Newt didn't see what that had to do with it--it was still a human hand. Fowler looked at her with his eye and a half. On the other hand he didn't want to sleep in the woods another night if he could help it. More and more he was inclined to sulk.
Newt felt it was a miracle that he was still alive. Zwey slept on the ground, snoring, his rifle held tightly in his big hands. He had ignored the claim, and the woman died, but somehow the claim remained, like a weight he had to carry forever. Because it was me he thought of, dying, is no reason to tote his bones all the way to Texas.
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