skripsi

The Underdogs by Mariano Azuela
Mariano Azuela, the first of the "novelists of the Revolution,"was born in Lagos de Moreno, Jalisco, Mexico, in 1873. Hestudied medicine in Guadalajara and returned to Lagos in 1909,where he began the practice of his profession. He began hiswriting career early; in 1896 he published Impressions of a Stu-dent in a weekly of Mexico City. This was followed by numer-ous sketches and short stories, and in 1911 by his first novel,Andres Perez, maderista.Like most of the young Liberals, he supported Francisco I.Madero's uprising, which overthrew the dictatorship of PorfirioDiaz, and in 1911 was made Director of Education of the Stateof Jalisco. After Madero's assassination, he joined the army ofPancho Villa as doctor, and his knowledge of the Revolutionwas acquired at firsthand. When the counterrevolutionaryforces of Victoriano Huerta were temporarily triumphant, heemigrated to El Paso, Texas, where in 1915 he wrote The Un-derdogs (Los de abajo), which did not receive general recogni-tion until 1924, when it was hailed as the novel of the Revolution.But Azuela was fundamentally a moralist, and his disappoint-ment with the Revolution soon began to manifest itself. He hadfought for a better Mexico; but he saw that while the Revolutionhad corrected certain injustices, it had given rise to othersequally deplorable. When he saw the self-servers and the un-principled turning his hopes for the redemption of the under-privileged of his country into a ladder to serve their own ends,his disillusionment was deep and often bitter. His later novelsare marred at times by a savage sarcasmDuring his later years, and until his death in 1952, he lived inMexico City writing and practicing his profession among thepoor.The Underdogsby Mariano AzuelaA Novel of the Mexican RevolutionTranslated by E. Munguia, Jr.Original Title: LOS DE ABAJOPART ONE"How beautiful the revolution!Even in its most barbarous aspect it is beautiful,"Solis said with deep feeling. IThat's no animal, I tell you! Listen to the dog bark-ing! It must be a human being."The woman stared into the darkness of the sierra."What if they're soldiers?" said a man, who sat In-dian-fashion, eating, a coarse earthenware plate in hisright hand, three folded tortillas in the other.The woman made no answer, all her senses directedoutside the hut. The beat of horses' hoofs rang in thequarry nearby. The dog barked again, louder and moreangrily."Well, Demetrio, I think you had better hide, all thesame."Stolidly, the man finished eating; next he reached fora cantaro and gulped down the water in it; then hestood up."Your rifle is under the mat," she whispered.A tallow candle illumined the small room. In one cor-ner stood a plow, a yoke, a goad, and other agriculturalimplements. Ropes hung from the roof, securing an oldadobe mold, used as a bed; on it a child slept, coveredwith gray rags.Demetrio buckled his cartridge belt about his waistand picked up his rifle. He was tall and well built, with asanguine face and beardless chin; he wore shirt andtrousers of white cloth, a broad Mexican hat and leathersandals.With slow, measured step, he left the room, vanishinginto the impenetrable darkness of the night.The dog, excited to the point of madness, had jumpedover the corral fence.Suddenly a shot rang out. The dog moaned, thenbarked no more. Some men on horseback rode up, shout-ing and sweating; two of them dismounted, while theother hung back to watch the horses."Hey, there, woman: we want food! Give us eggs,milk, beans, anything you've got! We're starving!""Curse the sierra! It would take the Devil himselfnot to lose his way!""Guess again, Sergeant! Even the Devil would goastray if he were as drunk as you are."The first speaker wore chevrons on his arm, the otherred stripes on his shoulders."Whose place is this, old woman? Or is it an emptyhouse? God's truth, which is it?""Of course it's not empty. How about the light andthat child there? Look here, confound it, we want toeat, and damn quick tool Are you coming out or are wegoing to make you?""You swine! Both of you! You've gone and killed mydog, that's what you've done! What harm did he ever doyou? What did you have against him?"The woman reentered the house, dragging the dog be-hind her, very white and fat, with lifeless eyes and flabbybody."Look at those cheeks, Sergeant! Don't get riled, lightof my life: I swear I'll turn your home into a dovecot,see?""By God!" he said, breaking off into song:"Don't look so haughty, dear,Banish all fears,Kiss me and melt to me,I'll drink up your tears!"His alcoholic tenor trailed off into the night."Tell me what they call this ranch, woman?" the ser-geant asked."Limon," the woman replied curtly, carrying wood tothe fire and fanning the coals."So we're in Limon, eh, the famous Demetrio Macias'country, eh? Do you hear that, Lieutenant? We're inLimon.""Limon? What the hell do I care? If I'm bound forhell, Sergeant, I might as well go there now. I don'tmind, now that I've found as good a remount as this!Look at the cheeks on the darling, look at them! There'sa pair of ripe red apples for a fellow to bite into!""I'll wager you know Macias the bandit, lady? I wasin the pen with him at Escobedo, once.""Bring me a bottle of tequila, Sergeant: I've decidedto spend the night with this charming lady. . . . What'sthat? The colonel? . . . Why in God's name talk aboutthe colonel now? He can go straight to hell, for all Icare. And if he doesn't like it, it's all right with me. Comeon, Sergeant, tell the corporal outside to unsaddle thehorses and feed them. I'll stay here all night. Here, mygirl, you let the sergeant fry the eggs and warm up thetortillas; you come here to me. See this wallet full of nicenew bills? They're all for you, darling. Sure, I want youto have them. Figure it out for yourself. I'm drunk, see:I've a bit of a load on and that's why I'm kind of hoarse,you might call it. I left half my gullet down Guadalajaraway, and I've been spitting the other half out all the wayup here. Oh well, who cares? But I want you to have thatmoney, see, dearie? Hey, Sergeant, where's my bottle?Now, little girl, come here and pour yourself a drink.You won't, eh? Aw, come on! Afraid of your--er--hus-band . . . or whatever he is, huh? Well, if he's skulking insome hole, you tell him to come out. What the hell do Icare? I'm not scared of rats, see!"Suddenly a white shadow loomed on the threshold."Demetrio Macias!" the sergeant cried as he steppedback in terror.The lieutenant stood up, silent, cold and motionlessas a statue."Shoot them!" the woman croaked."Oh, come, you'll surely spare us! I didn't know youwere there. I'll always stand up for a brave man."Demetrio stood his ground, looking them up and down,an insolent and disdainful smile wrinkling his face."Yes, I not only respect brave men, but I like them.I'm proud and happy to call them friends. Here's myhand on it: friend to friend." Then, after a pause: "Allright, Demetrio Macias, if you don't want to shakehands, all right! But it's because you don't know me,that's why, just because the first time you saw me I wasdoing this dog's job. But look here, I ask you, what inGod's name can a man do when he's poor and has awife to support and kids? . . . Right you are, Sergeant,let's go: I've nothing but respect for the home of what Icall a brave man, a real, honest, genuine man!"When they had gone, the woman drew close toDemetrio."Holy Virgin, what agony! I suffered as though it wasyou they'd shot.""You go to father's house, quick!" Demetrio ordered.She wanted to hold him in her arms; she entreated, shewept. But he pushed away from her gently and, in a sullenvoice, said, "I've an idea the whole lot of them are com-ing.""Why didn't you kill 'em?""Their hour hasn't struck yet."They went out together; she bore the child in herarms. At the door, they separated, moving off in differentdirections.The moon peopled the mountain with vague shadows.As he advanced at every turn of his way Demetrio couldsee the poignant, sharp silhouette of a woman pushingforward painfully, bearing a child in her arms.When, after many hours of climbing, he gazed back,huge flames shot up from the depths of the canyon bythe river. It was his house, blazing. . . .IIEverything was still swathed in shadows asDemetrio Macias began his descent to the bottom ofthe ravine. Between rocks striped with huge erodedcracks, and a squarely cut wall, with the river flowingbelow, a narrow ledge along the steep incline served as amountain trail."They'll surely find me now and track us down likedogs," he mused. "It's a good thing they know nothingabout the trails and paths up here. . . . But if they gotsomeone from Moyahua to guide them . . ." He left thesinister thought unfinished. "All the men from Limon orSanta Rosa or the other nearby ranches are on our side:they wouldn't try to trail us. That cacique who's chasedand run me ragged over these hills, is at Mohayua now;he'd give his eyeteeth to see me dangling from a telegraphpole with my tongue hanging out of my mouth, purpleand swollen. . . ."At dawn, he approached the pit of the canyon. Here,he lay on the rocks and fell asleep.The river crept along, murmuring as the waters roseand fell in small cascades. Birds sang lyrically from theirhiding among the pitaya trees. The monotonous, eternaldrone of insects filled the rocky solitude with mystery.Demetrio awoke with a start. He waded the river, fol-lowing its course which ran counter to the canyon; heclimbed the crags laboriously as an ant, gripping root androck with his hands, clutching every stone in the trailwith his bare feet.When he reached the summit, he glanced down tosee the sun steeping the valley in a lake of gold. Near thecanyon, enormous rocks loomed protrudent, like fantasticNegro skulls. The pitaya trees rose tenuous, tall, like thetapering, gnarled fingers of a giant; other trees of all sortsbowed their crests toward the pit of the abyss. Amidthe stark rocks and dry branches, roses bloomed like awhite offering to the sun as smoothly, suavely, it unrav-eled its golden threads, one by one, from rock to rock.Demetrio stopped at the summit. Reaching backward,with his right arm he drew his horn which hung at hisback, held it up to his thick lips, and, swelling his cheeksout, blew three loud blasts. From across the hill close by,three sharp whistles answered his signal.In the distance, from a conical heap of reeds and drystraws, man after man emerged, one after the other, theirlegs and chests naked, lambent and dark as old bronze.They rushed forward to greet Demetrio, and stopped be-fore him, askance."They've burnt my house," he said.A murmur of oaths, imprecations, and threats roseamong them.Demetrio let their anger run its course. Then he drewa bottle from under his shirt and took a deep swig;then he wiped the neck of the bottle with the back of hishand and passed it around. It passed from mouth tomouth; not a drop was left. The men passed their tonguesgreedily over their lips to recapture the tang of the liq-uor."Glory be to God and by His Will," said Demetrio,"tonight or tomorrow at the latest we'll meet the Federals.What do you say, boys, shall we let them find their wayabout these trails?"The ragged crew jumped to their feet, uttering shrillcries of joy; then their jubilation tamed sinister and theygave vent to threats, oaths and imprecations."Of course, we can't ten how strong they are," saidDemetrio as his glance traveled over their faces inscrutiny."Do you remember Medina? Out there at Hos-totipaquillo, he only had a half a dozen men with knivesthat they sharpened on a grindstone. Well, he held backthe soldiers and the police, didn't he? And he beat them,too.""We're every bit as good as Medina's crowd!" said atall, broad-shouldered man with a black beard and bushyeyebrows."By God, if I don't own a Mauser and a lot of car-tridges, if I can't get a pair of trousers and shoes, thenmy name's not Anastasio Montanez! Look here, Quail,you don't believe it, do you? You ask my partnerDemetrio if I haven't half a dozen bullets in me already.Christ! Bullets are marbles to me! And I dare you tocontradict me!""Viva Anastasio Montanez," shouted Manteca."All right, all right!" said Montanez. "Viva DemetrioMacias, our chief, and long life to God in His heavenand to the Virgin Mary.""Viva Demetrio Macias," they all shouted.They gathered dry brush and wood, built a fire andplaced chunks of fresh meat upon the burning coals. Asthe blaze rose, they collected about the fire, sat down In-dian-fashion and inhaled the odor of the meat as it twist-ed on the crackling fire. The rays of the sun, falling aboutthem, cast a golden radiance over the bloody hide of acalf, lying on the ground nearby. The meat dangled from arope fastened to a huizache tree, to dry in the sun andwind."Well, men," Demetrio said, "you know we've onlytwenty rifles, besides my thirty-thirty. If there are just afew of them, we'll shoot until there's not a live man left.If there's a lot of 'em, we can give 'em a good scare, any-how."He undid a rag belt about his waist, loosened a knotin it and offered the contents to his companions. Salt. Amurmur of approbation rose among them as each took afew grains between the tips of his fingers.They ate voraciously; then, glutted, lay down on theground, facing the sky. They sang monotonous, sadsongs, uttering a strident shout after each stanza.IIIIn the brush and foliage of the sierra, Demetrio Maciasand his threescore men slept until the halloo of the horn,blown by Pancracio from the crest of a peak, awakenedthem."Time, boys! Look around and see what's what!"Anastasio Montanez said, examining his rifle springs.Yet he was previous; an hour or more elapsed with nosound or stir save the song of the locust in the brush orthe frog stirring in his mudhole. At last, when the ulti-mate faint rays of the moon were spent in the rosy dim-ness of the dawn, the silhouette of a soldier loomed at theend of the trail. As they strained their eyes, they coulddistinguish others behind him, ten, twenty, a hundred.. . . Then, suddenly, darkness swallowed them up. Onlywhen the sun rose, Demetrio's band realized that thecanyon was alive with men, midgets seated on miniaturehorses."Look at 'em, will you?" said Pancracio. "Pretty, ain'tthey? Come on, boys, let's go and roll marbles with 'em."Now the moving dwarf figures were lost in the densechaparral, now they reappeared, stark and black againstthe ocher. The voices of officers, as they gave orders, andsoldiers, marching at ease, were clearly audible.Demetrio raised his hand; the locks of rifles clicked."Fire!" he cried tensely.Twenty-one men shot as one; twenty-one soldiers felloff their horses. Caught by surprise, the column halted,etched like bas-reliefs in stone against the rocks.Another volley and a score of soldiers hurtled downfrom rock to rock."Come out, bandits. Come out, you starved dogs!""To bell with you, you corn rustlers!""Kill the cattle thieves! Kill 'em!The soldiers shouted defiance to their enemies; the lat-ter, giving proof of a marksmanship which had alreadymade them famous, were content to keep under cover,quiet, mute."Look, Pancracio," said Meco, completely black savefor his eyes and teeth. "This is for that man who passesthat tree. I'll get the son of a . . .""Take that! Right in the head. You saw it, didn't you,mate? Now, this is for the fellow on the roan horse.Down you come, you shave-headed bastard!""I'll give that lad on the trail's edge a shower of lead.If you don't hit the river, I'm a liar! Now: look at him!""Oh, come on, Anastasio don't be cruel; lend me yourrifle. Come along, one shot, just one!"Manteca and Quail, unarmed, begged for a gun as aboon, imploring permission to fire at least a shot apiece."Come out of your holes if you've got any guts!""Show your faces, you lousy cowards!"From peak to peak, the shouts rang as distinctly asthough uttered across a street. Suddenly, Quail stood up,naked, holding his trousers to windward as though hewere a bullfighter flaunting a red cape, and the soldiersbelow the bull. A shower of shots peppered uponDemetrio's men."God! That was like a hornet's nest buzzing over-head," said Anastasio Montanez, lying flat on the groundwithout daring to wink an eye."Here, Quail, you son of a bitch, you stay where Itold you," roared Demetrio.They crawled to take new positions. The soldiers, con-gratulating themselves on their successes, ceased firingwhen another volley roused them."More coming!" they shouted.Some, panic-stricken, turned their horses back; others,abandoning their mounts, began to climb up the moun-tain and seek shelter behind the rocks. The officers hadto shoot at them to enforce discipline."Down there, down there!" said Demetrio as he leveledhis rifle at the translucent thread of the river.A soldier fell into the water; at each shot, invariablya soldier bit the dust. Only Demetrio was shooting in thatdirection; for every soldier killed, ten or twenty of them,intact, climbed afresh on the other side."Get those coming up from under! Los de Abajo!Get the underdogs!" be screamed.Now his fellows were exchanging rifles, laughing andmaking wagers on their marksmanship."My leather belt if I miss that head there, on the blackhorse! ""Lend me your rifle, Meco.""Twenty Mauser cartridges and a half yard of sausageif you let me spill that lad riding the bay mare. All right!Watch me.... There! See him jump! Like a bloody deer.""Don't run, you half-breeds. Come along with you!Come and meet Father Demetrio!"Now it was Demetrio's men who screamed insults.Manteca, his smooth face swollen in exertion, yelled hislungs out. Pancracio roared, the veins and muscles in hisneck dilated, his murderous eyes narrowed to two evilslits.Demetrio fired shot after shot, constantly warning hismen of impending danger, but they took no heed untilthey felt the bullets spattering them from one side."Goddamn their souls, they've branded me!" Demetriocried, his teeth flashing.Then, very swiftly, he slid down a gully and was lost....IVTwo men were missing, Serapio the candymaker, andAntonio, who played the cymbals in the Juchipila band."Maybe they'll join us further on," said Demetrio.The return journey proved moody. Anastasio Montanezalone preserved his equanimity, a kindly expression play-ing in his sleepy eyes and on his bearded face. Pancracio'sharsh, gorillalike profile retained its repulsive immuta-bility.The soldiers had retreated; Demetrio began the searchfor the soldiers' horses which had been hidden in thesierra.Suddenly Quail, who had been walking ahead, shrieked.He had caught sight of his companions swinging fromthe branches of a mesquite. There could be no doubt oftheir identity; Serapio and Antonio they certainly were.Anastasio Montanez prayed brokenly."Our Father Who art in heaven, hallowed be Thyname. Thy kingdom come...""Amen," his men answered in low tones, their headsbowed, their hats upon their breasts. . . .Then, hurriedly, they took the Juchipila canyon north-ward, without halting to rest until nightfall.Quail kept walking close to Anastasio unable tobanish from his mind the two who were hanged, theirdislocated limp necks, their dangling legs, their armspendulous, and their bodies moving slowly in the wind.On the morrow, Demetrio complained bitterly of hiswound; he could no longer ride on horseback. They wereforced to carry him the rest of the way on a makeshiftstretcher of leaves and branches."He's bleeding frightfully," said Anastasio Montanez,tearing off one of his shirt-sleeves and tying it tightlyabout Demetrio's thigh, a little above the wound."That's good," said Venancio. "It'll keep him frombleeding and stop the pain."Venancio was a barber. In his native town, he pulledteeth and fulfilled the office of medicine man. He wasaccorded an unimpeachable authority because he hadread The Wandering Jew and one or two other books.They called him "Doctor"; and since he was conceitedabout his knowledge, he employed very few words.They took turns, carrying the stretcher in relays offour over the bare stony mesa and up the steep passes.At high noon, when the reflection of the sun on thecalcareous soil burned their shoulders and made thelandscape dimly waver before their eyes, the monoto-nous, rhythmical moan of the wounded rose in unisonwith the ceaseless cry of the locusts. They stopped to restat every small hut they found hidden between the steep,jagged rocks."Thank God, a kind soul and tortillas full of beans andchili are never lacking," Anastasio Montanez said witha triumphant belch.The mountaineers would shake calloused hands withthe travelers, saying:"God's blessing on you! He will find a way to help youall, never fear. We're going ourselves, starting tomorrowmorning. We're dodging the draft, with those damnedGovernment people who've declared war to the death onus, on all the poor. They come and steal our pigs, ourchickens and com, they bum our homes and carry ourwomen off, and if they ever get hold of us they'll kill uslike mad dogs, and we die right there on the spot andthat's the end of the story!"At sunset, amid the flames dyeing the sky with vivid,variegated colors, they descried a group of houses upin the heart of the blue mountains. Demetrio orderedthem to carry him there.These proved to be a few wretched straw huts, dis-persed all over the river slopes, between rows of youngsprouting corn and beans. They lowered the stretcherand Demetrio, in a weak voice, asked