So he hired one of his countrymen to
do the job, believing or at least hoping, that suspicion would
naturally be aroused against that Basque, Loustalot, who is known to
have an old feud with the Farrels. Kate is right. I've trained with
white men all my life; the moment I started to train with pigmented
mongrels and Orientals I had to do with a new psychology, with
mongrelized moral codes--ah, God, that splendid, manly fellow killed by
the insatiable lust of an alien race for this land of his they covet!
God forgive me! And poor Kay--"
He was near to tears now; fearful that he might be caught in a moment
of weakness, he fled to the barn and helped Pablo hitch a team of draft
horses to an old spring wagon. Pablo's customary taciturnity and
primitive stoicism had again descended upon him like a protecting
garment; his madness had passed and he moved around the team briskly
and efficiently. Parker climbed to the seat beside him as Pablo
gathered up the reins and started out of the farmyard at a fast trot.
Ten minutes later they paused at the mouth of the draw down which
Farrel had been riding when fired upon. Pablo turned the team, tied
them to an oak tree and started up the draw at a swift dog trot, with
Parker at his heels.
Jammed rather tightly in a narrow little dry water-course that ran
through the center of the draw they found the body of Don Mike. He was
lying face downward; Parker saw that flies already rosetted a wound
thick with blood clots on top of his head.
Pages:
252
253
254
255
256
257
258
259
260
261
262
263
264
265
266
267
268
269
270
271
272
273
274
275
276