"No ... to make belts."
"You cure them for belts?"
"I can make other things." The youngster could scarcely work his tongue; he thought Raul would accuse him of selling his products; he leaned over so far his straight hair touched his bloody knife.
"What can you make?"
"A pouch ... maybe a hatband."
"Make me a tobacco pouch. I'd like a small one, about this big."
"Yes, sir." (Faintly)
"Make me a good one."
"Yes, sir."
He believed in the man's kindness.