for a glass ofwater.Groups of squalid Indians sat in the dark pits of thehuts, men with bony chests, disheveled, matted hair,and ruddy cheeks; behind them, eyes shone up fromfloors of fresh reeds.A child with a large belly and glossy dark skin cameclose to the stretcher to inspect the wounded man. Anold woman followed, and soon all of them drew aboutDemetrio in a circle.A girl sympathizing with him in his plight brought ajicara of bluish water. With hands shaking, Demetrio tookit up and drank greedily."Will you have some more?"He raised his eyes and glanced at the girl, whosefeatures were common but whose voice had a note ofkindness in it. Wiping his sweating brow with the back ofhis palm and turning on one side, he gasped:"May God reward you."Then his whole body shook, making the leaves of thestretcher rustle. Fever possessed him; he fainted."It's a damp night and that's terrible for the fever,"said Remigia, an old wrinkled barefooted woman, wear-ing a cloth rag for a blouse.She invited them to move Demetrio into her hut.Pancracio, Anastasio Montanez, and Quail lay downbeside the stretcher like faithful dogs, watchful of theirmaster's wishes. The rest scattered about in search offood.Remigia offered them all she had, chili and tortillas."Imagine! I had eggs, chickens, even a goat and herkid, but those damn soldiers wiped me out clean."Then, making a trumpet of her hands, she drew nearAnastasio and murmured in his ear:"Imagine, they even carried away Senora Nieves'little girl!"VSuddenly awakening, Quail opened his eyes andstood up."Montanez, did you hear? A shot, Montanez! Hey,Montanez, get up!"He shook him vigorously until Montanez ceasedsnoring and in turn woke up."What in the name of . . . Now you're at it again,damn it. I tell you there aren't ghosts any more," An-astasio muttered out of a half-sleep."I heard a shot, Montanez!""Go back to sleep, Quail, or I'll bust your nose.""Hell, Anastasio I tell you it's no nightmare. I've for-gotten those fellows they hung, honest. It's a shot, I tellyou. I heard it all right.""A shot, you say? All right, then, hand me my gun."Anastasio Montanez rubbed his eyes, stretched out hisarms and legs, and stood up lazily.They left the hut. The sky was solid with stars; themoon rose like a sharp scythe. The confused rumor ofwomen crying in fright resounded from the various huts;the men who had been sleeping in the open, also woke upand the rattle of arms echoed over the mountain."You cursed fool, you've maimed me for life."A voice rang clearly through the darkness."Who goes there?"The shout echoed from rock to rock, through moundand over hollow, until it spent itself at the far, silentreaches of the night."Who goes there?" Anastasio repeated his challengelouder, pulling back the lock of his Mauser."One of Demetrio's men," came the answer."It's Pancracio," Quail cried joyfully. Relieved, he restedthe butt of his rifle on the ground.Pancracio appeared, holding a young man by the arms;the newcomer was covered with dust from his felt hat tohis coarse shoes. A fresh bloodstain lay on his trousersclose to the heel."Who's this tenderfoot?" Anastasio demanded."You know I'm on guard around here. Well, I hears anoise in the brush, see, and I shouts, 'Who goes there?'and then this lad answers, 'Carranza! Carranza!' I don'tknow anyone by that name, and so I says, 'Carranza,hell!' and I just pumps a bit of lead into his hoof."Smiling, Pancracio turned his beardless head around asif soliciting applause.Then the stranger spoke:"Who's your commander?"Proudly, Anastasio raised his head, went up to himand looked him in the face. The stranger lowered his toneconsiderably."Well, I'm a revolutionist, too, you know. The Govern-ment drafted me and I served as a private, but I man-aged to desert during the battle the day before yesterday,and I've been walking about in search of you all.""So he's a Government soldier, eh?" A murmur of in-credulity rose from the men, interrupting the stranger."So that's what you are, eh? One of those damn half-breeds," said Anastasio Montanez. "Why the hell didn'tyou pump your lead in his brain, Pancracio?""What's he talking about, anyhow? I can't make headnor tail of it. He says he wants to see Demetrio and thathe's got plenty to say to him. But that's all right: we'vegot plenty of time to do anything we damn well please solong as you're in no hurry, that's all," said Pancracio,loading his gun."What kind of beasts are you?" the prisoner cried.He could say no more: Anastasio's fist, crashing downupon his face, sent his head turning on his neck, coveredwith blood."Shoot the half-breed!""Hang him!""Bum him alive; he's a lousy Federal."In great excitement, they yelled and shrieked and wereabout to fire at the prisoner."Sssh! Shut up! I think Demetrio's talking now," An-astasio said, striving to quiet them. Indeed, Demetrio,having ascertained the cause of the turmoil, ordered themto bring the prisoner before him."It's positively infamous, senor; look," Luis Cervantessaid, pointing to the bloodstains on his trousers and to hisbleeding face."All right, all right. But who in hell are you? That'swhat I want to know," Demetrio said."My name is Luis Cervantes, sir. I'm a medical stu-dent and a journalist. I wrote a piece in favor of therevolution, you see; as a result, they persecuted me,caught me, and finally landed me in the barracks."His ensuing narrative was couched in terms of suchdetail and expressed in terms so melodramatic that itdrew guffaws of mirth from Pancracio and Manteca."All I've tried to do is to make myself clear on thispoint. I want you to be convinced that I am trulyone of your coreligionists. . . .""What's that? What did you say? Car . . . what?"Demetrio asked, bringing his ear close to Cervantes."Coreligionist, sir, that is to say, a person who posses-ses the same religion, who is inspired by the same ideals,who defends and fights for the same cause you are nowfighting for."Demetrio smiled:"What are we fighting for? That's what I'd like toknow."In his disconcertment, Luis Cervantes could find noreply."Look at that mug, look at 'im! Why waste any time,Demetrio? Let's shoot him," Pancracio urged impatiently.Demetrio laid a hand on his hair which covered hisears, and stretching himself out for a long time, seemed tobe lost in thought. Having found no solution, he said:"Get out, all of you; it's aching again. Anastasio putout the candle. Lock him up in the corral and let Pan-cracio and Manteca watch him. Tomorrow, we'll see.VIThrough the shadows of the starry night, Luis Cer-vantes had not yet managed to detect the exact shape ofthe objects about him. Seeking the most suitable resting-place, he laid his weary bones down on a fresh pile ofmanure under the blurred mass of a huizache tree. Helay down, more exhausted than resigned, and closed hiseyes, resolutely determined to sleep until his fierce keepersor the morning sun, burning his ears, awakened him.Something vaguely like warmth at his side, then a tiredhoarse breath, made him shudder. He opened his eyesand feeling about him with his hands, he sensed thecoarse hairs of a large pig which, resenting the presence ofa neighbor, began to grunt.All Luis' efforts to sleep proved quite useless, notonly because the pain of his wound or the bruises on hisflesh smarted, but because he suddenly realized theexact nature of his failure.Yes, failure! For he had never learned to appreciateexactly the difference between fulminating sentences ofdeath upon bandits in the columns of a small countrynewspaper and actually setting out in search of them,and tracking them to their lairs, gun in hand. During hisfirst day's march as volunteer lieutenant, he had begun tosuspect the error of his ways--a brutal sixty miles'journey it was, that left his hips and legs one mass ofraw soreness and soldered all his bones together. A weeklater, after his first skirmish against the rebels, he under-stood every rule of the game. Luis Cervantes would havetaken up a crucifix and solemnly sworn that as soon asthe soldiers, gun in hand, stood ready to shoot, some pro-foundly eloquent voice had spoken behind them, saying,"Run for your lives." It was all crystal clear. Even hisnoble-spirited horse, accustomed to battle, sought tosweep back on its hind legs and gallop furiously away,to stop only at a safe distance from the sound of firing.The sun was setting, the mountain became peopled withvague and restless shadows, darkness scaled the ram-parts of the mountain hastily. What could be more log-ical then, than to seek refuge behind the rocks and at-tempt to sleep, granting mind and body a sorely neededrest?But the soldier's logic is the logic of absurdity. On themorrow, for example, his colonel awakened him rudelyout of his sleep, cuffing and belaboring him unmerci-fully, and, after having bashed in his face, deprived himof his place of vantage. The rest of the officers, moreover,burst into hilarious mirth and holding their sides withlaughter begged the colonel to pardon the deserter. Thecolonel, therefore, instead of sentencing him to be shot,kicked his buttocks roundly for him and assigned him tokitchen police.This signal insult was destined to bear poisonousfruit. Luis Cervantes determined to play turncoat; in-deed, mentally, he had already changed sides. Did notthe sufferings of the underdogs, of the disinheritedmasses, move him to the core? Henceforth he espousedthe cause of Demos, of the subjugated, the beaten andbaffled, who implore justice, and justice alone. He be-came intimate with the humblest private. More, even, heshed tears of compassion over a dead mule which fell,load and all, after a terribly long journey.From then on, Luis Cervantes' prestige with the sol-diers increased. Some actually dared to make confes-sions. One among them, conspicuous for his sobrietyand silence, told him: "I'm a carpenter by trade, youknow. I had a mother, an old woman nailed to her chairfor ten years by rheumatism. In the middle of the night,they pulled me out of my house; three damn policemen;I woke up a soldier twenty-five miles away from myhometown. A month ago our company passed by thereagain. My mother was already under the sod! . . . Sothere's nothing left for me in this wide world; no onemisses me now, you see. But, by God, I'm damned if I'lluse these cartridges they make us carry, against theenemy. If a miracle happens (I pray for it every night,you know, and I guess our Lady of Guadalupe can doit all right), then I'll join Villa's men; and I swear by theholy soul of my old mother, that I'll make every one ofthese Government people pay, by God I will."Another soldier, a bright young fellow, but a charlatan,at heart, who drank habitually and smoked the narcoticmarihuana weed, eyeing him with vague, glassy stare,whispered in his ear, "You know, partner . . . the menon the other side ... you know, the other side . . . youunderstand . . . they ride the best horses up north there,and all over, see? And they harness their mounts withpure hammered silver. But us? Oh hell, we've got to rideplugs, that's all, and not one of them good enough tostagger round a water well. You see, don't you, partner?You see what I mean? You know, the men on the otherside-they get shiny new silver coins while we get onlylousy paper money printed in that murderer's factory,that's what we get, yes, that's ours, I tell you!"The majority of the soldiers spoke in much the sametenor. Even a top sergeant candidly confessed, "Yes, Ienlisted all right. I wanted to. But, by God, I missed theright side by a long shot. What you can't make in a life-time, sweating like a mule and breaking your back inpeacetime, damn it all, you can make in a few monthsjust running around the sierra with a gun on your back,but not with this crowd, dearie, not with this lousyoutfit ...."Luis Cervantes, who already shared this hidden, im-placably mortal hatred of the upper classes, of his offi-cers, and of his superiors, felt that a veil had been re-moved from his eyes; clearly, now, he saw the final out-come of the struggle. And yet what had happened? Thefirst moment he was able to join his coreligionists, in-stead of welcoming him with open arms, they threw himinto a pigsty with swine for company.Day broke. The roosters crowed in the huts. Thechickens perched in the huizache began to stretch theirwings, shake their feathers, and fly down to the ground.Luis Cervantes saw his guards lying on top of a dungheap, snoring. In his imagination, he reviewed the fea-tures of last night's men. One, Pancracio, was pock-marked, blotchy, unshaven; his chin protruded, hisforehead receded obliquely; his ears formed one solidpiece with head and neck--a horrible man. The other,Manteca, was so much human refuse; his eyes were al-most hidden, his look sullen; his wiry straight hair fenover his ears, forehead and neck; his scrofulous lipshung eternally agape. Once more, Luis Cervantes felthis flesh quiver.VIIStill drowsy, Demetrio ran his hand through his ruf-fled hair, which hung over his moist forehead, pushed itback over his ears, and opened his eyes.Distinctly he heard the woman's melodious voice whichhe had already sensed in his dream. He walked towardthe door.It was broad daylight; the rays of sunlight filteredthrough the thatch of the hut.The girl who had offered him water the day before,the girl of whom he had dreamed all night long, nowcame forward, kindly and eager as ever. This time shecarried a pitcher of milk brimming over with foam."It's goat's milk, but fine just the same. Come on now:taste it."Demetrio smiled gratefully, straightened up, graspedthe clay pitcher, and proceeded to drink the milk in littlegulps, without removing his eyes from the girl.She grew self-conscious, lowered her eyes."What's your name?" he asked."Camilla ""Ah, there's a lovely name! And the girl that bears it,lovelier still!"Camilla blushed. As he sought to seize her wrist, shegrew frightened, and Picking up the empty pitcher, flewout the door."No, Demetrio," Anastasio Montanez commentedgravely, "you've got to break them in first. Hmm! It's ahell of a lot of scars the women have left on my body.Yes, my friend, I've a heap of experience along that line.""I feet all right now, Compadre." Demetrio pretendedhe had not heard him. "I had fever, and I sweated like ahorse all night, but I feel quite fresh today. The thingthat's irking me hellishly is that Goddamn wound. CanVenancio to look after me.""What are we going to do with the tenderfoot wecaught last night?" Pancracio asked."That's right: I was forgetting all about him."As usual, Demetrio hesitated a while before he reacheda decision."Here, Quail, come here. Listen: you go and find outwhere's the nearest church around here. I know there'sone about six miles away. Go and steal a priest's robeand bring it back.""What's the idea?" asked Pancracio in surprise."Well, I'll soon find out if this tenderfoot came hereto murder me. I'll tell him he's to be shot, see, andQuail will put on the priest's robes, say that he's apriest and hear his confession. If he's got anything uphis sleeve, he'll come out with it, and then I'll shoothim. Otherwise I'll let him go.""God, there's a roundabout way to tackle the ques-tion. If I were you, I'd just shoot him and let it go atthat," said Pancracio contemptuously.That night Quail returned with the priest's robes;Demetrio ordered the prisoner to be led in. Luis Cer-vantes had not eaten or slept for two days, there weredeep black circles under his eyes; his face was deathlypale, his lips dry and colorless. He spoke awkwardly,slowly: "You can do as you please with me. . . . I amconvinced I was wrong to come looking for you."There was a prolonged silence. Then:"I thought that you would welcome a man who comesto offer his help, with open arms, even though his helpwas quite worthless. After all, you might perhaps havefound some use for it. What, in heaven's name, do Istand to gain, whether the revolution wins or loses?"Little by little he grew more animated; at times thelanguor in his eyes disappeared."The revolution benefits the poor, the ignorant, allthose who have been slaves all their lives, all the un-happy people who do not even suspect they are poor be-cause the rich who stand above them, the rich who rulethem, change their sweat and blood and tears intogold. . ."Well, what the hell is the gist of all this palaver?I'll be damned if I can stomach a sermon," Pancracio broke in."I wanted to fight for the sacred cause of the op-pressed, but you don't understand . . . you cast measide. . . . Very well, then, you can do as you pleasewith me!""All I'm going to do now is to put this rope aroundyour neck. Look what a pretty white neck you've got.""Yes, I know what brought you here," Demetrio in-terrupted dryly, scratching his head. "I'm going to haveyou shot!"Then, looking at Anastasio he said:"Take him away. And . . . if he wants to confess,bring the priest to him."Impassive as ever, Anastasio took the prisoner gentlyby the arm."Come along this way, Tenderfoot."They all laughed uproariously, when a few minuteslater, Quail appeared in priestly robes."By God, this tenderfoot certainly talks his head off,"Quail said. "You know, I've a notion he was having abit of a laugh on me when I started asking him ques-tions.""But didn't he have anything to say?""Nothing, save what he said last night.""I've a hunch he didn't come here to shoot you atall, Compadre," said Anastasio."Give him something to eat and guard him."VIIIOn the morrow, Luis Cervantes was barely able toget up. His injured leg trailing behind him, he shuffledfrom hut to hut in search of a little alcohol, a kettle ofboiled water and some rags. With unfailing kindness, Ca-milla provided him with all that he wanted.As he began washing his foot, she sat beside him,and, with typical mountaineer's curiosity, inquired:"Tell me, who learned you how to cure people? Whydid you boil that water? Why did you boil the rags?Look, look, how careful you are about everything! Andwhat did you put on your hands? Really. . . . And whydid you pour on alcohol? I just knew alcohol was goodto rub on when you had a bellyache, but . . . Oh, Isee! So you was going to be a doctor, huh? Ha, ha, that'sa good one! Why don't you mix it with cold water?Well, there's a funny sort of a trick. Oh, stop foolingme . . . the idea: little animals alive in the water unlessyou boil it! Ugh! Well, I can't see nothing in it myself."Camilla continued to cross-question him with such fa-miliarity that she suddenly found herself addressing himintimately, in the singular tu. Absorbed in his ownthoughts, Luis Cervantes had ceased listening to her.He thought:Where are those men on Pancho Villa's payroll, soadmirably equipped and mounted, who only get paid inthose pure silver pieces Villa coins at the Chihuahuamint? Bah! Barely two dozen half-naked mangy men,some of them riding decrepit mares with the coatnibbled off from neck to withers. Can the accountsgiven by the Government newspapers and by myself bereally true and are these so-called revolutionists simplybandits grouped together, using the revolution as a won-derful pretext to glut their thirst for gold and blood?Is it all a lie, then? Were their sympathizers talking alot of exalted nonsense?If on one hand the Government newspapers viedwith each other in noisy proclamation of Federal victoryafter victory, why then had a paymaster on his wayfrom Guadalajara started the rumor that PresidentHuerta's friends and relatives were abandoning the capi-tal and scuttling away to the nearest port? WasHuerta's, "I shall have peace, at no matter what cost,"a meaningless growl? Well, it looked as though therevolutionists or bandits, call them what you will, weregoing to depose the Government. Tomorrow would there-fore belong wholly to them. A man must consequentlybe on their side, only on their side."No," he said to himself almost aloud, "I don't thinkI've made a mistake this time.""What did you say?" Camilla asked. "I thought you'dlost your tongue. . . . I thought the mice had eaten itup!"Luis Cervantes frowned and cast a hostile glance atthis little plump monkey with her bronzed complexion,her ivory teeth, and her thick square toes."Look here, Tenderfoot, you know how to tell fairystories, don't you?"For all answer, Luis made an impatient gesture andmoved off, the girl's ecstatic glance following his re-treating figure until it was lost on the river path. Soprofound was her absorption that she shuddered in nerv-ous surprise as she heard the voice of her neighbor, one-eyed Maria Antonia, who had been spying from her hut,shouting:"Hey, you there: give him some love powder. Thenhe might fall for you.""That's what you'd do, all right!""Oh, you think so, do you? Well, you're quite wrong!Faugh! I despise a tenderfoot, and don't forget it!"Ho there, Remigia, lend me some eggs, will you? Mychicken has been hatching since morning. There's somegentlemen here, come to eat."Her neighbor's eyes blinked as the bright sunlightpoured into the shadowy hut, darker than usual, even,as dense clouds of smoke rose from the stove. After afew minutes, she began to make out the contour of thevarious objects inside, and recognized the wounded man'sstretcher, which lay in one corner, close to the ashy-gray galvanized iron roof.She sat down beside Remigia Indian-fashion, and,glancing furtively toward where Demetrio rested, askedin a low voice:"How's the patient, better? That's fine. Oh, how younghe is! But