"What else?" said Crawford. "Did you see any Rangers around?"
"No," said Jacinto, frowning at him.
"Neither did anybody else," said Crawford. "There weren't any."
Jacinto took out another grain of corn, waving it at Crawford. "You mean you thought you was running from a Ranger?"
Crawford turned away impatiently, pacing toward the door. "That's what she told me."
"Por supuesto," said Jacinto. "Why should Merida do such a thing?"
"Good way to get rid of me as any," said Crawford bitterly.
Jacinto studied him a moment, smiling in a hesitant, puzzled way. Then he tipped the yellow bowl so Crawford could see it was full of pale corn kernels. "Now I have tortillas white as the sand in Arroyo Blanco." Grunting, he bent forward to pull the metate nearer his bench, a large oblong block of pumice stone, hollowed out in the upper surface from countless grindings with the pumice rolling pin they called a mano. He poured the hollowed portion full of the corn kernels. "Why should she want to get rid of you?" he said, without looking up.
"I guess she had a good reason," said Crawford.
Jacinto took up the mano, began to grind the corn, the hulls working to the edge of the metate like scum along the edge of a water hole. "That day of the bull-tailing, when you and Merida went out into the brush. You found what you wanted?"