Fam. Across
The ridges.
Mas. Where the sun would lap you dry
As crackling cat-guts? Thirst would draw you in
To th' next hacienda well. The masters own
The water, and in this land, that's life.
Fam. No chance?
They never get away?
Mas. Sometimes a man
Makes Quito, but he soon comes back.
Fam. Comes back?
Mas. What else? In Quito there's no work. He starves.
And here—there's beans. So he gives up, and then
They send him back.
Fam. And he is flogged?
Mas. Ay, till
His bones crack.
Fam. Oh! He bears it?
Mas. Like a man,
My dear.