From behind a big clump of bushes Chrissie watched him with puzzled eyes, and when he had gone away she came out quietly and stood looking down at the grave. She knelt down and scratched at the loose soil with her hands.
* * *
When Dillon had put the shovel and pick back he wandered into the fields. He wanted to think what he had to do. Would it be safe to take the car and blow? Would Chrissie put up a squawk? He guessed maybe she wouldn’t. She might have forgotten what he had tried to do. She was crazy enough to forget anything.
He had got money and he had the car, but could he take the risk and go now, or would it be better to wait? He couldn’t make up his mind. He wandered on, untroubled at the death of Roxy. When guys got in his way, he just trampled on them. He had got to live, he told himself, and the others had got to look after themselves.
Farther down the fields he ran into Ma Chester. She was working on the land, a long hoe turning up the brown soil. She paused, pushing back a grey strand of hair that hung over her eyes.
Dillon said, “Roxy’s skipped.”
She stood, leaning her weight against the shaft of the hoe. “What’s he skipped for?” she asked. Her face showed her impatience to get on with her work.
Dillon shrugged. “I guess he was tired of bein’ in this dump,” he said indifferently.
“You ain’t goin’?” she asked.
“I ain’t goin’ yet,” he returned. “But I’ll go all right.”