"His leg."
"Yes."
"A horse kicked him. I think the leg is broken."
"I'll go with you," said Gabriel.
The man lay on the ground in a stall, almost buried in gray straw and gray light. An enormous dusty cobweb drooped above him.
"Are you badly hurt?" asked Raul.
"Yes ... patrón."
"Where?"
"My leg, patrón."
"Where—down low, or high up?"