Carter was enraged, incensed, speechless.
“What—what is the meaning of this?” He gripped his rifle, trembling with anger, then looked from me to Eska, his face swollen and red. “What have you ...” He exploded suddenly, violently, pathologically. “What have you done, you animal?”
I watched her in the silence.
“M-mother,” she managed, staring at the gold coin, processing, it seemed, in the still, dark vehicle. “M-master.” She looked at me as though struggling up from dream—and finally back to Carter. “Master ... kill ... Mother.”
Carter shook his head, desperately, I thought, even fearfully. “Pshaw! This is nonsense! Killed your mother! What rubbish. Come here, child. Let me—”
And then the knife entered his throat and he gasped—gasped and choked and gargled—as the blood bubbled up and h
