“Did your father believe in them?”

“Oh, no. He thought I should know the background. You Occidentals perpetuate a good many myths too.”

Samuel said, “Tell me what happened to set you off. This morning, I mean.”

“If you weren’t coming I would try,” said Lee. “But I would rather not. You can see for yourself. I may be crazy. Of course Mr. Adam is strung so tight he may snap like a banjo string.”

“Give me a little hint. It might save time. What did she do?”

“Nothing. That’s just it. Mr. Hamilton, I’ve been at births before, a good many of them, but this is something new to me.”

“How?”

“It’s—well—I’ll tell you the one thing I can think of. This is much more like a bitter, deadly combat than a birth.”

As they rode into the draw and under the oak trees Samuel said, “I hope you haven’t got me in a state, Lee. It’s a strange day, and I don’t know why.”

“No wind,” said Lee. “It’s the first day in a month when there hasn’t been wind in the afternoon.”

“That’s so. You know I’ve been so close to the details I’ve paid no attention to the clothing of the day. First we find a buried star and now we go to dig up a mint-new human.” He looked up through the oak branches at the yellow-lit hills. “What a beautiful day to be born in!” he said. “If signs have their fingers on a life, it’s a sweet life coming. And, Lee, if Adam plays true, he’ll be in the way. Stay close, will you? In case I need something. Look, the men, the carpenters, are sitting under that tree.”

“Mr. Adam stopped the work. He thought the hammering might disturb his wife.”

Samuel said, “You stay close. That sounds like Adam playing true. He doesn’t know his wife probably couldn’t hear God Himself beating a tattoo on the sky.”

The workmen sitting under the tree waved to him. “How do, Mr. Hamilton. How’s your family?”

“Fine, fine. Say, isn’t that Rabbit Holman? Where’ve you been, Rabbit?”

“Went prospecting, Mr. Hamilton.”

“Find anything, Rabbit?”

“Hell, Mr. Hamilton, I couldn’t even find the mule I went out with.”

They rode on toward the house. Lee said quickly, “If you ever get a minute, I’d like to show you something.”

“What is it, Lee?”

“Well, I’ve been trying to translate some old Chinese poetry into English. I’m not sure it can be done. Will you take a look?”

“I’d like to, Lee. Why, that would be a treat for me.”

[3]

Bordoni’s white frame house was very quiet, almost broodingly quiet, and the shades were pulled down. Samuel dismounted at the stoop, untied his bulging saddlebags, and gave his horse to Lee. He knocked and got no answer and went in. It was dusky in the living room after the outside light. He looked in the kitchen, scrubbed to the wood grain by Lee. A gray stoneware pilon coffeepot grunted on the back of the stove. Samuel tapped lightly on the bedroom door and went in.