In a loud voice, Salvador called Raul from the doorway of the veranda. "Tomás is hurt," he said, as if reporting the weather. "Which Tomás?" asked Raul, laying down his book. Petaca had two, little and big, both stable workers. "Little Tomás." "What happened?" asked Raul, rising. "His leg." "Yes." "A horse kicked him. I think the leg is broken." "I'll go with you," said Gabriel. The man lay on the ground in a stall, almost buried in gray straw and gray light. An enormous dusty cobweb drooped above him. "Are you badly hurt?" asked Raul. "Yes ... patrón." "Where?" "My leg, patrón." "Where--down low, or high up?" "Low." "Umm, I wouldn't want you kicked in the groin. Help me lay him flat, Gabriel." Storni knelt in the dirt and together they made Little Tomás more comfortable. They removed his sandals and explored the injured leg; the break was obvious. "Let's take him to my place," said Gabriel. "Where do you want him?" asked Salvador, and bending over he gathered Tomás as if he were a child. Tomás began to whimper. "No, no ... take me to my hut," Tomás begged. "Patrón ... por favor." "It's closer," said Raul. "Take him to his own place." It made no difference to Salvador; he said something cheery and swaggered out of the stall and across the stable yard to the row of huts built recently. Tomás and a friend shared a hut. Salvador laid him on a straw mat, just as he would set down pottery. The man-length space had no furnishings, but Tomás' macaw wabbled in and climbed onto his arm and, when Raul scared off the parrot, it squatted in a corner and clicked its beak peevishly. "I'll go for Velasco," said Gabriel. "I'll get him here as soon as I can, Tomás." Raul had Salvador bring water; there in the hut some of Tomás' fear vanished; he managed a twisted grin; his face, streaked with straw and sweat, had the eagerness and pathos of a student. Salvador's corn cob fingers removed straw from his hair; sitting beside Salvador, Raul lit a cigarette and then a second one for Tomás. "What horse kicked you?" he asked. Salvador picked up more straws. "Yours ... Don Raul." "Chico! That damn' horse! What the hell was Chico doing in that stall, Tomás?" "I was leading him ... to be shod ... he kicked me ... I fell into that stall ... I fell." "Ah," said Raul, smoking, disappointed in Chico. Later, outside the stable, he watched men curing a batch of iguana hides; they had the pelts submerged in a chemical solution and kneaded them with wooden mauls. Other men padded saddles with milkweed and sewed and polished leather. Under a thatched _ramada_ they had a dozen saddles on saw-horses; he noticed one of his own, a reddish McClellan, from Texas. The air smelled of leather, strong saddle soap and polish. Sun streaked the stable wall. Raul strolled among his men, chatting, whistling, smoking.