

He looked at me and whispered, “It’s Dick!” And in a moment, “They say he’s killed four people.” “With— ” I couldn’t finish. Randy nodded dumbly, and we both stared there for a minute, aware now of the murderous significance of the secret we had kept, with a sudden sense of guilt and fear, as if somehow the crime lay on our shoulders.

We saw it, tried wretchedly to make ourselves believe that once this thing had spoken to us gently, had been partner to our confidence, object of our affection and respect. And we were sick with nausea and fear, for something had come into our lives we could not understand.

“Yeah— we!” he grunted. “We killed a big one! We— we killed a ba’r, we did! . . . Come on, boys,” he said gruffly. “Let’s be on our way!”

And, fearless and unshaken, untouched by any terror or any doubt, he moved away. And two white-faced nauseated boys went with him.