* * *
Dusk was falling. Dillon sat on the stoop. His eyes were watching the sun sinking behind the trees. He was seriously worried. One hundred bucks was all he had left. One hundred bucks was as useful as a horse’s tail.
He got to his feet restlessly. This dump was driving him crazy. He looked around for Roxy, but could see no sign of him in the thickening dusk. It was still very close, and a faint hot breeze fanned his face.
He wandered round the shack, glancing in the windows. He saw Ma Chester busy with a flat-iron. For a moment he stood looking at her, then his eyes shifted to old man Chester hunched up over the stove. Shrugging, he wandered on. The next window was a little higher, and he had to stretch to see in. One look made him stiffen to attention.
Chrissie was moving about in the dim light of a flickering candle, undressing. She pulled her clothes off with difficulty, her fingers fumbling awkwardly with the buttons.
Dillon remained there watching, until she blew the light out. A primitive animal feeling for her gripped him, so that he could only stay there staring into the blackness of the room. The sudden realization that he had been cooped up in this shack for so many days without a woman came upon him with paralysing violence.
He was still standing there peering into the darkness when Roxy found him. Roxy said quietly, “What the hell you doin’ here?”
Dillon started round. He looked at Roxy uneasily.
“I’ve been lookin’ for you,” he said, his mind still far away with his thoughts.
Roxy looked up at Chrissie’s window. His face hardened.