ranch houses.

The bodies of Delaney and Christian had already been carried to
Guadalajara and thence taken by train to Bonneville.

Hilma followed the farm wagon in the Derricks' carry-all, with Magnus
and his wife. During all that ride none of them spoke a word. It had
been arranged that, since Quien Sabe was in the hands of the Railroad,
Hilma should come to Los Muertos. To that place also Annixter's body was
carried.

Later on in the day, when it was almost evening, the undertaker's black
wagon passed the Derricks' Home ranch on its way from Hooven's and
turned into the county road towards Bonneville. The initial excitement
of the affair of the irrigating ditch had died down; the crowd long
since had dispersed. By the time the wagon passed Caraher's saloon, the
sun had set. Night was coming on.

And the black wagon went on through the darkness, unattended, ignored,
solitary, carrying the dead body of Dabney, the silent old man of whom
nothing was known but his name, who made no friends, whom nobody knew or
spoke to, who had come from no one knew whence and who went no one knew
whither.

Towards midnight of that same day, Mrs. Dyke was awakened by the sounds
of groaning in the room next to hers. Magnus Derrick was not so
occupied by Harran's death that he could not think of others who were in
distress, and when he had heard that Mrs. Dyke and Sidney, like Hilma,
had been turned out of Quien Sabe, he had thrown open Los Muertos to
them.

"Though," he warned them, "it is precarious hospitality at the best."

Until late, Mrs. Dyke had sat up with Hilma, comforting her as best she
could, rocking her to and fro in her arms, crying with her, trying to
quiet her, for once having given way to her grief, Hilma wept with a
terrible anguish and a violence that racked her from head to foot, and
at last, worn out, a little child again, had sobbed herself to sleep in
the older woman's arms, and as a little child, Mrs. Dyke had put her to
bed and had retired herself.

Aroused a few hours later by the sounds of a distress that was physical,
as well as mental, Mrs. Dyke hurried into Hilma's room, carrying the
lamp with her. Mrs. Dyke needed no enlightenment. She woke Presley and
besought him to telephone to Bonneville at once, summoning a doctor.
That night Hilma in great pain suffered a miscarriage.

Presley did not close his eyes once during the night; he did not even
remove his clothes. Long after the doctor had depart