"Yeah--we brought several pints along with us--there comes some more of the girls," as she pointed along the road to about fifteen girls, all in gay colors, coming along as if they were going to a picnic. "This is one of them things I sure don't like to go through with it," said one of the girls. "Me either," answered another. "Well, it's near two o'clock--it won't be long now," remarked still another. "I think that's the hearse coming now," said Pearl, as she shaded her eyes with her hand, looking down the road. "We tried to get a taxi to bring us over, but not one of them would come," said one of the newly arrived girls. "Well, you know there has been some talk about a revolution going to take place over here," said one of the other girls. "So I'd heard," remarked the former, in a cutting voice. "Yeah--that is the hearse all right--there is someone with the driver--it must be the Padre," said Pearl, still watching. The hearse drew up at the entrance, slowed down, then proceeded to a far corner of the cemetery, where the freshly dug grave yawned as though waiting for its toll, while the two Mexican grave-diggers lay sleeping beside the fresh pile of earth. The girls moved slowly over to where the hearse had stopped, as the driver got out and kicked the grave-diggers awake, telling them in Spanish to help earn their money by helping to get the Gringo's body to the grave, which they did unwillingly. The driver, the Padre, and the two grave-diggers brought the box with the coffin inside it, to the side of the grave, sat it down, while the Padre began saying the service in Spanish and in Latin. Painted faces looked on, as tears began to streak their cheeks, each thinking that this might have been her; some probably wishing it was them, knowing that at least their earthly troubles would be over, no matter what would be in store for them; other's minds went back to their pasts, the others to their childhood. Soon there could be heard sounds of soft weeping--the service was over, the four men slowly let the coffin into the grave, jerking the straps from under the box. The two grave-diggers began to shovel dirt into the hole. "Can any of you sluts say a prayer?" asked Mickey. "I ain't never prayed in my life," said one of the girls, "But I'll try it," as they all bowed their heads, as hard lumps of dirt and rock fell with a hollow sound on the box. "Oh, Lord, I ain't never asked you a single favor in my life," began the girl slowly, "But Irene is a good scout, and if she ever comes into your place of business, don't turn her down--she always paid for her drinks, poor kid--Amen." "Come on, kids, let's get going from here," said Evelyn, as she wiped her eyes. They all walked slowly to the gates of the cemetery--those in front waited for the rest to catch up. "Let's all have a drink," suggested Evelyn, as she began to open the quart she still had.