“Somebody can run out there an’ bury our dead men,” she said.
“Why, child, it’d be shore death. Y’u saw what happened to Guy an’ Jacobs.... We’ve jest got to bear it. Shore nobody needn’t look out—an’ see.”
Jean wondered if it would be possible to keep from watching. The thing had a horrible fascination. The big hogs were rooting and tearing in the grass, some of them lazy, others nimble, and all were gradually working closer and closer to the bodies. The leader, a huge, gaunt boar, that had fared ill all his life in this barren country, was scarcely fifty feet away from where Guy Isbel lay.
“Ann, get me some of your clothes, an’ a sunbonnet—quick,” said Jean, forced out of his lethargy. “I’ll run out there disguised. Maybe I can go through with it.”
“No!” ordered his father, positively, and with dark face flaming. “Guy an’ Jacobs are dead. We cain’t help them now.”
“But, dad—” pleaded Jean. He had been wrought to a pitch by Esther’s blaze of passion, by the agony in the face of the other woman.
“I tell y’u no!” thundered Gaston Isbel, flinging his arms wide.
“I WILL GO!” cried Esther, her voice ringing.
“You won’t go alone!” instantly answered the wife of Jacobs, repeating unconsciously the words her husband had spoken.
“You stay right heah,” shouted Gaston Isbel, hoarsely.