he's still pale, don't you think? So the wound'snot closed up yet. Well, Remigia, don't you think we'dbetter try and do something about it?"Remigia, naked from the waist up, stretched her thinmuscular arms over the corn grinder, pounding the cornwith a stone bar she held in her hands."Oh, I don't know; they might not like it," she an-swered, breathing heavily as she continued her rude task."They've got their own doctor, you know, so--""Hallo, there, Remigia," another neighbor said as shecame in, bowing her bony back to pass through the open-ing, "haven't you any laurel leaves? We want to make apotion for Maria Antonia who's not so well today,what with her bellyache."In reality, her errand was but a pretext for askingquestions and passing the time of day in gossip, so sheturned her eyes to the corner where the patient lay and,winking, sought information as to his health.Remigia lowered her eyes to indicate that Demetriowas sleeping."Oh, I didn't see you when I came in. And you'rehere too, Panchita? Well, how are you?""Good morning to you, Fortunata. How are you?""All right. But Maria Antonia's got the curse todayand her belly's aching something fierce."She sat Indian-fashion, with bent knees, huddling hipto hip against Panchita."I've got no laurel leaves, honey," Remigia answered,pausing a moment in her work to push a mop of hairback from over her sweaty forehead. Then, plungingher two hands into a mass of corn, she removed a hand-ful of it dripping with muddy yellowish water. "I've noneat all; you'd better go to Dolores, she's always got herbs,you know.""But Dolores went to Cofradia last night. I don'tknow, but they say they came to fetch her to help UncleMatias' girl who's big with child.""You don't say, Panchita?"The three old women came together forming an ani-mated group, and speaking in low tones, began to gossipwith great gusto."Certainly, I swear it, by God up there in heaven.""Well, well, I was the first one to say that Marcelinawas big with child, wasn't I? But of course no one wouldbelieve me.""Poor girl. It's going to be terrible if the kid is heruncle's, you know!""God forbid!""Of course it's not her uncle: Nazario had nothing todo with it, I know. It was them damned soldiers, that'swho done it.""God, what a bloody mess! Another unhappy woman!"The cackle of the old hens finally awakened Demetrio.They kept silent for a moment; then Panchita, takingout of the bosom of her blouse a young pigeon whichopened its beak in suffocation, said:"To tell you the truth, I brought this medicine forthe gentleman here, but they say he's got a doctor, soI suppose--""That makes no difference, Panchita, that's no medi-cine anyhow, it's simply something to rub on his body.""Forgive this poor gift from a poor woman, senor,"said the wrinkled old woman, drawing close to Demetrio,"but there's nothing like it in the world for hemorrhagesand suchlike."Demetrio nodded hasty approval. They had alreadyplaced a loaf of bread soaked in alcohol on his stomach;although when this was removed he began to be cooler,he felt that he was still feverish inside."Come on, Remigia, you do it, you certainly knowhow," the women said.Out of a reed sheath, Remigia pulled a long andcurved knife which served to cut cactus fruit. She tookthe pigeon in one hand, turned it over, its breast up-ward, and with the skill of a surgeon, ripped it in twowith a single thrust."In the name of Jesus, Mary, and Joseph," Remigiasaid, blessing the room and making the sign of the cross;next, with infinite dexterity, she placed the warm bleed-ing portions of the pigeon upon Demetrio's abdomen."You'll see: you'll feel much better now."Obeying Remigia's instructions, Demetrio lay motion-less, crumpled up on one side.Then Fortunata gave vent to her sorrows. She likedthese gentlemen of the revolution, all right, that she did--for, three months ago, you know, the Government sol-diers had run away with her only daughter. This hadbroken her heart, Yes, and driven her all but crazy.As she began, Anastasio Montanez and Quail lay onthe floor near the stretcher, their mouths gaping, allears to the story. But Fortunata's wealth of detail bythe time she had told half of it bored Quail and heleft the hut to scratch himself out in the sun. By thetime Fortunata had at last concluded with a solemn "Ipray God and the Blessed Virgin Mary that you arenot sparing the life of a single one of those Federalsfrom hell," Demetrio, face to wall, felt greatly relievedby the stomach cure, and was busy thinking of the bestroute by which to proceed to Durango. Anastasio Mon-tanez was snoring like a trombone.XWhy don't you call in the tenderfoot to treat you,Compadre Demetrio," Anastasio Montanez asked hischief, who had been complaining daily of chills and fever."You ought to see him; no one has laid a hand to himbut himself, and now he's so fit that he doesn't limpa step."But Venancio, standing by with his tins of lard andhis dirty string rags ready, protested:"All right, if anybody lays a hand on Demetrio, Iwon't be responsible.""Nonsense! Rot! What kind of doctor do you thinkyou are? You're no doctor at all. I'll wager you've al-ready forgotten why you ever joined us," said Quail."Well, I remember why you joined us, Quail," Ve-nancio replied angrily. "Perhaps you'll deny it was be-cause you had stolen a watch and some diamond rings.""Ha, ha, ha! That's rich! But you're worse, my lad;you ran away from your hometown because you poi-soned your sweetheart.""You're a Goddamned liar!""Yes you did! And don't try and deny it! You fed herSpanish fly and . . ."Venancio's shout of protest was drowned out in theloud laughter of the others. Demetrio, looking pale andsallow, motioned for silence. Then, plaintively:"That'll do. Bring in the student."Luis Cervantes entered. He uncovered Demetrio'swound, examined it carefully, and shook his head. Theligaments had made a furrow in the skin. The leg, badlyswollen, seemed about to burst. At every move he made,Demetrio stifled a moan. Luis Cervantes cut the liga-ments, soaked the wound in water, covered the leg withlarge clean rags and bound it up. Demetrio was able tosleep all afternoon and all night. On the morrow hewoke up happy."That tenderfoot has the softest hand in the world!"he said.Quickly Venancio cut in:"All right; just as you say. But don't forget that ten-derfoots are like moisture, they seep in everywhere. It'sthe tenderfoots who stopped us reaping the harvest ofthe revolution."Since Demetrio believed in the barber's knowledgeimplicitly, when Luis Cervantes came to treat him onthe next day he said:"Look here, do your best, see. I want to recoversoon and then you can go home or anywhere else youdamn well please."Discreetly, Luis Cervantes made no reply.A week, ten days, a fortnight elapsed. The Federaltroops seemed to have vanished. There was an abun-dance of corn and beans, too, in the neighboring ranches.The people hated the Government so bitterly that theywere overjoyed to furnish assistance to the rebels. De-metrio's men, therefore, were peacefully waiting for thecomplete recovery of their chief.Day after day, Luis Cervantes remained humble andsilent."By God, I actually believe you're in love," De-metrio said jokingly one morning after the daily treat-ment. He had begun to like this tenderfoot. From thenon, Demetrio began gradually to show an increasing in-terest in Cervantes' comfort. One day he asked him ifthe soldiers gave him his daily ration of meat and milk;Luis Cervantes was forced to answer that his sole nour-ishment was whatever the old ranch women happened togive him and that everyone still considered him an in-truder."Look here, Tenderfoot, they're all good boys, really,"Demetrio answered. "You've got to know how to handlethem, that's all. You mark my words; from tomorrowon, there won't be a thing you'll lack."In effect, things began to change that very afternoon.Some of Demetrio's men lay in the quarry, glancing atthe sunset that turned the clouds into huge clots ofcongealed blood and listening to Venancio's amusingstories culled from The Wandering Jew. Some of them,lulled by the narrator's mellifluous voice, began to snore.But Luis Cervantes listened avidly and as soon asVenancio topped off his talk with a storm of anticlericaldenunciations he said emphatically: "Wonderful, wonder-ful! What intelligence! You're a most gifted man!""Well, I reckon it's not so bad," Venancio answered,warming to the flattery, "but my parents died and Ididn't have a chance to study for a profession.""That's easy to remedy, I'm sure. Once our cause isvictorious, you can easily get a degree. A matter of twoor three weeks' assistant's work at some hospital and aletter of recommendation from our chief and you'll be afull-fledged doctor, all right. The thing is child's play."From that night onward Venancio, unlike the others,ceased calling him Tenderfoot. He addressed him asLouie.It was Louie, this, and Louie, that, right and left, allthe time.XILook here, Tenderfoot, I want to tell you some-thing," Camilla called to Luis Cervantes, as he made hisway to the hut to fetch some boiling water for his foot.For days the girl had been restless. Her coy ways andher reticence had finally annoyed the man; stopping sud-denly, he stood up and eyeing her squarely:"All right. What do you want to tell me?"Camilla's tongue clove to her mouth, heavy and dampas a rag; she could not utter a word. A blush suffusedher cheeks, turning them red as apples; she shruggedher shoulders and bowed her head, pressing her chinagainst her naked breast. Then without moving, with thefixity of an idiot, she glanced at the wound, and said ina whisper:"Look, how nicely it's healing now: it's like a redCastille rose."Luis Cervantes frowned and with obvious disgust con-tinued to care for his foot, completely ignoring her ashe worked. When he had finished, Camilla had vanished.For three days she was nowhere to be found. It wasalways her mother, Agapita, who answered Cervantes'call, and boiled the water for him and gave him rags.He was careful to avoid questioning her. Three dayslater, Camilla reappeared, more coy and eager than ever.The more distrait and indifferent Luis Cervantes grew,the bolder Camilla. At last, she said: "Listen to me, younice young fellow, I want to tell you something pleas-ant. Please go over the words of the revolutionary song'Adelita' with me, will you? You can guess why, eh? Iwant to sing it and sing it, over again often and often,see? Then when you're off and away and when you'veforgotten all about Camilla, it'll remind me of you."To Luis Cervantes her words were like the noise of asharp steel knife drawn over the side of a glass bottle.Blissfully unaware of the effect they had produced, sheproceeded, candid as ever:"Well, I want to tell you something. You don't knowthat your chief is a wicked man, do you? Shall I tell youwhat he did to me? You know Demetrio won't let asoul but Mamma cook for him and me take him his food.Well, the other day I take some food over to him andwhat do you think he did to me, the old fool. He grabshold of my wrist and he presses it tight, tight as canbe, and then he starts pinching my legs."'Come on, let me go,' I said. 'Keep still, lay off, youshameless creature. You've got no manners, that's thetrouble with you.' So I wrestled with him, and shook my-self free, like this, and ran off as fast as I could. Whatdo you think of that?"Camilla had never seen Luis Cervantes laugh soheartily."But it is really true, all this you've told me?"Utterly at a loss, Camilla could not answer. Then heburst into laughter again and repeated the question. Asense of confusion came upon her. Disturbed, troubled,she said brokenly:"Yes, it's the truth. And I wanted to tell you about it.But you don't seem to feel at all angry."Once more Camilla glanced adoringly at Luis Cer-vantes' radiant, clean face; at his glaucous, soft eyes,his cheeks pink and polished as a porcelain doll's; at histender white skin that showed below the line of hiscollar and on his shoulders, protruding from under arough woolen poncho; at his hair, ever so slightly curled."What the devil are you waiting for, fool? If the chieflikes you, what more do you want?"Camilla felt something rise within her breast, an emptyache that became a knot when it reached her throat; sheclosed her eyes fast to hold back the tears that welled upin them. Then, with the back of her hand, she wiped herwet cheeks, and just as she had done three daysago, fled with all the swiftness of a young deer.XIIDemetrio's wound had already healed. They be-gan to discuss various projects to go northward where,according to rumor, the rebels had beaten the Federaltroops all along the line.A certain incident came to precipitate their action.Seated on a crag of the sierra in the cool of the after-noon breeze, Luis Cervantes gazed away in the distance,dreaming and killing time. Below the narrow rock Pan-cracio and Manteca, lying like lizards between thejarales along one of the river margins, were playingcards. Anastasio Montanez, looking on indifferently,turned his black hairy face toward Luis Cervantes and,leveling his kindly gaze upon him, asked:"Why so sad, you from the city? What are you day-dreaming about? Come on over here and let's have achat!"Luis Cervantes did not move; Anastasio went over tohim and sat down beside him like a friend."What you need is the excitement of the city. I wageryou shine your shoes every day and wear a necktie. Now,I may look dirty and my clothes may be torn to shreds,but I'm not really what I seem to be. I'm not here becauseI've got to be and don't you think so. Why, I own twentyoxen. Certainly I do; ask my friend Demetrio. I clearedten bushels last harvest time. You see, if there's onething I love, that's riling these Government fellows andmaking them furious. The last scrape I had--it'll be eightmonths gone now, ever since I've joined these men--Istuck my knife into some captain. He was just a no-body, a little Government squirt. I pinked him here, see,right under the navel. And that's why I'm here: that andbecause I wanted to give my mate Demetrio a hand.""Christ! The bloody little darling of my life!" Mantecashouted, waxing enthusiastic over a winning hand. Heplaced a twenty-cent silver coin on the jack of spades."If you want my opinion, I'm not much on gam-bling. Do you want to bet? Well, come on then, I'm game.How do you like the sound of this leather snake jingling,eh?"Anastasio shook his belt; the silver coins rang as heshook them together.Meanwhile, Pancracio dealt the cards, the jack ofspades turned up out of the deck and a quarrel ensued.Altercation, noise, then shouts, and, at last, insults. Pan-cracio brought his stony face close to Manteca, wholooked at him with snake's eyes, convulsive, foaming atthe mouth. Another moment and they would have beenexchanging blows. Having completely exhausted theirstock of direct insults, they now resorted to the mostflowery and ornate insulting of each other's ancestors,male and female, paternal or maternal. Yet nothing unto-ward occurred.After their supply of words was exhausted, they gaveover gambling and, their arms about each other's shoul-ders, marched off in search of a drink of alcohol."I don't like to fight with my tongue either, it's not de-cent. I'm right, too, eh? I tell you no man living has everbreathed a word to me against my mother. I want to berespected, see? That's why you've never seen me foolingwith anyone." There was a pause. Then, suddenly, "Lookthere, Tenderfoot," Anastasio said, changing his toneand standing up with one hand spread over his eyes."What's that dust over there behind the hillock. By God,what if it's those damned Federals and we sitting heredoing nothing. Come on, let's go and warn the rest of theboys."The news met with cries of joy."Ah, we're going to meet them!" cried Pancracio jubi-lantly, first among them to rejoice."Of course, we're going to meet them! We'll strip themclean of everything they brought with them."A few moments later, amid cries of joy and a bustle ofarms, they began saddling their horses. But the enemyturned out to be a few burros and two Indians, drivingthem forward."Stop them, anyhow. They must have come from some-where and they've probably news for us," Demetriosaid.Indeed, their news proved sensational. The Federaltroops had fortified the hills in Zacatecas; this was saidto be Huerta's last stronghold, but everybody predictedthe fall of the city. Many families had hastily fled south-ward. Trains were overloaded with people; there was ascarcity of trucks and coaches; hundreds of people,panic-stricken, walked along the highroad with their be-longings in a pack slung over their shoulders. GeneralPanfilo Natera was assembling his men at Fresnillo; theFederals already felt it was all up with them."The fall of Zacatecas will be Huerta's requiescat inpace," Luis Cervantes cried with unusual excitement."We've got to be there before the fight starts so that wecan join Natera's army."Then, suddenly, he noted the surprise with which De-metrio and his men greeted his suggestion. Crestfallen,he realized they still considered him of no account.On the morrow, as the men set off in search of goodmounts before taking to the road again, Demetrio calledLuis Cervantes:"Do you really want to come with us? Of course you'recut from another timber, we all know that; God knowswhy you should like this sort of life. Do you imaginewe're in this game because we like it? Now, I like the ex-citement all right, but that's not all. Sit down here;that's right. Do you want to know why I'm a rebel? Well,I'll tell you."Before the revolution, I had my land all plowed, see,and just right for sowing and if it hadn't been for a littlequarrel with Don Monico, the boss of my town, Moya-hua, I'd be there in a jiffy getting the oxen ready for thesowing, see?"Here, there, Pancracio, pull down two bottles of beerfor me and this tenderfoot. . . . By the Holy Cross . . .drinking won't hurt me, now, will it?"XIIII was born in Limon, close by Moyahua, right inthe heart of the Juchipila canyon. I had my house and mycows and a patch of land, see: I had everything I wanted.Well, I suppose you know how we farmers make a habitof going over to town every week to hear Mass and thesermon and then to market to buy our onions and to-matoes and in general everything they want us to buy atthe ranch. Then you pick up some friends and go to Prim-itivo Lopez' saloon for a bit of a drink before dinner;well, you sit there drinking and you've got to be sociable,so you drink more than you should and the liquor goesto your head and you laugh and you're damned happyand if you feel like it, you sing and shout and kick up abit of a row. That's quite all right, anyhow, for we're notdoing anyone any harm. But soon they start botheringyou and the policeman walks up and down and stops oc-casionally, with his ear to the door. To put it in a nut-shell, the chief of police and his gang are a lot of joykill-ers who decide they want to put a stop to your fun, see?But by God! You've got guts, you've got red blood inyour veins and you've got a soul, too, see? So you loseyour temper, you stand up to them and tell them to go tothe Devil."Now if they understand you, everything's all right;they leave you alone and that's all there is to it; but some-times they try to talk you down and hit you and--well,you know how it is, a fellow's quick-tempered and he'll bedamned if he'll stand for someone ordering him aroundand telling him what's what. So before you know it, you'vegot your knife out or your gun leveled, and then off yougo for a wild run in the sierra, until they've forgotten thecorpse,see?"All right: that's just about what happened to Mon-ico. The fellow was a greater bluffer than the rest. Hecouldn't tell a rooster from a hen, not he. Well, I spit onhis beard because he wouldn't mind his own business.That's all, there's nothing else to tell."Then, just because I did that, he had the whole God-damned Federal Government against me. You must haveheard something about that story in Mexico City--about the killing of Madero and some other fellow,Felix or Felipe Diaz, or something--I don't know.Well, this man Monico goes in person to Zacatecas toget an army to capture me. They said that I was a Mad-erista and that I was going to rebel. But a man like mealways has friends. Somebody came and warned me ofwhat was coming to me, so when the soldiers reachedLimon I was miles and miles away. Trust me! Then mycompadre Anastasio who killed somebody came andjoined me, and Pancracio and Quail and a lot of friendsand acquaintances came after him. Since then we've beensort of collecting, see? You know for yourself, we getalong as best we can. . . ."For a while, both men sat meditating in silence. Then:"Look here, Chief," said Luis Cervantes. "You knowthat some of Natera's men are at Juchipila, quite nearhere. I think we should join them before they captureZacatecas. All we need do is speak to the General.""I'm no good at that sort of thing. And I don't like theidea of accepting orders from anybody very much.""But you've only a handful of men down here; you'llonly be an unimportant chieftain. There's no argumentabout it, the revolution is bound to win. After it's allover they'll talk to you just as Madero talked to all thosewho had helped him: 'Thank you very much, my friends,you can go home now. . . .' ""Well that's all I want, to be let alone so I can gohome.""Wait