For a woman, and sitting a side-saddle, she had done better than he had hoped; and yet—well, it was a long way to the border and he doubted if she could make it. She lay still in the shade of the mesquit, just as he had placed her, and when he brought the sack of food she did not raise her head.
"Better eat something," he suggested, spreading out some bread and dried beef. "Here's some oranges I got from Don Juan—I'll jest put them over here for you."
Gracia shuddered, sighing wearily. Then, as if his words had hurt her, she covered her face and wept.
"What did you tell that man?" she asked at last.
"W'y—what man?" inquired Hooker, astonished. "Ain't you going to eat?"
"No!" she cried, gazing out at him through her tears, "not until I know what you said. Did you tell that Indian to—to kill him?"
She broke down suddenly in a fit of sobbing, and Hooper wiped his brow.
"W'y, no!" he protested. "Sure not! What made you think that?"
"Why—you rode over and spoke to him—and he looked at me—and then—he—killed him!"
She gave way to a paroxysm of grief at this, and Bud looked around him, wondering. That she was weak and hungry he knew, but what was this she was saying?