AC dBooks

He
wondered what they were doing--if they were talking about him--and
Gary. It seemed a long time since he had thrown his hat in the corner
and pulled up his chair to the Concho table. He wished that he might
talk with some one--he was thinking of Jim Bailey--and tell him just
what there had been to the shooting. But with these folks . . .
The shadows were lengthening. Already the lamp on Flores's table was
lighted, there in the kitchen where Malvey was drinking wine with the
old Mexican. Pete had forgotten Boca--almost forgotten where he was
for the moment, when something touched his arm. He turned a startled
face to the girl. She smiled and then whispered quickly, "It is that I
hate that 'Bool' Malvey. He is bad. Of what are you thinking, senor?"
Pete blinked and hesitated. "Of my folks--back there," he said.
Boca darted from him as her mother called her to help set the table.
Pete's lips were drawn in a queer line. He had no folks "back
there"--or anywhere. "It was her eyes made me feel that way," he
thought. And, "Doggone it--I'm livin'--anyhow.


Pages:
241 242 243 244 245 246 247 248 249 250 251 252 253 254 255 256 257 258 259 260 261 262 263 264 265