a moment, I haven't finished. Madero said:'You men have made me President of the Republic. Youhave run the risk of losing your lives and leaving yourwives and children destitute; now I have what I wanted,you can go back to your picks and shovels, you canresume your hand-to-mouth existence, you can go half-naked and hungry just as you did before, while we, yoursuperiors, will go about trying to pile up a few millionpesos. . . .'"Demetrio nodded and, smiling, scratched his head."You said a mouthful, Louie," Venancio the barberput in enthusiastically. "A mouthful as big as a church!""As I was saying," Luis Cervantes resumed, "whenthe revolution is over, everything is over. Too bad that somany men have been killed, too bad there are so manywidows and orphans, too bad there was so much blood-shed."Of course, you are not selfish; you say to yourself:'All I want to do is go back home.' But I ask you, is itfair to deprive your wife and kids of a fortune which Godhimself places within reach of your hand? Is it fair toabandon your motherland in this solemn moment whenshe most needs the self-sacrifice of her sons, when shemost needs her humble sons to save her from fallingagain in the clutches of her eternal oppressors, execu-tioners, and caciques? You must not forget that the thinga man holds most sacred on earth is his motherland."Macias smiled, his eyes shining."Will it be all right if we go with Natera?""Not only all right," Venancio said insinuatingly, "butI think it absolutely necessary.""Now Chief," Cervantes pursued, "I took a fancy toyou the first time I laid eyes on you and I like you moreand more every day because I realize what you areworth. Please let me be utterly frank. You do not yetrealize your lofty noble function. You are a modest manwithout ambitions, you do not wish to realize the ex-ceedingly important role you are destined to play in therevolution. It is not true that you took up arms simply be-cause of Senor Monico. You are under arms to protestagainst the evils of all the caciques who are overrunningthe whole nation. We are the elements of a social move-ment which will not rest until it has enlarged the destiniesof our motherland. We are the tools Destiny makes use ofto reclaim the sacred rights of the people. We are notfighting to dethrone a miserable murderer, we are fight-ing against tyranny itself. What moves us is what men callideals; our action is what men call fighting for a prin-ciple. A principle! That's why Villa and Natera and Car-ranza are fighting; that's why we, every man of us, arefighting.""Yes ... yes ... exactly what I've been thinking my-self," said Venancio in a climax of enthusiasm."Hey, there, Pancracio," Macias called, "pull downtwo more beers."XIVYou ought to see how clear that fellow can makethings, Compadre," Demetrio said. All morning long hehad been pondering as much of Luis Cervantes' speechas he had understood."I heard him too," Anastasio answered. "People whocan read and write get things clear, all right; nothingwas ever truer. But what I can't make out is how you'regoing to go and meet Natera with as few men as wehave.""That's nothing. We're going to do things differentnow. They tell me that as soon as Crispin Robles entersa town he gets hold of all the horses and guns in theplace; then he goes to the jail and lets all the jailbirdsout, and, before you know it, he's got plenty of men, allright. You'll see. You know I'm beginning to feel thatwe haven't done things right so far. It don't seem rightsomehow that this city guy should be able to tell uswhat to do.""Ain't it wonderful to be able to read and write!"They both sighed, sadly. Luis Cervantes came in withseveral others to find out the day of their departure."We're leaving no later than tomorrow," said Demetriowithout hesitation.Quail suggested that musicians be summoned fromthe neighboring hamlet and that a farewell dance begiven. His idea met with enthusiasm on all sides."We'll go, then," Pancracio shouted, "but I'm certainlygoing in good company this time. My sweetheart's comingalong with me!"Demetrio replied that he too would willingly take alonga girl he had set his eye on, but that he hoped none of hismen would leave bitter memories behind them as theFederals did."You won't have long to wait. Everything will be ar-ranged when you return," Luis Cervantes whispered to him."What do you mean?" Demetrio asked. "I thoughtthat you and Camilla . . .""There's not a word of truth in it, Chief. She likes youbut she's afraid of you, that's all.""Really? Is that really true?""Yes. But I think you're quite right in not wantingto leave any bitter feelings behind you as you go. Whenyou come back as a conqueror, everything will be dif-ferent. They'll all thank you for it even.""By God, you're certainly a shrewd one," Demetrio re-plied, patting him on the back.At sundown, Camilla went to the river to fetch wateras usual. Luis Cervantes, walking down the same trail,met her. Camilla felt her heart leap to her mouth. But,without taking the slightest notice of her, Luis Cervanteshastily took one of the turns and disappeared among therocks.At this hour, as usual, the calcinated rocks, the sun-burnt branches, and the dry weeds faded into the semi-obscurity of the shadows. The wind blew softly, the greenlances of the young corn leaves rustling in the twilight.Nothing was changed; all nature was as she had found itbefore, evening upon evening; but in the stones and thedry weeds, amid the fragrance of the air and the lightwhir of falling leaves, Camilla sensed a new strangeness,a vast desolation in everything about her.Rounding a huge eroded rock, suddenly Camilla foundherself face to face with Luis, who was seated on a stone,hatless, his legs dangling."Listen, you might come down here to say good-bye."Luis Cervantes was obliging enough; he jumped downand joined her."You're proud, ain't you? Have I been so mean thatyou don't even want to talk to me?""Why do you say that, Camilla? You've been extreme-ly kind to me; why, you've been more than a friend,you've taken care of me as if you were my sister. NowI'm about to leave, I'm very grateful to you; I'll alwaysremember you.""Liar!" Camilla said, her face transfigured with joy."Suppose I hadn't come after you?""I intended to say good-bye to you at the dance thisevening.""What dance? If there's a dance, I'll not go to it.""Why not?""Because I can't stand that horrible man . . . Deme-trio!""Don't be silly, child," said Luis. "He's really very fondof you. Don't go and throw away this opportunity. You'llnever have one like it again in your life. Don't you knowthat Demetrio is on the point of becoming a general, yousilly girl? He'll be a very wealthy man, with horses ga-lore; and you'll have jewels and clothes and a fine houseand a lot of money to spend. Just imagine what a lifeyou would lead with him!"Camilla stared up at the blue sky so he should notread the expression in her eyes. A dead leaf shook slowlyloose from the crest of a tree swinging slowly on thewind, fell like a small dead butterfly at her feet. Shebent down and took it in her fingers. Then, without look-ing at him, she murmured:"It's horrible to hear you talk like that. . . . I likeyou . . . no one else. . . . Ah, well, go then, go: I feelashamed now. Please leave me!"She threw away the leaf she had crumpled in herhand and covered her face with a corner of her apron.When she opened her eyes, Luis Cervantes had disap-peared.She followed the river trail. The river seemed to havebeen sprinkled with a fine red dust. On its surface driftednow a sky of variegated colors, now the dark crags,half light, half shadow. Myriads of luminous insectstwinkled in a hollow. Camilla, standing on the beach ofwashed, round stones, caught a reflection of herself inthe waters; she saw herself in her yellow blouse with thegreen ribbons, her white skirt, her carefully combed hair,her wide eyebrows and broad forehead, exactly as shehad dressed to please Luis. She burst into tears.Among the reeds, the frogs chanted the implacablemelancholy of the hour. Perched on a dry root, a dovewept also.XVThat evening, there was much merrymaking at thedance, and a great quantity of mezcal was drunk."I miss Camilla," said Demetrio in a loud voice.Everybody looked about for Camilla."She's sick, she's got a headache," said Agapita harsh-ly, uneasy as she caught sight of the malicious glancesleveled at her.When the dance was over, Demetrio, somewhat un-steady on his feet, thanked all the kind neighbors whohad welcomed them and promised that when the revo-lution had triumphed he would remember them one andall, because "hospital or jail is a true test of friendship.""May God's hand lead you all," said an old woman."God bless you all and keep you well," others added.Utterly drunk, Maria Antonia said:"Come back soon, damn soon!"On the morrow, Maria Antonia, who, though she waspockmarked and walleyed, nevertheless enjoyed a no-torious reputation--indeed it was confidently proclaimedthat no man had failed to go with her behind the riverweeds at some time or other--shouted to Camilla:"Hey there, you! What's the matter? What are youdoing there skulking in the corner with a shawl tiedround your head! You're crying, I wager. Look at hereyes; they look like a witch's. There's no sorrow lastsmore than three days!"Agapita knitted her eyebrows and muttered indistinct-ly to herself.The old crones felt uneasy and lonesome since Deme-trio's men had left. The men, too, in spite of their gossipand insults, lamented their departure since now theywould have no one to bring them fresh meat every day.It is pleasant indeed to spend your time eating and drink-ing, and sleeping all day long in the cool shade of therocks, while clouds ravel and unravel their fleecy threadson the blue shuttle of the sky."Look at them again. There they go!" Maria Antoniayelled. "Why, they look like toys."Demetrio's men, riding their thin nags, could still bedescried in the distance against the sapphire translucenceof the sky, where the broken rocks and the chaparralmelted into a single bluish smooth surface. Across the aira gust of hot wind bore the broken, faltering strains of"La Adelita," the revolutionary song, to the settlement.Camilla, who had come out when Maria Antoniashouted, could no longer control herself; she dived backinto her hut, unable to restrain her tears and moaning.Maria Antonia burst into laughter and moved off."They've cast the evil eye on my daughter," Agapitasaid in perplexity. She pondered a while, then duly reacheda decision. From a pole in the hut she took down a pieceof strong leather which her husband used to hitch up theyoke. This pole stood between a picture of Christ andone of the Virgin. Agapita promptly twisted the leatherand proceeded to administer a sound thrashing to Camil-la in order to dispel the evil spirits.Riding proudly on his horse, Demetrio felt like a newman. His eyes recovered their peculiar metallic brilliance,and the blood flowed, red and warm, through his cop-pery, pure-blooded Aztec cheeks.The men threw out their chests as if to breathe thewidening horizon, the immensity of the sky, the blue fromthe mountains and the fresh air, redolent with the variousodors of the sierra. They spurred their horses to a gallopas if in that mad race they laid claims of possession tothe earth. What man among them now remembered thestern chief of police, the growling policeman, or the con-ceited cacique? What man remembered his pitiful hutwhere he slaved away, always under the eyes of theowner or the ruthless and sullen foreman, always forcedto rise before dawn, and to take up his shovel, basket,or goad, wearing himself out to earn a mere pitcher ofatole and a handful of beans?They laughed, they sang, they whistled, drunk with thesunlight, the air of the open spaces, the wine of life.Meco, prancing forward on his horse, bared his whiteglistening teeth, joking and kicking up like a clown."Hey, Pancracio," he asked with utmost seriousness,"my wife writes me I've got another kid. How in hell isthat? I ain't seen her since Madero was President.""That's nothing," the other replied. "You just left hera lot of eggs to hatch for you!"They all laughed uproariously. Only Meco, grave andaloof, sang in a voice horribly shrill:"I gave her a pennyThat wasn't enough.I gave her a nickelThe wench wanted more.We bargained. I askedIf a dime was enoughBut she wanted a quarter.By God! That was tough!All wenches are fickleAnd trumpery stuff!"The sun, beating down upon them, dulled their mindsand bodies and presently they were silent. All day longthey rode through the canyon, up and down the steep,round hills, dirty and bald as a man's head, hill after hillin endless succession. At last, late in the afternoon, theydescried several stone church towers in the heart of abluish ridge, and, beyond, the white road with its curlingspirals of dust and its gray telegraph poles.They advanced toward the main road; in the distancethey spied a figure of an Indian sitting on the embank-ment. They drew up to him. He proved to be an un-friendly looking old man, clad in rags; he was laboriouslyattempting to mend his leather sandals with the help of adull knife. A burro loaded with fresh green grass stoodby. Demetrio accosted him."What are you doing, Grandpa?""Gathering alfalfa for my cow.""How many Federals are there around here?""Just a few: not more than a dozen, I reckon."The old man grew communicative. He told them ofmany important rumors: Obregon was besieging Guada-lajara, Torres was in complete control of the Potosi re-gion, Natera ruled over Fresnillo."All right," said Demetrio, "you can go where you'reheaded for, see, but you be damn careful not to tell any-one you saw us, because if you do, I'll pump you full oflead. And I could track you down, even if you tried tohide in the pit of hell, see?""What do you say, boys?" Demetrio asked them assoon as the old man had disappeared."To hell with the mochos! We'll kill every blasted oneof them!" they cried in unison.Then they set to counting their cartridges and the handgrenades the Owl had made out of fragments of irontubing and metal bed handles."Not much to brag about, but we'll soon trade themfor rifles," Anastasio observed.Anxiously they pressed forward, spurring the thin flanksof their nags to a gallop. Demetrio's brisk, imperioustones of order brought them abruptly to a halt.They dismounted by the side of a hill, protected bythick huizache trees. Without unsaddling their horses,each began to search for stones to serve as pillows.XVIAt midnight Demetrio Macias ordered the march tobe resumed. The town was five or six miles away; the bestplan was to take the soldiers by surprise, before reveille.The sky was cloudy, with here and there a star shining.From time to time a flash of lightning crossed the skywith a red dart, illumining the far horizon.Luis Cervantes asked Demetrio whether the success ofthe attack might not be better served by procuring a guideor leastways by ascertaining the topographic conditions ofthe town and the precise location of the soldiers' quar-ters."No," Demetrio answered, accompanying his smile witha disdainful gesture, "we'll simply fall on them when theyleast expect it; that's all there is to it, see? We've done itbefore all right, lots of times! Haven't you ever seen thesquirrels stick their heads out of their holes when youpoured in water? Well, that's how these lousy soldiers aregoing to feel. Do you see? They'll be frightened out oftheir wits the moment they hear our first shot. Then they'llslink out and stand as targets for us.""Suppose the old man we met yesterday lied to us.Suppose there are fifty soldiers instead of twenty. Whoknows but he's a spy sent out by the Federals!""Ha, Tenderfoot, frightened already, eh?" AnastasioMontanez mocked."Sure! Handling a rifle and messing about with band-ages are two different things," Pancracio observed."Well, that's enough talk, I guess," said Meco. "All wehave to do is fight a dozen frightened rats.""This fight won't convince our mothers that they gavebirth to men or whatever the hell you like. . . ." Mantecaadded.When they reached the outskirts of the town, Venanciowalked ahead and knocked at the door of a hut."Where's the soldiers' barracks?" he inquired of a manwho came out barefoot, a ragged serape covering hisbody."Right there, just beyond the Plaza," he answered.Since nobody knew where the city square was, Venan-cio made him walk ahead to show the way. Tremblingwith fear, the poor devil told them they were doing hima terrible wrong."I'm just a poor day laborer, sir; I've got a wife and alot of kids.""What the hell do you think I have, dogs?" Demetrioscowled. "I've got kids too, see?"Then he commanded:"You men keep quiet. Not a sound out of you! Andwalk down the middle of the street, single file."The rectangular church cupola rose above the smallhouses."Here, gentlemen; there's the Plaza beyond the church.Just walk a bit further and there's the barracks."He knelt down, then, imploring them to let him go, butPancracio, without pausing to reply, struck him acrossthe chest with his rifle and ordered him to proceed."How many soldiers are there?" Luis Cervantes asked."I don't want to lie to you, boss, but to tell you thetruth, yes, sir, to tell you God's truth, there's a lot ofthem, a whole lot of 'em."Luis Cervantes turned around to stare at Demetrio,who feigned momentary deafness. They were soon in the city square.A loud volley of rifle shots rang out, deafening them.Demetrio's horse reared, staggered on its hind legs, bentits forelegs, and fell to the ground, kicking. The Owluttered a piercing cry and fell from his horse whichrushed madly to the center of the square.Another volley: the guide threw up his arms and fellon his back without a sound.With all haste, Anastasio Montanez helped Demetrioup behind him on his horse; the others retreated, seek-ing shelter along the walls of the houses."Hey, men," said a workman sticking his head out of alarge door, "go for 'em through the back of the chapel.They're all in there. Cut back through this street, thenturn to the left; you'll reach an alley. Keep on going aheaduntil you hit the chapel."As he spoke a fresh volley of pistol shots, directedfrom the neighboring roofs, fell like a rain about them."By God," the man said, "those ain't poisonous spiders;they're only townsmen scared of their own shadow. Comein here until they stop." "How many of them are there?" asked Demetrio."There were only twelve of them. But last night theywere scared out of their wits so they wired to the townbeyond for help. I don't know how many of them thereare now. Even if there are a hell of a lot of them, itdoesn't cut any ice! Most of them aren't soldiers, youknow, but drafted men; if just one of them starts mu-tinying, the rest will follow like sheep. My brother wasdrafted; they've got him there. I'll go along with youand signal to him; all of them will desert and follow you.Then we'll only have the officers to deal with! If you wantto give me a gun or something. . . .""No more rifles left, brother. But I guess you canput these to some use," Anastasio Montanez said, passinghim two hand grenades.The officer in command of the Federals was a youngcoxcomb of a captain with a waxed mustache and blondhair. As long as he felt uncertain about the strength of theassailants, he had remained extremely quiet and prudent;but now that they had driven the rebels back without al-lowing them a chance to fire a single shot, he waxed boldand brave. While the soldiers did not dare put out theirheads beyond the pillars of the building, his own shadowstood against the pale clear dawn, exhibiting his well-builtslender body and his officer's cape bellying in the breeze. "Ha, I remember our coup d'etat!"His military career had consisted of the single adven-ture when, together with other students of the Officers'School, he was involved in the treacherous revolt ofFeliz Diaz and Huerta against President Madero. When-ever the slightest insubordination arose, he invariably re-called his feat at the Ciudadela."Lieutenant Campos," he ordered emphatically, "takea dozen men and wipe out the bandits hiding there! Thecurs! They're only brave when it comes to guzzling meatand robbing a hencoop!"A workingman appeared at the small door of the spiralstaircase, announcing that the assailants were hidden ina corral where they might easily be captured. This mes-sage came from the citizens keeping watch on housetops."I'll go myself and get it over with!" the officer de-clared impetuously.But he soon changed his mind. Before he had reachedthe door, he retraced his steps."Very likely they are waiting for more men and, ofcourse, it would be wrong for me to abandon my post.Lieutenant Campos, go there yourself and capture themdead or alive. We'll shoot them at noon when every-body's coming out of church. Those bandits will see theexample I'll set around here. But if you can't capturethem, Lieutenant, kill them all. Don't leave a man ofthem alive, do you understand?"In high good humor, he began pacing up and downthe room, formulating the official despatch he would sendoff no later than today.To His Honor the Minister for War,General A. Blanquet,Mexico City.Sir:I have the honor to inform your Excellency that on themorning of . . . a rebel army, five hundred strong, com-manded by . . . attacked this town, which I am chargedto defend. With such speed as the gravity of the situationcalled