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Updated: July 27, 2025
Thou art " "Why not? They'll all be killing in a month!" flashed Luis unguardedly. Starr, kneeling on one knee, looked at the boy across Estan's chilling body. A guarded glance it was, but a searching glance that questioned and weighed and sat in judgment upon the truth of the startling assertion.
"But is he then dead, my son?" she wailed in Spanish, when Starr gently laid down upon Estan's breast the hand he had been holding. "But so little while ago he lived and to me he talked. Ah, my son!" Starr looked at her quietingly. "How, then, did it happen? Tell me, señora, that I may assist," he said, speaking easily the Spanish which she spoke. "Ah, the good friend that thou art!
And Starr, always observant of details, saw that he had three or four packages in the bottom of the buggy, which seemed to bear out Estan's statement that he had been to town, meaning San Bonito. Starr rolled a cigarette, and smoked it while he gossiped with Estan of politics, pretty girls, and the price of mutton.
The grief of Estan's mother over her dead son was no more bitter than was Starr's grief at what he believed was true of Helen May. Indeed, Starr's trouble was greater, because he must mask it with a smile. All through breakfast he talked with her, looked into her eyes, smiled at her across the table. But he was white under his tan.
Estan's voice he made out easily, calling out to Luis inside, to ask if he had shut the colt in the corral. The señora's high voice spoke swiftly, admonishing Luis. And presently Luis could be seen dimly as he moved down toward the corrals. Starr hated this spying upon a home, but he held himself doggedly to the task.
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