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though."
    "What about the girl?"
    "Haven't had time to look at her yet.   Got to get to it though.   In this heat . . . . "
    He didn't need to finish the sentence.
    When he had left, Vincent sent Jack on home.   The night was almost over anyhow, and the sheriff had decided that he might as well be the one to sit it out.   He wanted to be there when Paco Morales woke up so he could ask him a few questions.
    #
    Paco woke in a haze of pain.   There wasn't a part of his body that didn't hurt, and for a moment he thought that he must still be in the grove, still taking the kicks being dealt out to him by the men.
    After a while he knew that he was not lying on the ground but on something softer, though not much softer.   He opened his eyes, and even that was painful.   He tried to raise his hand to his face, but he found that he could not.
    It was too dark to see much, but he could tell that he was in some kind of small room.   There was a square of lighter darkness above him which he assumed was a window.
    A door opened at the end of a hall somewhere.
    "You awake, boy?"
    "Yes," Paco croaked.   "I am awake."    His throat was dry and very sore.   Someone had kicked him even in the throat.
    He heard footsteps and then the sound of a key in a lock.   There was a squeak of a door opening very near him.
    "I'm the sheriff," a voice near him said.   "Can you sit up?"
    Paco tried, but he could not raise himself.   The pain was too much.
    He felt a hand go under his head and lift it.  
    "Try to drink some of this water."   A dipper was pressed to his parched lips.
    Paco managed to take a few sips.   The water felt cold and sweet as it trickled down his throat.
    "Where am I?" he said.
    "In the jail.   Looks like you're in a little trouble, boy."
    "The men, they beat me.   They --"
    "I know about that.   Question is, what did you do?"
    "Nothing.   I did nothing.   I was going home from the store, and I found the woman . . . . "   The sentence ended with a soft groan of pain.   Vincent did not know whether Paco was groaning because he was hurt or because of the woman.
    "Found her, huh?   You didn't have anything to do with her bein' there in the first place?"
    "No!   No!   I bought some salt and sugar at the store, and then I talked to Juanito Garcia.   When I was going home, I found her in the trees."
    "What did you kill her with, son?"
    "I did not kill her!   I found her there!"
    Vincent thought about it.   There was the sound of truth in the boy's voice, and his mother had said something about the salt and sugar.  
    "Where's the sugar and salt, then?" he asked.
    Paco could not remember.   "I . . . I lost it.   I was afraid when I found her, and I ran."
    Well, that was possible.   But it was possible that he lost it when he attacked the girl, too.   Vincent would have to go give the place the once over when it got light.   There was more than the salt and sugar worrying him.   If Paco had killed the girl, maybe stabbed her, the doc said, what had he done it with?   Paco didn't have a knife, and there hadn't been one lying in the trees, not that Vincent could see.   He'd have to have a talk with Juanito Garcia, too.
    Vincent gave Paco another sip of the water.   "You try to rest son.   I've told your mother that you're here.   She'll probably come in to see you.   You'll be all right."
    With that he left the cell.   Paco, trying not to twist with the pain, fought his fear as he lay on the cot and thought about being all right.    He knew by now that there was something very wrong with his ribs and that his arm was almost certainly broken since it was caught up in some kind of sling.
    He was pretty sure that he would never be all right again.
    #
    Sheriff Vincent put the worn heels of his boots up on the desk top and leaned back in the old wooden chair, balancing it delicately on two legs.   It was still a long time to daylight, but he wasn't going to be able to sleep.   His stomach was churning