for, I fortified my post in the town. The battlelasted two hours. Despite the superiority of the enemy inmen and equipment, I was able to defeat and rout them.Their casualties were twenty killed and a far greater num-ber of wounded, judging from the trails of blood they leftbehind them as they retreated. I am pleased to state therewas no casualty on our side. I have the honor to con-gratulate Your Excellency upon this new triumph for theFederal arms. Viva Presidente Huerta! Viva Mexico!"Well," the young captain mused, "I'll be promoted tomajor." He clasped his hands together, jubilant. At thisprecise moment, a detonation rang out. His ears buzzed, he--XVIIIf we get through the corral, we can make the alley,eh?" Demetrio asked."That's right," the workman answered. "Beyond thecorral there's a house, then another corral, then there'sa store."Demetrio scratched his head, thoughtfully. This timehis decision was immediate."Can you get hold of a crowbar or something like thatto make a hole through the wall?""Yes, we'll get anything you want, but . . .""But what? Where can we get a crowbar?""Everything is right there. But it all belongs to theboss."Without further ado, Demetrio strode into the shedwhich had been pointed out as the toolhouse.It was all a matter of a few minutes. Once in the alley,hugging to the walls, they marched forward in single fileuntil they reached the rear of the church. Now they hadbut a single fence and the rear wall of the chapel toscale."God's will be done!" Demetrio said to himself. He wasthe first to clamber over.Like monkeys the others followed him, reaching theother side with bleeding, grimy hands. The rest was easy.The deep worn steps along the stonework made their as-cent of the chapel wall swifter. The church vault hidthem from the soldiers."Wait a moment, will you?" said the workman. "I'llgo and see where my brother is; I'll let you know and thenyou'll get at the officers."But no one paid the slightest attention to him.For a second, Demetrio glanced at the soldiers' blackcoats hanging on the wall, then at his own men, thick onthe church tower behind the iron rail. He smiled withsatisfaction and turning to his men said:"Come on, now, boys!"Twenty bombs exploded simultaneously in the midstof the soldiers who, awaking terrified out of their sleep,started up, their eyes wide open. But before they had real-ized their plight, twenty more bombs burst like thunderupon them leaving a scattering of men killed or maimed."Don't do that yet, for God's sake! Don't do it till Ifind my brother," the workman implored in anguish.In vain an old sergeant harangued the soldiers, insult-ing them in the hope of rallying them. For they were rats,caught in a trap, no more, no less. Some of the soldiers,attempting to reach the small door by the staircase, fellto the ground pierced by Demetrio's shots. Others fell atthe feet of these twenty-odd specters, with faces andbreasts dark as iron, clad in long torn trousers of whitecloth which fell to their leather sandals, scattering deathand destruction below them. In the belfry, a few menstruggled to emerge from the pile of dead who had fallenupon them."It's awful, Chief!" Luis Cervantes cried in alarm."We've no more bombs left and we left our guns in thecorral."Smiling, Demetrio drew out a large shining knife. In thetwinkling of an eye, steel flashed in every hand. Someknives were large and pointed, others wide as the palmof a hand, others heavy as bayonets."The spy!" Luis Cervantes cried triumphantly. "Didn'tI tell you?""Don't kill me, Chief, please don't kill me," the old ser-geant implored squirming at the feet of Demetrio, whostood over him, knife in hand. The victim raised hiswrinkled Indian face; there was not a single gray hair inhis head today. Demetrio recognized the spy who hadlied to him the day before. Terrified, Luis Cervantesquickly averted his face. The steel blade went crack,crack, on the old man's ribs. He toppled backward, hisarms spread, his eyes ghastly."Don't kill my brother, don't kill him, he's my brother!"the workman shouted in terror to Pancracio who waspursuing a soldier. But it was too late. With one thrust,Pancracio had cut his neck in half, and two streams ofscarlet spurted from the wound. "Kill the soldiers, kill them all!"Pancracio and Manteca surpassed the others in thesavagery of their slaughter, and finished up with thewounded. Montanez, exhausted, let his arm fall; it hunglimp to his side. A gentle expression still filled his glance;his eyes shone; he was naive as a child, unmoral as ahyena. "Here's one who's not dead yet," Quail shouted.Pancracio ran up. The little blond captain with curledmustache turned pale as wax. He stood against the doorto the staircase unable to muster enough strength to takeanother step.Pancracio pushed him brutally to the edge of the cor-ridor. A jab with his knee against the captain's thigh--then a sound not unlike a bag of stones falling from thetop of the steeple on the porch of the church."My God, you've got no brains!" said Quail. "If I'dknown what you were doing, I'd have kept him for my-self. That was a fine pair of shoes you lost!"Bending over them, the rebels stripped those amongthe soldiers who were best clad, laughing and joking asthey despoiled them. Brushing back his long hair, thathad fallen over his sweating forehead and covered hiseyes, Demetrio said:"Now let's get those city fellows!"XVIIIOn the day General Natera began his advance againstthe town of Zacatecas, Demetrio with a hundred men wentto meet him at Fresnillo.The leader received him cordially."I know who you are and the sort of men you bring.I heard about the beatings you gave the Federals fromTepic to Durango."Natera shook hands with Demetrio effusively while LuisCervantes said:"With men like General Natera and Colonel DemetrioMacias, we'll cover our country with glory."Demetrio understood the purpose of those words, afterNatera had repeatedly addressed him as "Colonel."Wine and beer were served; Demetrio and Nateradrank many a toast. Luis Cervantes proposed: "The tri-umph of our cause, which is the sublime triumph of Jus-tice, because our ideal--to free the noble, long-sufferingpeople of Mexico--is about to be realized and becausethose men who have watered the earth with their bloodand tears will reap the harvest which is rightfully theirs."Natera fixed his cruel gaze on the orator, then turned hisback on him to talk to Demetrio. Presently, one of Na-tera's officers, a young man with a frank open face, drewup to the table and stared insistently at Cervantes."Are you Luis Cervantes?""Yes. You're Solis, eh?""The moment you entered I thought I recognized you.Well, well, even now I can hardly believe my eyes!""It's true enough!""Well, but . . . look here, let's have a drink, comealong." Then:"Hm," Solis went on, offering Cervantes a chair,"since when have you turned rebel?""I've been a rebel the last two months!""Oh, I see! That's why you speak with such faith andenthusiasm about things we all felt when we joined therevolution.""Have you lost your faith or enthusiasm?""Look here, man, don't be surprised if I confide in youright off. I am so anxious to find someone intelligentamong this crowd, that as soon as I get hold of a manlike you I clutch at him as eagerly as I would at a glassof water, after walking mile after mile through a parcheddesert. But frankly, I think you should do the explainingfirst. I can't understand how a man who was correspond-ent of a Government newspaper during the Madero re-gime, and later editorial writer on a Conservative jour-nal, who denounced us as bandits in the most fiery ar-ticles, is now fighting on our side.""I tell you honestly: I have been converted," Cervantesanswered."Are you absolutely convinced?"Solis sighed, filled the glasses; they drank."What about you? Are you tired of the revolution?"asked Cervantes sharply."Tired? My dear fellow, I'm twenty-five years old andI'm fit as a fiddle! But am I disappointed? Perhaps!""You must have sound reasons for feeling that way.""I hoped to find a meadow at the end of the road. Ifound a swamp. Facts are bitter; so are men. That bitter-ness eats your heart out; it is poison, dry rot. Enthu-siasm, hope, ideals, happiness-vain dreams, vain dreams.. . . When that's over, you have a choice. Either youturn bandit, like the rest, or the timeservers will swampyou. . . ."Cervantes writhed at his friend's words; his argumentwas quite out of place . . . painful. . . . To avoid beingforced to take issue, he invited Solis to cite the cir-cumstances that had destroyed his illusions."Circumstances? No--it's far less important than that.It's a host of silly, insignificant things that no one noticesexcept yourself . . . a change of expression, eyes shin-ing-lips curled in a sneer-the deep import of a phrasethat is lost! Yet take these things together and they com-pose the mask of our race . . . terrible . . . grotesque . . .a race that awaits redemption!"He drained another glass. After a long pause, he con-tinued:"You ask me why I am still a rebel? Well, the revolu-tion is like a hurricane: if you're in it, you're not a man . . . you're a leaf, a dead leaf, blown by the wind."Demetrio reappeared. Seeing him, Solis relapsed intosilence."Come along," Demetrio said to Cervantes. "Comewith me."Unctuously, Solis congratulated Demetrio on thefeats that had won him fame and the notice of PanchoVilla's northern division.Demetrio warmed to his praise. Gratefully, he heard hisprowess vaunted, though at times he found it difficult tobelieve he was the hero of the exploits the other nar-rated. But Solis' story proved so charming, so con-vincing, that before long he found himself repeating itas gospel truth."Natera is a genius!" Luis Cervantes said when they hadreturned to the hotel. "But Captain Solis is a nobody. . . a timeserver."Demetrio Macias was too elated to listen to him."I'm a colonel, my lad! And you're my secretary!"Demetrio's men made many acquaintances that eve-ning; much liquor flowed to celebrate new friendships.Of course men are not necessarily even tempered, nor isalcohol a good counselor; quarrels naturally ensued.Yet many differences that occurred were smoothed out ina friendly spirit, outside the saloons, restaurants, or broth-els.On the morrow, casualties were reported. Always a fewdead. An old prostitute was found with a bullet throughher stomach; two of Colonel Macias' new men lay in thegutter, slit from ear to ear.Anastasio Montanez carried an account of the eventsto his chief. Demetrio shrugged his shoulders."Bury them!" he said.XIXThey're coming back!"It was with amazement that the inhabitants of Fresnillolearned that the rebel attack on Zacatecas had failed com-pletely."They're coming back!"The rebels were a maddened mob, sunburnt, filthy,naked. Their high wide-brimmed straw hats hid theirfaces. The "high hats" came back as happily as they hadmarched forth a few days before, pillaging every hamletalong the road, every ranch, even the poorest hut."Who'll buy this thing?" one of them asked. He hadcarried his spoils long: he was tired. The sheen of thenickel on the typewriter, a new machine, attracted everyglance. Five times that morning the Oliver had changedhands. The first sale netted the owner ten pesos; pres-ently it had sold for eight; each time it changed hands, itwas two pesos cheaper. To be sure, it was a heavy bur-den; nobody could carry it for more than a half-hour."I'll give you a quarter for it!" Quail said."Yours!" cried the owner, handing it over quickly, asthough he feared Quail might change his mind. Thus forthe sum of twenty-five cents, Quail was afforded the pleas-ure of taking it in his hands and throwing it with all hismight against the wall.It struck with a crash. This gave the signal to all whocarried any cumbersome objects to get rid of them bysmashing them against the rocks. Objects of all sorts,crystal, china, faience, porcelain, flew through the air.Heavy, plated mirrors, brass candlesticks, fragile, delicatestatues, Chinese vases, any object not readily convertibleinto cash fell by the wayside in fragments.Demetrio did not share the untoward exaltation. Afterall, they were retreating defeated. He called Montanezand Pancracio aside and said:"These fellows have no guts. It's not so hard to take atown. It's like this. First, you open up, this way. . . ."He sketched a vast gesture, spreading his powerful arms."Then you get close to them, like this. . . ." He broughthis arms together, slowly. "Then slam! Bang! Whack!Crash!" He beat his hands against his chest.Anastasio and Pancracio, convinced by this simple,lucid explanation answered:"That's God's truth! They've no guts! That's the troublewith them!"Demetrio's men camped in a corral."Do you remember Camilla?" Demetrio asked with asigh as he settled on his back on the manure pile wherethe rest were already stretched out."Camilla? What girl do you mean, Demetrio?""The girl that used to feed me up there at the ranch!"Anastasio made a gesture implying: "I don't care adamn about the women ... Camilla or anyone else....""I've not forgotten," Demetrio went on, drawing on hiscigarette. "Yes, I was feeling like hell! I'd just finisheddrinking a glass of water. God, but it was cool. . . . 'Don'tyou want any more?' she asked me. I was half dead withfever . . . and all the time I saw that glass of water, blue. . . so blue . . . and I heard her little voice, 'Don't youwant any more?' That voice tinkled in my ears like asilver hurdy-gurdy! Well, Pancracio, what about it? Shallwe go back to the ranch?""Demetrio, we're friends, aren't we? Well then, listen.You may not believe it, but I've had a lot of experiencewith women. Women! Christ, they're all right for a while,granted! Though even that's going pretty far. Demetrio,you should see the scars they've given me . . . all overmy body, not to speak of my soul! To hell with women.They're the devil, that's what they are! You may havenoticed I steer clear of them. You know why. And don'tthink I don't know what I'm talking about. I've had a hellof a lot of experience and that's no lie!""What do you say, Pancracio? When are we going backto the ranch?" Demetrio insisted, blowing gray clouds oftobacco smoke into the air."Say the day, I'm game. You know I left my womanthere too!""Your woman, hell!" Quail said, disgruntled and sleepy."All right, then, our woman! It's a good thing you'rekindhearted so we all can enjoy her when you bring herover," Manteca murmured."That's right, Pancracio, bring one-eyed Maria An-tonia. We're all getting pretty cold around here," Mecoshouted from a distance.The crowd broke into peals of laughter. Pancracio andManteca vied with each other in calling forth oaths andobscenity.XXVilla is coming!"The news spread like lightning. Villa--the magic word!The Great Man, the salient profile, the unconquerablewarrior who, even at a distance, exerts the fascination ofa reptile, a boa constrictor."Our Mexican Napoleon!" exclaimed Luis Cervantes."Yes! The Aztec Eagle! He buried his beak of steelin the head of Huerta the serpent!" Solis, Natera's chiefof staff, remarked somewhat ironically, adding: "At least,that's how I expressed it in a speech I made at CiudadJuarez!"The two sat at the bar of the saloon, drinking beer.The "high hats," wearing mufflers around their necks andthick rough leather shoes on their feet, ate and drankendlessly. Their gnarled hands loomed across table,across bar. All their talk was of Villa and his men. Thetales Natera's followers related won gasps of astonish-ment from Demetrio's men. Villa! Villa's battles! Ciu-dad Juarez . . . Tierra Blanca . . . Chihuahua . . . Tor-reon. . . .The bare facts, the mere citing of observation and ex-perience meant nothing. But the real story, with its ex-traordinary contrasts of high exploits and abysmal cruel-ties was quite different. Villa, indomitable lord of thesierra, the eternal victim of all governments . . . Villatracked, hunted down like a wild beast . . . Villa the rein-carnation of the old legend; Villa as Providence, the ban-dit, that passes through the world armed with the blazingtorch of an ideal: to rob the rich and give to the poor. Itwas the poor who built up and imposed a legend abouthim which Time itself was to increase and embellish as ashining example from generation to generation."Look here, friend," one of Natera's men told Anas-tasio, "if General Villa takes a fancy to you, he'll give youa ranch on the spot. But if he doesn't, he'll shootyou down like a dog! God! You ought to see Villa'stroops! They're all northerners and dressed like lords!You ought to see their wide-brimmed Texas hats and theirbrand-new outfits and their four-dollar shoes, importedfrom the U. S. A."As they retailed the wonders of Villa and his men,Natera's men gazed at one another ruefully, aware thattheir own hats were rotten from sunlight and moisture,that their own shirts and trousers were tattered andbarely fit to cover their grimy, lousy bodies."There's no such a thing as hunger up there. Theycarry boxcars full of oxen, sheep, cows! They've got carsfull of clothing, trains full of guns, ammunition, foodenough to make a man burst!"Then they spoke of Villa's airplanes."Christ, those planes! You know when they're closeto you, be damned if you know what the hell they are!They look like small boats, you know, or tiny rafts . . .and then pretty soon they begin to rise, making a hell ofa row. Something like an automobile going sixty miles anhour. Then they're like great big birds that don't evenseem to move sometimes. But there's a joker! The God-damn things have got some American fellow inside withhand grenades by the thousand. Now you try and figurewhat that means! The fight is on, see? You know howa farmer feeds corn to his chickens, huh? Well, the Amer-ican throws his lead bombs at the enemy just like that.Pretty soon the whole damn field is nothing but a grave-yard . . . dead men all over the dump . . . dead men here. . . dead men there . . . dead men everywhere!"Anastasio Montanez questioned the speaker more par-ticularly. It was not long before he realized that all thishigh praise was hearsay and that not a single man inNatera's army had ever laid eyes on Villa."Well, when you get down to it, I guess it doesn't meanso much! No man's got much more guts than any otherman, if you ask me. All you need to be a good fighter ispride, that's all. I'm not a professional soldier even thoughI'm dressed like hell, but let me tell you. I'm not forcedto do this kind of bloody job, because I own . . .""Because I own over twenty oxen, whether you believeit or not!" Quail said, mocking Anastasio.XXIThe firing lessened, then slowly died out. Luis Cer-vantes, who had been hiding amid a heap of ruins at thefortification on the crest of the hill, made bold to showhis face. How he had managed to hang on, he did notknow. Nor did he know when Demetrio and his men haddisappeared. Suddenly he had found himself alone; then,hurled back by an avalanche of infantry, he fell from hissaddle; a host of men trampled over him until he rosefrom the ground and a man on horseback hoisted himup behind him. After a few moments, horse and ridersfell. Left without rifle, revolver, or arms of any kind, Cer-vantes found himself lost in the midst of white smoke andwhistling bullets. A hole amid a debris of crumblingstone offered a refuge of safety."Hello, partner!""Luis, how are you!""The horse threw me. They fell upon me. Then theytook my gun away. You see, they thought I was dead.There was nothing I could do!" Luis Cervantes explainedapologetically. Then:"Nobody threw me down," Solis said. "I'm here be-cause I like to play safe."The irony in Solis' voice brought a blush to Cer-vantes' cheek."By God, that chief of yours is a man!" Solis said."What daring, what assurance! He left me gasping--and ahell of a lot of other men with more experience than me,too!"Luis Cervantes vouchsafed no answer."What! Weren't you there? Oh, I see! You found anice place for yourself at the right time. Come here, Luis,I'll explain; let's go behind that rock. From this meadowto the foot of the hill, there's no road save this path be-low. To the right, the incline is too sharp; you can't doanything there. And it's worse to the left; the ascent is sodangerous that a second's hesitation means a fall downthose rocks and a broken neck at the end of it. All right!A number of men from Moya's brigade who went down tothe meadow decided to attack the enemy's trenches thefirst chance they got. The bullets whizzed about us, thebattle raged on all sides. For a time they stopped firing,so we thought they were being attacked from behind. Westormed their trenches--look, partner, look at thatmeadow! It's thick with corpses! Their machine guns didthat for us. They mowed us down like wheat; only a hand-ful escaped. Those Goddamned officers went white as asheet; even though we had reinforcements they wereafraid to order a new charge. That was when DemetrioMacias plunged in. Did he wait for orders? Not he! Hejust shouted:" 'Come on, boys! Let's go for them!'"'Damn fool!' I thought. 'What the hell does he thinkhe's doing!'"The officers, surprised, said nothing. Demetrio'shorse seemed to wear eagle's claws instead of hoofs, itsoared so swiftly over the rocks. 