Chapter Six“Tell Us What Happened.”
An adobe banco ran down one side of the cookshack on the inside, forming a bench, and it was upon this that Jacinto had deposited his generous bulk. He was bent in childish concentration over a block of wax from which he carefully peeled thin strips, depositing these with much care into a clay bowl. Small, intimate mutters rumbled up from him with each process.
“Ah, so,” he mumbled, slicing off a piece, “ah sí,” and sliced off another, and then jumped erect in startled surprise, dropping the block of wax. “Ah, Crawford!”
Crawford stepped on in through the door, sniffing. “Smells like bayberry.”
“How—how did you get out?” quavered Jacinto, grunting painfully with the effort it cost him to stoop over and retrieve the wax.
“Nobody stopped me,” said Cra
