“Let me see him, woman. You, Juan, go and inform them at the tribunal; he may not be dead.” And the old man went off, the women, even Sister Putá, following at a distance, full of fear, but also of curiosity.
Hanging from the branch of a sandal tree in the garden a human body met their gaze. The brave man examined it.
“We must wait for the authorities; he’s been dead a long time,” he said.
Little by little the women drew near.
“It’s the new neighbor,” they whispered. “See the scar on his face?”
In half an hour the authorities arrived.
“People are in a great hurry to die!” said the directorcillo, cocking his pen behind his ear, and he began his investigation.
Meanwhile a peasant wearing a great salakat on his head and having his neck muffled was examining the body and the cord. He noticed several evidences that the man was dead before he was hung. The curious countryman noticed also that the clothing seemed recently torn and was covered with dust.
“What are you looking at?” demanded the directorcillo, who had gathered all his evidence.
“I was looking, señor, to see if I knew him,” stammered the man, half uncovering, in which he managed to lower his salakat even farther over his eyes.