'Come on! Come on!' hismen shouted, following him like wild deer, horses andmen welded into a mad stampede. Only one young fellowstepped wild and fell headlong into the pit. In a few sec-onds the others appeared at the top of the hill, stormingthe trenches and killing the Federals by the thousand.With his rope, Demetrio lassoed the machine guns andcarried them off, like a bull herd throwing a steer. Yet hissuccess could not last much longer, for the Federalswere far stronger in numbers and could easily have de-stroyed Demetrio and his men. But we took advantage oftheir confusion, we rushed upon them and they sooncleared out of their position. That chief of yours is awonderful soldier!"Standing on the crest of the hill, they could easilysight one side of the Bufa peak. Its highest crag spread outlike the feathered head of a proud Aztec king. The three-hundred-foot slope was literally covered with dead, theirhair matted, their clothes clotted with grime and blood.A host of ragged women, vultures of prey, ranged overthe tepid bodies of the dead, stripping one man bare, de-spoiling another, robbing from a third his dearest pos-sessions.Amid clouds of white rifle smoke and the dense blackvapors of flaming buildings, houses with wide doors andwindows bolted shone in the sunlight. The streets seemedto be piled upon one another, or wound picturesquelyabout fantastic corners, or set to scale the hills nearby.Above the graceful cluster of houses, rose the lithecolumns of a warehouse and the towers and cupola of thechurch."How beautiful the revolution! Even in its most bar-barous aspect it is beautiful," Solis said with deep feel-ing. Then a vague melancholy seized him, and speakinglow:"A pity what remains to do won't be as beautiful! Wemust wait a while, until there are no men left to fighton either side, until no sound of shot rings through theair save from the mob as carrion-like it falls upon thebooty; we must wait until the psychology of our race, con-densed into two words, shines clear and luminous as adrop of water: Robbery! Murder! What a colossal failurewe would make of it, friend, if we, who offer our enthu-siasm and lives to crush a wretched tyrant, became thebuilders of a monstrous edifice holding one hundred ortwo hundred thousand monsters of exactly the same sort.People without ideals! A tyrant folk! Vain bloodshed!"Large groups of Federals pushed up the hill, fleeingfrom the "high hats." A bullet whistled past them, singingas it sped. After his speech, Alberto Solis stood lost inthought, his arms crossed. Suddenly, he took fright."I'll be damned if I like these plaguey mosquitoes!" hesaid. "Let's get away from here!"So scornfully Luis Cervantes smiled that Solis satdown on a rock quite calm, bewildered. He smiled. Hisgaze roved as he watched the spirals of smoke from therifles, the dust of roofs crumbling from houses as theyfell before the artillery. He believed he discerned the sym-bol of the revolution in these clouds of dust and smokethat climbed upward together, met at the crest of the hilland, a moment after, were lost. . . ."By heaven, now I see what it all means!"He sketched a vast gesture, pointing to the station.Locomotives belched huge clouds of black dense smokerising in columns; the trains were overloaded with fugi-tives who had barely managed to escape from the cap-tured town.Suddenly he felt a sharp blow in the stomach. As thoughhis legs were putty, he rolled off the rock. His ears buzzed. . . Then darkness . . . silence . ..eternity. . . .PART TWODemetrio, nonplussed, scratched his head: "Lookhere, don't ask me any more questions. . . . You gave methe eagle I wear on my hat, didn't you? All right then;you just tell me: 'Demetrio, do this or do that,' and that'sall there is to it."To champagne, that sparkles and foams as the beadedbubbles burst at the brim of the glass, Demetrio pre-ferred the native tequila, limpid and fiery.The soldiers sat in groups about the tables in the res-taurant, ragged men, filthy with sweat, dirt and smoke,their hair matted, wild, disheveled."I killed two colonels," one man clamored in a gutturalharsh voice. He was a small fat fellow, with embroideredhat and chamois coat, wearing a light purple handker-chief about his neck."They were so Goddamned fat they couldn't even run.By God, I wish you could have seen them, tripping andstumbling at every step they took, climbing up the hill,red as tomatoes, their tongues hanging out like hounds.'Don't run so fast, you lousy beggars!' I called after them.'I'm not so fond of frightened geese--stop, You bald-headed bastards: I won't harm you! You needn't worry!'By God, they certainly fell for it. Pop, pop! One shot foreach of them, and a well-earned rest for a pair of poorsinners, be damned to them!""I couldn't get a single one of their generals!" said aswarthy man who sat in one corner between the walland the bar, holding his rifle between his outstretchedlegs. "I sighted one: a fellow with a hell of a lot of goldplastered all over him. His gold chevrons shone like aGoddamned sunset. And I let him go by, fool that I was.He took off his handkerchief and waved it. I stood therewith my mouth wide open like a fool! Then I duckedand he started shooting, bullet after bullet. I let him killa poor cargador. Then I said: 'My turn, now! Holy Vir-gin, Mother of God! Don't let me miss this son of abitch.' But, by Christ, he disappeared. He was ridinga hell of a fine nag; he went by me like lightning! Therewas another poor fool coming up the road. He got it andturned the prettiest somersault you ever saw!"Talk flew from lip to lip, each soldier vying with hisfellow, snatching the words from the other's mouth. Asthey declaimed passionately, women with olive, swarthyskins, bright eyes, and teeth of ivory, with revolvers attheir waists, cartridge-belts across their breasts, and broadMexican hats on their heads, wove their way like straystreet curs in and out among groups. A vulgar wench,with rouged cheeks and dark brown arms and neck,gave a great leap and landed on the bar near Demetrio'stable.He turned his head toward her and literally collidedwith a pair of lubric eyes under a narrow forehead andthick, straight hair, parted in the middle.The door opened wide. Anastasio, Pancracio, Quail,and Meco filed in, dazed.Anastasio uttered a cry of surprise and stepped for-ward to shake hands with the little fat man wearing acharro suit and a lavender bandanna. A pair of oldfriends, met again. So warm was their embrace, so tightlythey clutched each other that the blood rushed to theirheads, they turned purple."Look here, Demetrio, I want the honor of introducingyou to Blondie. He's a real friend, you know. I love himlike a brother. You must get to know him, Chief, he'sa man! Do you remember that damn jail at Escobedo,where we stayed together for over a year?"Without removing his cigar from his lips, Demetrio,buried in a sullen silence amid the bustle and uproar,offered his hand and said:"I'm delighted to meet you!""So your name is Demetrio Macias?" the girl askedsuddenly. Seated on the bar, she swung her legs; atevery swing, the toes of her shoes touched Demetrio'sback."Yes: I'm Demetrio Macias!" he said, scarcely turn-ing toward her.Indifferently, she continued to swing her legs, display-ing her blue stockings with ostentation."Hey, War Paint, what are you doing here? Step downand have a drink!" said the man called Blondie.The girl accepted readily and boldly thrust her waythrough the crowd to a chair facing Demetrio."So you're the famous Demetrio Macias, the hero ofZacatecas?" the girl asked.Demetrio bowed assent, while Blondie, laughing, said:"You're a wise one, War Paint. You want to sport ageneral!"Without understanding Blondie's words, Demetrioraised his eyes to hers; they gazed at each other like twodogs sniffing one another with distrust. Demetrio could notresist her furiously provocative glances; he was forced tolower his eyes.From their seats, some of Natera's officers began tohurl obscenities at War Paint. Without paying the slightestattention, she said:"General Natera is going to hand you out a littlegeneral's eagle. Put it here and shake on it, boy!"She stuck out her hand at Demetrio and shook it withthe strength of a man. Demetrio, melting to the con-gratulations raining down upon him, ordered champagne."I don't want no more to drink," Blondie said to thewaiter, "I'm feeling sick. Just bring me some ice water.""I want something to eat," said Pancracio. "Bring meanything you've got but don't make it chili or beans!"Officers kept coming in; presently the restaurant wascrowded. Small stars, bars, eagles and insignia of everysort or description dotted their hats. They wore wide silkbandannas around their necks, large diamond rings ontheir fingers, large heavy gold watch chains across theirbreasts."Here, waiter," Blondie cried, "I ordered ice water.And I'm not begging for it either, see? Look at this bunchof bills. I'll buy you, your wife, and all you possess,see? Don't tell me there's none left--I don't care a damnabout that! It's up to you to find some way to get it andGoddamned quick, too. I don't like to play about; I getmad when I'm crossed. . . . By God, didn't I tell you Iwouldn't stand for any backchat? You won't bring it tome, eh? Well, take this. . . ."A heavy blow sent the waiter reeling to the floor."That's the sort of man I am, General Macias! I'mclean-shaven, eh? Not a hair on my chin? Do you knowwhy? Well, I'll tell you! You see I get mad easy as hell;and when there's nobody to pick on, I pull my hair untilmy temper passes. If I hadn't pulled my beard hair byhair, I'd have died a long time ago from sheer anger!""It does you no good to go to pieces when you'reangry," a man affirmed earnestly from below a hat thatcovered his head as a roof does a house. "When I wasup at Torreon I killed an old lady who refused to sellme some enchiladas. She was angry, I can tell you; Igot no enchiladas but I felt satisfied anyhow!""I killed a storekeeper at Parral because he gave mesome change and there were two Huerta bills in it," saida man with a star on his hat and precious stones on hisblack, calloused hands."Down in Chihuahua I killed a man because I alwayssaw him sitting at the table whenever I went to eat. Ihated the looks of him so I just killed him! What the hellcould I do!""Hmm! I killed. . . .The theme is inexhaustible.By dawn, when the restaurant was wild with joy andthe floor dotted with spittle, young painted girls from thesuburbs had mingled freely among the dark northernwomen. Demetrio pulled out his jeweled gold watch, ask-ing Anastasio Montanez to tell him the time.Anastasio glanced at the watch, then, poking his headout of a small window, gazed at the starry sky."The Pleiades are pretty low in the west. I guess itwon't be long now before daybreak. . . ."Outside the restaurant, the shouts, laughter and songof the drunkards rang through the air. Men galloped wild-ly down the streets, the hoofs of their horses hammeringon the sidewalks. From every quarter of the town pis-tols spoke, guns belched. Demetrio and the girl calledWar Paint staggered tipsily hand in hand down the centerof the street, bound for the hotel.IIWhat damned fools," said War Paint convulsed withlaughter! "Where the hell do you come from?..... Soldiersdon't sleep in hotels and inns any more....... Where doyou come from? You just go anywhere you like andpick a house that pleases you, see. When you go there,make yourself at home and don't ask anyone for any-thing. What the hell is the use of the revolution? Who'sit for? For the folks who live in towns? We're the cityfolk now, see? Come on, Pancracio, hand me your bayo-net. Damn these rich people, they lock up everythingthey've got!"She dug the steel point through the crack of a drawerand, pressing on the hilt, broke the lock, opened thesplinted cover of a writing desk. Anastasio, Pancracioand War Paint plunged their hands into a mass of postcards, photographs, pictures and papers, scattering themall over the rug. Finding nothing he wanted, Pancraciogave vent to his anger by kicking a framed photographinto the air with the toe of his shoe. It smashed on thecandelabra in the center of the room.They pulled their empty hands out of the heap of paper,cursing. But War Paint was of sterner stuff; tirelessly shecontinued to unlock drawer after drawer without failingto investigate a single spot. In their absorption, they didnot notice a small gray velvet-covered box which rolledsilently across the floor, coming to a stop at Luis Cer-vantes' feet.Demetrio, lying on the rug, seemed to be asleep; Cer-vantes, who had watched everything with profound in-difference, pulled the box closer to him with his foot, andstooping to scratch his ankle, swiftly picked it up. Some-thing gleamed up at him, dazzling. It was two pure-waterdiamonds mounted in filigreed platinum. Hastily he thrustthem inside his coat pocket.When Demetrio awoke, Cervantes said:"General, look at the mess these boys have madehere. Don't you think it would be advisable to forbid thissort of thing?""No. It's about their only pleasure after putting theirbellies up as targets for the enemy's bullets.""Yes, of course, General, but they could do it some-where else. You see, this sort of thing hurts our prestige,and worse, our cause!"Demetrio leveled his eagle eyes at Cervantes. Hedrummed with his fingernails against his teeth, absent-mindedly. Then:"Come along, now, don't blush," he said. "You cantalk like that to someone else. We know what's mine ismine, what's yours is yours. You picked the box, allright; I picked my gold watch; all right too!"His words dispelled any pretense. Both of them, inperfect harmony, displayed their booty.War Paint and her companions were ransacking therest of the house. Quail entered the room with a twelve-year-old girl upon whose forehead and arms were al-ready marked copper-colored spots. They stopped short,speechless with surprise as they saw the books lying inpiles on the floor, chairs and tables, the large mirrorsthrown to the ground, smashed, the huge albums andthe photographs torn into shreds, the furniture, objetsd'art and bric-a-brac broken. Quail held his breath, hisavid eyes scouring the room for booty.Outside, in one corner of the patio, lost in dense cloudsof suffocating smoke, Manteca was boiling corn on thecob, feeding his fire with books and paper that madethe flames leap wildly through the air."Hey!" Quail shouted. "Look what I found. A finesweat-cover for my mare."With a swift pull he wrenched down a hanging, whichfell over a handsomely carved upright chair."Look, look at all these naked women!" Quail's littlecompanion cried, enchanted at a de luxe edition ofDante's Divine Comedy. "I like this; I think I'll take italong."She began to tear out the illustrations which pleasedher most.Demetrio crossed the room and sat down beside LuisCervantes. He ordered some beer, handed one bottle upto his secretary, downed his own bottle at one gulp.Then, drowsily, he half closed his eyes, and soon fellsound asleep."Hey!" a man called to Pancracio from the threshold."When can I see your general?""You can't see him. He's got a hangover this morn-ing. What the hell do you want?""I want to buy some of those books you're burning.""I'll sell them to you myself.""How much do you want for them?"Pancracio frowned in bewilderment. "Give me a nickel for those with pictures, see. I'llgive you the rest for nothing if you buy all those with pictures."The man returned with a large basket to carry awaythe books. . . ."Come on, Demetrio, come on, you pig, get up! Lookwho's here! It's Blondie. You don't know what a fineman he is!""I like you very much, General Macias, and I likethe way you do things. So if it's all right, I'd like verymuch to serve under you!""What's your rank?" Demetrio asked him."I'm a captain, General.""All right, you can serve with me now. I'll make youmajor. How's that?"Blondie was a round little fellow, with waxed mus-tache. When he laughed, his blue eyes disappeared mis-chievously between his forehead and his fat cheeks. Hehad been a waiter at "El Monico," in Chihuahua; nowhe proudly wore three small brass bars, the insignia ofhis rank in the Northern Division.Blondie showered eulogy after eulogy on Demetrio andhis men; this proved sufficient reason for bringing out afresh case of beer, which was finished in short order.Suddenly War Paint reappeared in the middle of theroom, wearing a beautiful silk dress covered with ex-quisite lace."You forgot the stockings," Blondie shouted, shakingwith laughter. Quail's girl also burst out laughing. ButWar Paint did not care. She shrugged her shoulders in-differently, sat down on the floor, kicked off her whitesatin slippers, and wiggled her toes happily, giving theirmuscles a freedom welcome after their tight confinementin the slippers. She said:"Hey, you, Pancracio, go and get me my blue stock-ings . . . they're with the rest of my plunder."Soldiers and their friends, companions and veterans ofother campaigns, began to enter in groups of twos andthrees. Demetrio, growing excited, began to narrate indetail his most notable feats of arms."What the hell is that noise?" he asked in surprise ashe heard string and brass instruments tuning up in thepatio."General Demetrio Macias," Luis Cervantes saidsolemnly, "it's a banquet all of your old friends and fol-lowers are giving in your honor to celebrate your vic-tory at Zacatecas and your well-merited promotion to therank of general!"IIIGeneral Macias, I want you to meet my future wife,"Luis Cervantes said with great emphasis as heled a beautiful girl into the dining room.They all turned to look at her. Her large blue eyesgrew wide in wonder. She was barely fourteen. Her skinwas like a rose, soft, pink, fresh; her hair was very fair;the expression in her eyes was partly impish curiosity,partly a vague childish fear. Perceiving that Demetrioeyed her like a beast of prey, Luis Cervantes congratu-lated himself.They made room for her between Luis Cervantes andBlondie, opposite Demetrio.Bottles of tequila, dishes of cut glass, bowls, porcelainsand vases lay scattered over the table indiscriminately.Meco, carrying a box of beer upon his shoulders, came incursing and sweating."You don't know this fellow Blondie yet," said WarPaint, noticing the persistent glances he was casting atLuis Cervantes' bride. "He's a smart fellow, I can tellyou, and he never misses a trick."She gazed at him lecherously, adding:"That's why I don't like to see him close, even on aphotograph!"The orchestra struck up a raucous march as thoughthey were playing at a bullfight. The soldiers roared withjoy."What fine tripe, General; I swear I haven't tasted thelike of it in all my life," Blondie said, as he began toreminisce about "El Monico" at Chihuahua."You really like it, Blondie?" responded Demetrio."Go ahead, call for more, eat your bellyful.""It's just the way I like it," Anastasio chimed in. "Yes,I like good food! But nothing really tastes good to youunless you belch!"The noise of mouths being filled, of ravenous feedingfollowed. All drank copiously. At the end of the dinner,Luis Cervantes rose, holding a champagne glass in onehand, and said:"General. . .""Ho!" War Paint interrupted. "This speech-making busi-ness isn't for me; I'm all against it. I'll go out to thecorral since there's no more eating here."Presenting Demetrio with a black velvet-covered boxcontaining a small brass eagle, Luis Cervantes made atoast which no one understood but everyone applaudedenthusiastically. Demetrio took the insignia in his hands;and with flushed face, and eyes shining, declared withgreat candor:"What in hell am I going to do with this buzzard!""Compadre," Anastasio Montanez said in a tremu-lous voice. "I ain't got much to tell you. . . ."Whole minutes elapsed between his words; the cursedwords would not come to Anastasio. His face, coatedwith filth, unwashed for days, turned crimson, shiningwith perspiration. Finally he decided to finish his toastat all costs. "Well, I ain't got much to tell you, exceptthat we are pals. . . ."Then, since everyone had applauded at the end of LuisCervantes' speech, Anastasio having finished, made asign, and the company clapped their hands in great gravi-ty.But everything turned out for the best, since his awk-wardness inspired others. Manteca and Quail stood upand made their toasts, too. When Meco's turn came, WarPaint rushed in shouting jubilantly, attempting to drag asplendid black horse into the dining room."My booty! My booty!" she cried, patting the superbanimal on the neck. It resisted every effort she made untila strong jerk of the rope and a sudden lash brought it inprancing smartly. The soldiers, half drunk, stared at thebeast with ill-disguised envy."I don't know what the hell this she-devil's got, butshe always beats everybody to it," cried Blondie. "She'sbeen the same ever since she joined us at Tierra Blanca!""Hey, Pancracio, bring me some alfalfa for my horse,"War Paint commanded crisply, throwing the horse's ropeto one of the soldiers.Once more they filled their glasses. Many a head hunglow with fatigue or drunkenness. Most of the company,however, shouted with glee, including Luis Cervantes'girl. She had spilled all her wine on a handkerchief andlooked all about her with blue wondering eyes."Boys," Blondie suddenly screamed, his shrill, gutturalvoice dominating the mall, "I'm tired of living; I feel likekilling myself right now. I'm sick and tired of War Paintand this other little angel from heaven won't even look atme !"Luis Cervantes saw that the last remark was addressedto his