It is
strange, unbelievable! My head whirls--"
Alaire quieted him, saying in Spanish, "Calm yourself, Jose, and
tell me everything from the beginning."
"But how can I be calm? Oh, what a crime! What a misfortune! Well,
then, Panfilo is completely dead. I rode to that tanque where you
saw him last, and what do you think? But--you know?"
Alaire nodded. "I--suspected."
Jose's dark face blazed; he bent forward eagerly. "What did you
suspect, and why? Tell me all. There is something black and
hellish here, and I must know about it quickly."
"Suppose you tell me your story first," Alaire answered, "and
remember that you are excited."
The Mexican lowered his voice. "Bueno! Forgive me if I seem half
crazed. Well, I rode to that water-hole and found--nothing. It is
a lonely place; only the brush cattle use it; but I said to
myself, 'Panfilo drank here. He was here. Beyond there is nothing.
So I will begin.' God was my helper, senora. I found him--his
bones as naked and clean as pebbles. Caramba! You should have
heard me then! I was like a demon! I couldn't think, I couldn't
reason. I rode from that accursed spot as if Panfilo's ghost
pursued me and--I am here.
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