"
"I guess you're right," Jack assented, after a meditative pause. "He
just worshiped that poor little woman."
Beyond that, neither of them attempted to put into speech the tragedy;
it was beyond the poor words we have thus far coined for our needs, like
many another thing that happens in these lives we live. They waited a
little while longer, wondering what they could or should do.
Mrs. Jerry lay easily where she had been placed by the man who loved
her. The killers had been killed by the same hand that laid her deep, in
her faded, patchwork quilt. There seemed nothing further to be done.
But Valencia, when he had ridden a thoughtful half-mile, did think of
something.
"Me, I shall give ten pesos of the gold I won yesterday upon the duelo,"
he said, glancing back at the grim little cabin, "that mass may be said
for the repose of the Senora Seem'son's soul. For thus will sleep come
easier to me, Senors. And you?"
"I think, Valencia, if I were going to say any prayers, they'd be said
for Jerry," Dade told him. "He needs 'em worse than she does."
"Oh, come on, Dade; let's be getting out of this valley!" Jack urged
irritably. "And I hope," he added, "I'll never see the place again!"
"But, Senor!" Valencia rode alongside to protest almost tearfully, "The
valley, it is not to be blame. Saw you ever a sweeter land than this?"
He flung his arm outward to include the whole beautiful expanse of it.
Pages:
274
275
276
277
278
279
280
281
282
283
284
285
286
287
288
289
290
291
292
293
294
295
296
297
298