bride; with great surprise he realized that it wasnot Demetrio's foot he had noticed close to the girl's,but Blondie's. He was boiling with indignation."Keep your eye on me, boys," Blondie went on, gunin hand. "I'm going to shoot myself right in the fore-head!"He aimed at the large mirror on the opposite wallwhich gave back his whole body in reflection. He tookcareful aim. . . ."Don't move, War Paint."The bullet whizzed by, grazing War Paint's hair. Themirror broke into large jagged fragments. She did noteven so much as blink.IVLate in the afternoon Luis Cervantes rubbed his eyesand sat up. He had been sleeping on the hard pavement,close to the trunk of a fruit tree. Anastasio, Pancracioand Quail slept nearby, breathing heavily.His lips were swollen, his nose dry and cold. There werebloodstains on his hands and shirt. At once he recalledwhat had taken place. Soon he rose to his feet and madefor one of the bedrooms. He pushed at the door severaltimes without being able to force it open. For a few min-utes he stood there, hesitating.No--he had not dreamed it. Everything had really oc-curred just as he recalled it. He had left the table withhis bride and taken her to the bedroom, but just as hewas closing the door, Demetrio staggered after themand made one leap toward them. Then War Paint dashedin after Demetrio and began to struggle with him. Deme-trio, his eyes white-hot, his lips covered with long blondhairs, looked for the bride, in despair. But War Paintpushed him back vigorously."What the hell is the matter with you? What the hellare you trying to do?" he demanded, furious.War Paint put her leg between his, twisted it suddenly,and Demetrio fell to the ground outside of the bedroom.He rose, raging."Help! Help! He's going to kill me!" she cried, seizingDemetrio's wrist and turning the gun aside. The bullethit the floor. War Paint continued to shriek. Anastasio dis-armed Demetrio from behind.Demetrio, standing like a furious bull in the middle ofthe arena, cast fierce glances at all the bystanders, LuisCervantes, Anastasio, Manteca, and the others."Goddamn you! You've taken my gun away! Christ!As if I needed any gun to beat the hell out of you."Flinging out his arms, beating and pummeling, he felledeveryone within reach. Down they rolled like tenpins.Then, after that, Luis Cervantes could remember nothingmore. Perhaps his bride, terrified by all these brutes, hadwisely vanished and hidden herself."Perhaps this bedroom communicates with the livingroom and I can go in through there," he thought, stand-ing at the threshold. At the sound of his footsteps, WarPaint woke up. She lay on the rug close to Demetrio atthe foot of a couch filled with alfalfa and corn where theblack horse had fed."What are you looking for? Oh, hell, I know what youwant! Shame on you! Why, I had to lock up your sweet-heart because I couldn't struggle any more against thisdamned Demetrio. Take the key, it's lying on that table,there!"Luis Cervantes searched in vain all over the house."Come on, tell me all about your girl."Nervously, Luis Cervantes continued to look for the key."Come on, don't be in such a hurry, I'll give it to you.Come along, tell me; I like to hear about these things,you know. That girl is your kind, she's not a country per-son like us.""I've nothing to say. She's my girl and we're going toget married, that's all.""Ho! Ho! Ho! You're going to marry her, eh? Tryingto teach your grandmother to suck eggs, eh? Why, youfool, any place you just manage to get to for the firsttime in your life, I've left a hundred miles behind me, see.I've cut my wisdom teeth. It was Meco and Manteca whotook the girl from her home: I knew that all the time.You just gave them something so as to have her your-self, gave them a pair of cuff links . . . or a miraculouspicture of some Virgin. . . . Am I right? Sure, I am!There aren't so many people in the world who knowwhat's what, but I reckon you'll meet up with a few be-fore you die!"War Paint got up to give him the key but she couldnot find it either. She was much surprised. Quickly, sheran to the bedroom door and peered through the key-hole, standing motionless until her eye grew accustomedto the darkness within. Without drawing away, she said: "You damned Blondie. Son of a bitch! Come here aminute, look!" She went away laughing."Didn't I tell them all I'd never seen a smarter fellowin all my life!"The following morning, War Paint watched for the mo-ment when Blondie left the bedroom to feed hishorses. . . ."Come on, Angel Face. Run home quick!"The blue-eyed girl, with a face like a Madonna, stoodnaked save for her chemise and stockings. War Paintcovered her with Manteca's lousy blanket, took her by thehand and led her to the street."God, I'm happy," War Paint cried. "I'm crazy . . .about Blondie . . . now."VLike neighing colts, playful when the rainy seasonbegins, Demetrio's men galloped through the sierra."To Moyahua, boys. Let's go to Demetrio Macias'country!""To the country of Monico the cacique!"The landscape grew clearer; the sun margined thediaphanous sky with a fringe of crimson. Like the bonyshoulders of immense sleeping monsters, the chains ofmountains rose in the distance. Crags there were likeheads of colossal native idols; others like giants' faces,their grimaces awe-inspiring or grotesque, calling fortha smile or a shudder at a presentment of mystery.Demetrio Macias rode at the head of his men; be-hind him the members of his staff: Colonel AnastasioMontanez, Lieutenant-Colonel Pancracio, Majors LuisCervantes and Blondie. Still further behind came WarPaint with Venancio, who paid her many complimentsand recited the despairing verses of Antonio Plaza. Asthe sun's rays began to slip from the housetops, theymade their entrance into Moyahua, four abreast, to thesound of the bugle. The roosters' chorus was deafening,dogs barked their alarm, but not a living soul stirredon the streets.War Paint spurred her black horse and with one jumpwas abreast with Demetrio. They rode forward, elbowto elbow. She wore a silk dress and heavy gold earrings.Proudly her pale blue gown deepened her olive skin andthe coppery spots on her face and arms. Riding astride,she had pulled her skirts up to her knees; her stockingsshowed, filthy and full of runs. She wore a gun at herside, a cartridge belt hung over the pommel of her saddle.Demetrio was also dressed in his best clothes. Hisbroad-brimmed hat was richly embroidered; his leathertrousers were tight-fitting and adorned with silver but-tons; his coat was embroidered with gold thread.There was a sound of doors being beaten down andforced open. The soldiers had already scattered throughthe town, to gather together ammunition and saddlesfrom everywhere."We're going to bid Monico good morning," Deme-trio said gravely, dismounting and tossing his bridle toone of his men. "We're going to have breakfast withDon Monico, who's a particular friend of mine . . . ."The general's staff smiled . . . a sinister, malignsmile. . . .Making their spurs ring against the pavement, theywalked toward a large pretentious house, obviously thatof a cacique."It's closed airtight," Anastasio Montanez said, push-ing the door with all his might."That's all right. I'll open it," Pancracio answered,lowering his rifle and pointing it at the lock."No, no," Demetrio said, "knock first."Three blows with the butt of the rifle. Three more.No answer. Pancracio disobeys orders. He fires, smash-ing the lock. The door opens. Behind, a confusion ofskirts and children's bare legs rushing to and fro, pell-mell."I want wine. Hey, there: wine!" Demetrio cries in animperious voice, pounding heavily on a table."Sit down, boys."A lady peeps out, another, a third; from among blackskirts, the heads of frightened children. One of thewomen, trembling, walks toward a cupboard and, takingout some glasses and a bottle, serves wine."What arms have you?" Demetrio demands harshly."Arms, arms . . . ?" the lady answers, a taste ofashes on her tongue. "What arms do you expect us tohave! We are respectable, lonely old ladies!""Lonely, eh! Where's Senor Monico?""Oh, he's not here, gentlemen, I assure you! We mere-ly rent the house from him, you see. We only knowhim by name!"Demetrio orders his men to search the house."No, please don't. We'll bring you whatever we haveourselves, but please for God's sake, don't do anythingcruel. We're spinsters, lone women . . . perfectly re-spectable. . . .""Spinsters, hell! What about these kids here?" Pan-cracio interrupts brutally. "Did they spring from theearth?"The women disappear hurriedly, to return with an oldshotgun, covered with dust and cobwebs, and a pistolwith rusty broken springs.Demetrio smiles."All right, then, let's see the money."Money? Money? But what money do you think acouple of spinsters have? Spinsters alone in theworld. . . . ?"They glance up in supplication at the nearest soldier;but they are seized with horror. For they have just seenthe Roman soldier who crucified Our Lord in the ViaCrucis of the parish! They have seen Pancracio!Demetrio repeats his order to search.Once again the women disappear to return this timewith a moth-eaten wallet containing a few Huerta bills.Demetrio smiles and without further delay calls to hismen to come in. Like hungry dogs who have sniffed theirmeat, the mob bursts in, trampling down the women whosought to bar the entrance with their bodies. Severalfaint, fall to the ground; others flee in panic. The chil-dren scream.Pancracio is about to break the lock of a huge ward-robe when suddenly the doors open and out comes aman with a rifle in his hands."Senor Don Monico!" they all exclaim in surprise."Demetrio, please, don't harm me! Please don't harmme! Please don't hurt me! You know, Senor Don Deme-trio, I'm your friend!"Demetrio Macias smiles slyly. "Are friends," heasked, "usually welcomed gun in hand?"Don Monico, in consternation, throws himself atDemetrio's feet, clasps his knees, kisses his shoes:"My wife! . . . My children! . . . Please, Senor DonDemetrio, my friend!"Demetrio with taut hand puts his gun back in theholster.A painful silhouette crosses his mind. He sees awoman with a child in her arms walking over the rocksof the sierra in the moonlight. A house in flames. . . ."Clear out. Everybody outside!" he orders darkly.His staff obeys. Monico and the ladies kiss his hands,weeping with gratitude. The mob in the street, talkingand laughing, stands waiting for the general's permissionto ransack the cacique's house."I know where they've buried their money but I won'ttell," says a youngster with a basket in his hands."Hm! I know the right place, mind you," says an oldwoman carrying a burlap sack to hold whatever the goodLord will provide. "It's on top of something . . . there'sa lot of trinkets nearby and then there's a small bagwith mother-of-pearl around it. That's the thing to lookfor!""You ain't talking sense, woman," puts in a man."They ain't such fools as to leave silver lying loose likethat. I'm thinking they've got it buried in the well, in aleather bag."The mob moves slowly; some carry ropes to tie abouttheir bundles, others wooden trays. The women openout their aprons or shawls calculating their capacity. Allgive thanks to Divine Providence as they wait for theirshare of the booty.When Demetrio announces that he will not allow loot-ing and orders them to disband, the mob, disconsolate,obeys him, and soon scatters; but there is a dull rumoramong the soldiers and no one moves from his place. Annoyed, Demetrio repeats this order.A young man, a recent recruit, his head turned bydrink, laughs and walks boldly toward the door. But be-fore he has reached the threshold, a shot lays him low.He falls like a bull pierced in the neck by the matador'ssword. Motionless, his smoking gun in his hand, Deme-trio waits for the soldiers to withdraw."Set fire to the house!" he orders Luis Cervanteswhen they reach their quarters.With a curious eagerness Luis Cervantes does not trans-mit the order but undertakes the task in person.Two hours later when the city square was black withsmoke and enormous tongues of fire rose from Monico'shouse, no one could account for the strange behavior ofthe general.VIThey established themselves in a large gloomy house,which likewise belonged to the cacique of Moyahua. Theprevious occupants had already left strong evidences inthe patio, which had been converted into a manure pile.The walls, once whitewashed, were now faded andcracked, revealing the bare unbaked adobe; the floor hadbeen torn up by the hoofs of animals; the orchard waslittered with rotted branches and dead leaves. Fromthe entrance one stumbled over broken bits of chairsand other furniture covered with dirt.By ten o'clock, Luis Cervantes yawned with boredom,said good night to Blondie and War Paint, who weredowning endless drinks on a bench in the square, andmade for the barracks. The drawing room was alone fur-nished. As he entered, Demetrio, lying on the floor withhis eyes wide open, trying to count the beams, gazedat him."It' s you, eh? What's new? Come on, sit down."Luis Cervantes first went over to trim the candle, thendrew up a chair without a back, a coarse rag doingthe duty of a wicker bottom. The legs of the chairsqueaked. War Paint's black horse snorted and whirledits crupper in wide circles. Luis Cervantes sank into hisseat."General, I wish to make my report. Here youhave . . .""Look here, man, I didn't really want this done, youknow. Moyahua is almost like my native town. They'llsay this is why we've been fighting!" Demetrio said, look-ing at the bulging sack of silver Cervantes was passingto him. Cervantes left his seat to squat down by Deme-trio's side.He stretched a blanket over the floor and into itpoured the ten-peso pieces, shining, burning gold."First of all, General, only you and I know aboutthis. . . . Secondly, you know well enough that if thesun shines, you should open the window. It's shining inour faces now but what about tomorrow? You shouldalways look ahead. A bullet, a bolting horse, even awretched cold in the head, and then there are a widowand orphans left in absolute want! . . . The Govern-ment? Ha! Ha! . . . Just go see Carranza or Villa orany of the big chiefs and try and tell them about yourfamily. . . . If they answer with a kick you know where,they'll say they're giving you a handful of jewels. Andthey're right; we did not rise up in arms to make someCarranza or Villa President of our Republic. No--wefought to defend the sacred rights of the people againstthe tyranny of some vile cacique. And so, just as Villaor Carranza aren't going to ask our consent to the pay-ment they're getting for the services they're renderingthe country, we for our part don't have to ask anybody'spermission about anything either."Demetrio half stood up, grasped a bottle that stoodnearby, drained it, then spat out the liquor, swelling outhis cheeks."By God, my boy, you've certainly got the gift ofgab!"Luis felt dizzy, faint. The spattered beer seemed tointensify the stench of the refuse on which they sat; acarpet of orange and banana peels, fleshlike slices ofwatermelon, moldy masses of mangoes and sugarcane, allmixed up with cornhusks from tamales and human offal.Demetrio's calloused hands shuffled through the bril-liant coins, counting and counting. Recovering from hisnausea, Luis Cervantes pulled out a small box of Fallieresphosphate and poured forth rings, brooches, pendants,and countless valuable jewels."Look here, General, if this mess doesn't blow over(and it doesn't look as though it would), if the revolu-tion keeps on, there's enough here already for us to liveon abroad quite comfortably." Demetrio shook his bead. "You wouldn't do that!""Why not? What are we staying on for? . . . Whatcause are we defending now?""That's something I can't explain, Tenderfoot. But I'mthinking it wouldn't show much guts.""Take your choice, General," said Luis Cervantes,pointing to the jewels which he had set in a row."Oh, you keep it all. . . . Certainly! . . . You know, Idon't really care for money at all. I'll tell you the truth!I'm the happiest man in the world, so long as there'salways something to drink and a nice little wench thatcatches my eye. . . .""Ha! Ha! You make the funniest jokes, General. Whydo you stand for that snake of a War Paint, then?""I'll tell you, Tenderfoot, I'm fed up with her. ButI'm like that: I just can't tell her so. I'm not braveenough to tell her to go plumb to hell. That's the wayI am, see? When I like a woman, I get plain silly; andif she doesn't start something, I've not got the courageto do anything myself." He sighed. "There's Camilla atthe ranch for instance. . . . Now, she's not much onlooks, I know, but there's a woman I'd like tohave......."Well, General, we'll go and get her any day youlike."Demetrio winked maliciously."I promise you I'll do it.""Are you sure? Do you really mean it? Look here, ifyou pull that off for me, I'll give you the watch andchain you're hankering after."Luis Cervantes' eyes shone. He took the phosphate box,heavy with its contents, and stood up smiling."I'll see you tomorrow," he said. "Good night, Gen-eral! Sleep well."VIII don't know any more about it than you do. TheGeneral told me, 'Quail, saddle your horse and my blackmare and follow Cervantes; he's going on an errand forme.' Well, that's what happened. We left here at noon,and reached the ranch early that evening. One-eyedMaria Antonia took us in. . . . She asked after you,Pancracio. Next morning Luis Cervantes wakes me up.'Quail, Quail, saddle the horses. Leave me mine but takethe General's mare back to Moyahua. I'll catch up aftera bit.' The sun was high when he arrived with Camilla.She got off and we stuck her on the General's mare.""Well, and her? What sort of a face did she makecoming back?" one of the men inquired."Hum! She was so damned happy she was gabbingall the way.""And the tenderfoot?" "Just as quiet as he always is, you know him.""I think," Venancio expressed his opinion with greatseriousness, "that if Camilla woke up in the General'sbed, it was just a mistake. We drank a lot, remember!That alcohol went to our heads; we must have lost oursenses.""What the hell do you mean: alcohol! It was allcooked up between Cervantes and the General." "Certainly! That city dude's nothing but a . . .""I don't like to talk about friends behind their backs,"said Blondie, "but I can tell you this: one of the twosweethearts he had, one was mine, and the other wasfor the General."They burst into guffaws of laughter.When War Paint realized what had happened, shesought out Camilla and spoke with great affection:"Poor little child! Tell me how all this happened."Camilla's eyes were red from weeping."He lied to me! He lied! He came to the ranch andhe told me, 'Camilla, I came just to get you. Do youwant to go away with me?' You can be sure I wantedto go with him; when it comes to loving, I adore him.Yes, I adore him. Look how thin I've grown just pin-ing away for him. Mornings I used to loathe to grindcorn, Mamma would call me to eat, and anything Iput in my mouth had no taste at all."Once more she burst into tears, stuffing the cornerof her apron into her mouth to drown her sobs."Look here, I'll help you out of this mess. Don't besilly, child, don't cry. Don't think about the dude anymore! Honest to God, he's not worth it. You surelyknow his game, dear? . . . That's the only reason whythe General stands for him. What a goose! . . . Allright, you want to go back home?""The Holy Virgin protect me. My mother would beatme to death!""She'll do nothing of the sort. You and I can fix things.Listen! The soldiers are leaving any moment now. WhenDemetrio tells you to get ready, you tell him you feelpains all over your body as though someone had hityou; then you lie down and start yawning and shivering.Then put your hand on your forehead and say, 'I'mburning up with fever.' I'll tell Demetrio to leave usboth here, that I'll stay to take care of you, that assoon as you're feeling all right again, we'll catch up withthem. But instead of that, I'll see that you get homesafe and sound."VIIIThe sun had set, the town was lost in the drab mel-ancholy of its ancient streets amid the frightened silenceof its inhabitants, who had retired very early, when LuisCervantes reached Primitivo's general store, his arrivalinterrupting a party that promised great doings.Demetrio was engaged in getting drunk with his oldcomrades. The entire space before the bar was occupied.War Paint and Blondie had tied up their horses outside;but the other officers had stormed in brutally, horsesand all. Embroidered hats with enormous and concavebrims bobbed up and down everywhere. The horseswheeled about, prancing; tossing their restive heads; theirfine breed showing in their black eyes, their small earsand dilating nostrils. Over the infernal din of the drunk-ards, the heavy breathing of the horses, the stamp oftheir hoofs on the tiled floor, and occasionally a quick,nervous whinny rang out.A trivial episode was being commented upon whenLuis Cervantes came in. A man, dressed in civilianclothes, with a round, black, bloody hole in his fore-head, lay stretched out in the middle of the street, hismouth gaping. Opinion was at first divided but finallyall concurred with Blondie's sound reasoning. The poordead devil lying out there was the church sexton. . . .But what an idiot! His own fault, of course! Who inthe name of hell could be so foolish as