Ignacio had informed himself concerning
all details and had returned to the garden at the Mission. The man was
dead, then. There could be no doubt as one listened to the measured
sorrowing of the big bell.
She got to her feet and, walking swiftly, moved on, still farther from
San Juan. The act was without premeditation; her whole being was
insistent upon it. She wondered if it was the sheepman from Las
Palmas; if he had, perhaps, a wife and children. Then she stopped
suddenly; a new thought had come to her. Strange, inexplicable even,
it had not suggested itself before. She wondered who the other man
was, the man who had done the killing. And what had happened to him?
Had he fled? Had other men grappled with him, disarmed him, made of
him a prisoner to answer for what he had done? What had been his
motive, what passion had actuated him Surely not just the greed for
gold which the bell-ringer had suggested! What sort of creature was he
who, in cold, calculating blood could murder a man for a handful of
money?
There was nothing to answer unless she could catch the thought of
Ignacio Chavez in the ringing of his bell. She moved on again,
hurrying.
Following the arroyo, she had come to the first of the little, smooth
hills, the lomas as the men on the stage had named them.
Pages:
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36