"So I'd heard," remarked the former, in a cutting voice.
"Yeah—that is the hearse all right—there is someone with the driver—it must be the Padre," said Pearl, still watching.
The hearse drew up at the entrance, slowed down, then proceeded to a far corner of the cemetery, where the freshly dug grave yawned as though waiting for its toll, while the two Mexican grave-diggers lay sleeping beside the fresh pile of earth.
The girls moved slowly over to where the hearse had stopped, as the driver got out and kicked the grave-diggers awake, telling them in Spanish to help earn their money by helping to get the Gringo's body to the grave, which they did unwillingly. The driver, the Padre, and the two grave-diggers brought the box with the coffin inside it, to the side of the grave, sat it down, while the Padre began saying the service in Spanish and in Latin.
Painted faces looked on, as tears began to streak their cheeks, each thinking that this might have been her; some probably wishing it was them, knowing that at least their earthly troubles would be over, no matter what would be in store for them; other's minds went back to their pasts, the others to their childhood. Soon there could be heard sounds of soft weeping—the service was over, the four men slowly let the coffin into the grave, jerking the straps from under the box.
The two grave-diggers began to shovel dirt into the hole.
"Can any of you sluts say a prayer?" asked Mickey.
"I ain't never prayed in my life," said one of the girls, "But I'll try it," as they all bowed their heads, as hard lumps of dirt and rock fell with a hollow sound on the box.
"Oh, Lord, I ain't never asked you a single favor in my life," began the girl slowly, "But Irene is a good scout, and if she ever comes into your place of business, don't turn her down—she always paid for her drinks, poor kid—Amen."
"Come on, kids, let's get going from here," said Evelyn, as she wiped her eyes.