He bent suddenly and knotted his fist in her shirt, then he heaved her to her feet .Holding her lightly, he walked across the verandah, straightened a chair and sat down. All the fight had gone out of Myra. He pulled her down on his knees. She just sat there limply, her head down and her face hidden by her hair.
The Mexicans gathered in a little bunch at the top of the steps. They talked excitedly together in whispers.
Bogle and I were still counting stars. Ansell edged further into his corner and hoped no one could notice him.
Myra suddenly began to struggle again. “Let me go, you fat toad,” she gasped.
Pablo giggled. “Of course, little rabbit,” he said and set her on her feet.
Without his supporting hand, her legs buckled and she nearly fell. He caught her as she was going over. “Come, come,” he jeered at her. “Where is your strength?”
Making an effort, she pushed him away and tottered over to me. As she came, I began to sit up. I saw her through a dazed mist.
“How are we doing?” I asked feebly as she sank down on her knees beside me. “Did we win or do we start fighting again?”
“We lost, you dope,” Myra said savagely. “Now, what do you think we’re going to do?”
I looked round, spotted the bunch of greasers standing on the verandah steps, blocking our exit, looked sadly at Bogle who was beginning to move and then over at Pablo.