to dress like acity dude, with trousers, coat, cap, and all? Pancraciosimply could not bear the sight of a city man in frontof him! And that was that!Eight musicians, playing wind instruments, interruptedtheir labors at Cervantes' command. Their faces wereround and red as suns, their eyes popping, for they hadbeen blowing on their brass instruments since dawn."General," Luis said pushing his way through the menon horseback, "a messenger has arrived with orders toproceed immediately to the pursuit and capture ofOrozco and his men."Faces that had been dark and gloomy were now il-lumined with joy."To Jalisco, boys!" cried Blondie, pounding on thecounter."Make ready, all you darling Jalisco girls of my heart,for I'm coming along too!" Quail shouted, twisting backthe brim of his hat.The enthusiasm and rejoicing were general. Demetrio'sfriends, in the excitement of drunkenness, offered theirservices. Demetrio was so happy that he could scarcelyspeak. They were going to fight Orozco and his men!At last, they would pit themselves against real men! Atlast they would stop shooting down the Federals like somany rabbits or wild turkeys."If I could get hold of Orozco alive," Blondie said,"I'd rip off the soles of his feet and make him walktwenty-four hours over the sierra!""Was that the guy who killed Madero?" asked Meco."No," Blondie replied solemnly, "but once when I wasa waiter at 'El Monico,' up in Chihuahua, he hit mein the face!""Give Camilla the roan mare," Demetrio ordered Pan-cracio, who was already saddling the horses."Camilla can't go!" said War Paint promptly."Who in hell asked for your opinion?" Demetrio re-torted angrily."It's true, isn't it, Camilla? You were sore all over,weren't you? And you've got a fever right now?""Well--anything Demetrio says.""Don't be a fool! say 'No,' come on, say 'No,"' WarPaint whispered nervously into Camilla's ear."I'll tell you, War Paint. . . . It's funny, but I'm be-ginning to fall for him. . . . Would you believe it!" Ca-milla whispered back.War Paint turned purple, her cheeks swelled. Withouta word she went out to get her horse that Blondie wassaddling.IXA whirlwind of dust, scorching down the road, sud-denly broke into violent diffuse masses; and Demetrio'sarmy emerged, a chaos of horses, broad chests, tangledmanes, dilated nostrils, oval, wide eyes, hoofs flying in theair, legs stiffened from endless galloping; and of menwith bronze faces, ivory teeth, and flashing eyes, theirrifles in their hands or slung across the saddles.Demetrio and Camilla brought up the rear. She wasstill nervous, white-lipped and parched; he was angryat their futile maneuver. For there had been battles, nofollowers of Orozco's to be seen. A handful of Federals,routed. A poor devil of a priest left dangling from amesquite; a few dead, scattered over the field, who hadonce been united under the archaic slogan, RIGHTS ANDRELIGION, with, on their breasts, the red cloth insignia:Halt! The Sacred Heart of Jesus is with me!"One good thing about it is that I've collected allmy back pay," Quail said, exhibiting some gold watchesand rings stolen from the priest's house."It's fun fighting this way," Manteca cried, spicingevery other word with an oath. "You know why the hellyou're risking your hide."In the same hand with which he held the reins, heclutched a shining ornament that he had torn from oneof the holy statues.After Quail, an expert in such matters, had examinedManteca's treasure covetously, he uttered a solemnguffaw."Hell, Your ornament is nothing but tin!""Why in hell are you hanging on to that poison?"Pancracio asked Blondie who appeared dragging a pris-oner."Do you want to know why? Because it's a long timesince I've had a good look at a man's face when a ropetightens around his neck!"The fat prisoner breathed with difficulty as he fol-lowed Blondie on foot; his face was sunburnt, his eyesred; his forehead beaded with sweat, his wrists tightlybound together."Here, Anastasio, lend me your lasso. Mine's notstrong enough; this bird will bust it. No, by God, I'vechanged my mind, friend Federal: think I'll kill you onthe spot, because you are pulling too hard. Look, all themesquites are still a long way off and there are no tele-graph poles to hang you to!"Blondie pulled his gun out, pressed the muzzle againstthe prisoner's chest and brought his finger against thetrigger slowly . . . slowly. . . . The prisoner turned paleas a corpse; his face lengthened; his eyelids were fixedin a glassy stare. He breathed in agony, his whole bodyshook as with ague. Blondie kept his gun in the sameposition for a moment long as all eternity. His eyesshone queerly. An expression of supreme pleasure lit uphis fat puffy face."No, friend Federal," he drawled, putting back hisgun into the holster; "I'm not going to kill you just yet.. . . I'll make you my orderly. You'll see that I'm not sohardhearted!"Slyly he winked at his companions. The prisoner hadturned into an animal; he gulped, panting, dry-mouthed.Camilla, who had witnessed the scene, spurred her horseand caught up with Demetrio."What a brute that Blondie is: you ought to see whathe did to a wretched prisoner," she said. Then she toldDemetrio what had occurred. The latter wrinkled hisbrow but made no answer. War Paint called Camilla aside."Hey you . . . what are you gobbling about? Blondie'smy man, understand? From now on, you know howthings are: whatever you've got against him you've gotagainst me too! I'm warning you."Camilla, frightened, hurried back to Demetrio's side.XThe men camped in a meadow, near three smalllone houses standing in a row, their white walls cuttingthe purple fringe of the horizon. Demetrio and Camillarode toward them. Inside the corral a man, clad in shirtand trousers of cheap white cloth, sat greedily puffing ata cornhusk cigarette. Another man sitting beside himon a flat cut stone was shelling corn. Kicking the airwith one dry, withered leg, the extremity of which waslike a goat's hoof, he frightened the chickens away."Hurry up, 'Pifanio," said the man who was smoking,"the sun has gone down already and you haven't takenthe animals to water."A horse neighed outside the corral; both men glancedup in amazement. Demetrio and Camilla were lookingover the corral wall at them."I just want a place to sleep for my woman and me,"Demetrio said reassuringly.As he explained that he was the chief of a smallarmy which was to camp nearby that night, the mansmoking, who owned the place, bid them enter with greatdeference. He ran to fetch a broom and a pail of waterto dust and wash the best corner of the hut as decentlodging for his distinguished guests."Here, 'Pifanio, go out there and unsaddle the horses."The man who was shelling corn stood up with aneffort. He was clad in a tattered shirt and vest. Historn trousers, split at the seam, looked like the wings ofa cold, stricken bird; two strings of cloth dangled fromhis waist. As he walked, he described grotesque circles."Surely you're not fit to do any work!" Demetrio said,refusing to allow him to touch the saddles."Poor man," the owner cried from within the hut,"he's lost all his strength. . . . But he surely works forhis pay. . . . He starts working the minute God Almightyhimself gets up, and it's after sundown now but he'sworking still!"Demetrio went out with Camilla for a stroll aboutthe encampment. The meadow, golden, furrowed, strippedeven of the smallest bushes, extended limitless in its im-mense desolation. The three tall ash trees which stoodin front of the small house, with dark green crests, roundand waving, with rich foliage and branches drooping tothe very ground, seemed a veritable miracle."I don't know why but I feel there's a lot of sadnessaround here," said Demetrio. "Yes," Camilla answered, "I feel that way too."On the bank of a small stream, 'Pifanio was strenu-ously tugging at a rope with a large can tied to the endof it. He poured a stream of water over a heap of fresh,cool grass; in the twilight, the water glimmered like crys-tal. A thin cow, a scrawny nag, and a burro drank noisilytogether.Demetrio recognized the limping servant and askedhim: "How much do you get a day?" "Eight cents a day, boss."He was an insignificant, scrofulous wraith of a manwith green eyes and straight, fair hair. He whined com-plaint of his boss, the ranch, his bad luck, his dog's life."You certainly earn your pay all right, my lad," De-metrio interrupted kindly. "You complain and complain,but you aren't no loafer, you work and work." Then,aside to Camilla: "There's always more damned fools inthe valley than among us folk in the sierra, don't youthink?" "Of course!" she replied.They went on. The valley was lost in darkness; starscame out. Demetrio put his arm around Camilla's waistamorously and whispered in her ear."Yes," she answered in a faint voice.She was indeed beginning to "fall for him" as she hadexpressed it.Demetrio slept badly. He flung out of the house veryearly."Something is going to happen to me," he thought.It was a silent dawn, with faint murmurs of joy. Athrush sang timidly in one of the ash trees. The animalsin the corral trampled on the refuse. The pig grunted itssomnolence. The orange tints of the sun streaked thesky; the last star flickered out. Demetrio walked slowly to the encampment.He was thinking of his plow, his two black oxen--young beasts they were, who had worked in the fieldsonly two years--of his two acres of well-fertilized corn.The face of his young wife came to his mind, clear andtrue as life: he saw her strong, soft features, so graciouswhen she smiled on her husband, so proudly fierce to-ward strangers. But when he tried to conjure up theimage of his son, his efforts were vain; he had for-gotten. . . .He reached the camp. Lying among the farrows, thesoldiers slept with the horses, heads bowed, eyes closed."Our horses are pretty tired, Anastasio. I think weought to stay here at least another day.""Well, Compadre Demetrio, I'm hankering for thesierra. . . . If you only knew. . . . You may not believeme but nothing strikes me right here. I don't know whatI miss but I know I miss something. I feel sad . . .lost. . . .""How many hours' ride from here to Limon?""It's no matter of hours; it's three days' hard riding,Demetrio.""You know," Demetrio said softly, "I feel as thoughI'd like to see my wife again!" Shortly after, War Paint sought out Camilla."That's one on you, my dear. . . . Demetrio's going toleave you flat! He told me so himself; 'I'm going to getmy real woman,' he says, and he says, 'Her skin is whiteand tender . . . and her rosy cheeks. . . . How beautifulshe is!' But you don't have to leave him, you know; ifyou're set on staying, well--they've got a child, you know,and I suppose you could drag it around. . . ."When Demetrio returned, Camilla, weeping, told himeverything."Don't pay no attention to that crazy baggage. It's alllies, lies!"Since Demetrio did not go to Limon or remember hiswife again, Camilla grew very happy. War Paint hadmerely stung herself, like a scorpion.XIBefore dawn, they left for Tepatitlan. Their sil-houettes wavered indistinctly over the road and the fieldsthat bordered it, rising and falling with the monotonous,rhythmical gait of their horses, then faded away in thenacreous light of the swooning moon that bathed thevalley.Dogs barked in the distance."By noon we'll reach Tepatitlan, Cuquio tomorrow,and then . . . on to the sierra!" Demetrio said."Don't you think it advisable to go to Aguascalientesfirst, General?" Luis Cervantes asked."What for?""Our funds are melting slowly.""Nonsense . . . forty thousand pesos in eight days!""Well, you see, just this week we recruited over fivehundred new men; all the money's gone in advance loansand gratuities," Luis Cervantes answered in a low voice."No! We'll go straight to the sierra. We'll see lateron.""Yes, to the sierra!" many of the men shouted."To the sierra! To the sierra! Hurrah for the moun-tains!"The plains seemed to torture them; they spoke withenthusiasm, almost with delirium, of the sierra. Theythought of the mountains as of a most desirable mistresslong since unvisited.Dawn broke behind a cloud of fine reddish dust; thesun rose an immense curtain of fiery purple. Luis Cer-vantes pulled his reins and waited for Quail."What's the last word on our deal, Quail?""I told you, Tenderfoot: two hundred for the watchalone.""No! I'll buy the lot: watches, rings, everything else.How much?"Quail hesitated, turned slightly pale; then he criedspiritedly: "Two thousand in bills, for the whole business!"Luis Cervantes gave himself away. His eyes shonewith such an obvious greed that Quail recanted andsaid:"Oh, I was just fooling you. I won't sell nothing! Justthe watch, see? And that's only because I owe Pancraciotwo hundred. He beat me at cards last night!"Luis Cervantes pulled out four crisp "double-face" billsof Villa's issue and placed them in Quail's hands."I'd like to buy the lot. . . . Besides, nobody will offeryou more than that!"As the sun began to beat down upon them, Mantecasuddenly shouted:"Ho, Blondie, your orderly says he doesn't care to goon living. He says he's too damned tired to walk."The prisoner had fallen in the middle of the road, ut-terly exhausted."Well, well!" Blondie shouted, retracing his steps. "Solittle mama's boy is tired, eh? Poor little fellow. I'll buya glass case and keep you in a corner of my house justas if you were the Virgin Mary's own little son. You'vegot to reach home first, see? So I'll help you a little,sonny!"He drew his sword out and struck the prisoner severaltimes."Let's have a look at your rope, Pancracio," he said.There was a strange gleam in his eyes. Quail observedthat the prisoner no longer moved arm or leg. Blondieburst into a loud guffaw: "The Goddamned fool. Just asI was learning him to do without food, too!""Well, mate, we're almost to Guadalajara," Venanciosaid, glancing over the smiling row of houses in Tepatit-lan nestling against the hillside.They entered joyously. From every window rosycheeks, dark luminous eyes observed them. The schoolswere quickly converted into barracks; Demetrio foundlodging in the chapel of an abandoned church.The soldiers scattered about as usual pretending toseek arms and horses, but in reality for the sole purposeof looting.In the afternoon some of Demetrio's men lay stretchedout on the church steps, scratching their bellies. Venan-cio, his chest and shoulders bare, was gravely occupiedin killing the fleas in his shirt. A man drew near the walland sought permission to speak to the commander. Thesoldiers raised their heads; but no one answered."I'm a widower, gentlemen. I've got nine children andI barely make a living with the sweat of my brow. Don'tbe hard on a poor widower!""Don't you worry about women, Uncle," said Meco,who was rubbing his feet with tallow, "we've got WarPaint here with us; you can have her for nothing." The man smiled bitterly."She's only got one fault," Pancracio observed,stretched out on the ground, staring at the blue sky,"she goes mad over any man she sees."They laughed loudly; but Venancio with utmost gravitypointed to the chapel door. The stranger entered timidlyand confided his troubles to Demetrio. The soldiers hadcleaned him out; they had not left a single grain of corn."Why did you let them?" Demetrio asked indolently.The man persisted, lamenting and weeping. Luis Cer-vantes was about to throw him out with an insult. ButCamilla intervened."Come on, Demetrio, don't be harsh, give him an orderto get his corn back."Luis Cervantes was obliged to obey; he scrawled a fewlines to which Demetrio appended an illegible scratch."May God repay you, my child! God will lead you toheaven that you may enjoy his glory. Ten bushels of cornare barely enough for this year's food!" the man cried,weeping for gratitude. Then he took the paper, kissedeverybody's hand, and withdrew.XIIThey had almost reached Cuquio, when AnastasioMontanez rode up to Demetrio: "Listen, Compadre, Ialmost forgot to tell you. . . . You ought to have seenthe wonderful joke that man Blondie played. You knowwhat he did with the old man who came to complainabout the corn we'd taken away for horses? Well, theold man took the paper and went to the barracks. 'Rightyou are, brother, come in,' said Blondie, 'come in, comein here; to give you back what's yours is only the rightthing to do. How many bushels did we steal? Ten? Sureit wasn't more than ten? . . . That's right, about fifteen,eh? Or was it twenty, perhaps? . . . Try and remember,friend. . . . Of course you're a poor man, aren't you, andyou've a lot of kids to raise. . . . Yes, twenty it was. Allright, now! It's not ten or fifteen or twenty I'm going togive you. You're going to count for yourself. . . . One,two, three . . . and when you've had enough you just tellme and I'll stop.' And Blondie pulled out his sword andbeat him till he cried for mercy."War Paint rocked in her saddle, convulsed with mirth.Camilla, unable to control herself, blurted out:"The beast! His heart's rotten to the core! No wonderI loathe him!"At once War Paint's expression changed."What the hell is it to you!" she scowled. Camilla,frightened, spurred her horse forward. War Paint did like-wise and, as she trotted past Camilla, suddenly shereached out, seized the other's hair and pulled with allher might. Camilla's horse shied; Camilla, trying to brushher hair back from over her eyes, abandoned the reins.She hesitated, lost her balance and fell in the road, strikingher forehead against the stones.War Paint, weeping with laughter, pressed on with ut-most skill and caught Camilla's horse."Come on, Tenderfoot; here's a job for you," Pan-cracio said as he saw Camilla on Demetrio's saddle, herface covered with blood.Luis Cervantes hurried toward her with some cotton;but Camilla, choking down her sobs and wiping her eyes,said hoarsely:"Not from you! If I was dying, I wouldn't accept any-thing from you . . . not even water." In Cuquio Demetrio received a message."We've got to go back to Tepatitlan, General," saidLuis Cervantes, scanning the dispatch rapidly. "You'vegot to leave the men there while you go to Lagos and takethe train over to Aguascalientes."There was much heated protest, the men muttering tothemselves or even groaning out loud. Some of them,mountaineers, swore that they would not continue withthe troop.Camilla wept all night. On the morrow at dawn, shebegged Demetrio to let her return home."If you don't like me, all right," he answered sullenly."That's not the reason. I care for you a lot, really.But you know how it is. That woman . . .""Never mind about her. It's all right! I'll send her off tohell today. I had already decided that." Camilla dried her tears. . . .Every horse was saddled; the men were waiting onlyfor orders from the Chief. Demetrio went up to WarPaint and said under his breath:"You're not coming with us.""What!" she gasped."You're going to stay here or go wherever you damnwell please, but you're not coming along with us.""What? What's that you're saying?" Still she could notcatch Demetrio's meaning. Then the truth dawned uponher. "You want to send me away? By God, I suppose youbelieve all the filth that bitch . . . "And War Paint proceeded to insult Camilla, Luis Cer-vantes, Demetrio, and anyone she happened to remem-ber at the moment, with such power and originality thatthe soldiers listened in wonder to vituperation that trans-cended their wildest dream of profanity and filth.Demetrio waited a long time patiently. Then, as sheshowed no sign of stopping, he said to a soldier quitecalmly: "Throw this drunken woman out.""Blondie, Blondie, love of my life! Help! Come andshow them you're a real man! Show them they're nothingbut sons of bitches! . . ." She gesticulated, kicked, and shouted.Blondie appeared; he had just got up. His blue eyesblinked under heavy lids; his voice rang hoarse. He askedwhat had occurred; someone explained. Then he wentup to War Paint, and with great seriousness, said:"Yes? Really? Well, if you want my opinion, I thinkthis is just what ought to happen. So far as I'm con-cerned, you can go straight to hell. We're all fed upwith you, see?"War Paint's face turned to granite; she tried to speakbut her muscles were rigid.The soldiers laughed. Camilla, terrified, held her breath.War Paint stared slowly at everyone about her. It alltook no more than a few seconds. In a trice she bentdown, drew a sharp, gleaming dagger from her stockingand leapt at Camilla.A shrill cry. A body fell, the blood spurting from it."Kill her, Goddamn it," cried Demetrio, beyond him-self. "Kill her!"Two soldiers fell upon War Paint, but she brandishedher dagger, defying them to touch her:"Not the likes of you, Goddamn you! Kill me your-self, Demetrio!"War Paint stepped forward, surrendered her daggerand, thrusting her breast forward, let her arms fall toher side.Demetrio picked up the dagger, red with blood, buthis eyes clouded; he hesitated, took a step backward.Then, with a heavy hoarse voice he growled, enraged:"Get out of here! Quick!"No one dared stop her. She moved off slowly, mute,somber. Blondie's shrill, guttural voice broke the silent stupor:"Thank God! At last I'm rid of that damned louse!"XIIISomeone plunged a knifeDeep in my side.Did he know why?I don't know why.Maybe he knew,I never knew.The blood flowed outOf that mortal wound.Did he know why?I don't know why.Maybe he knew,I never knew.His head lowered, his hands crossed over the pommelof his saddle, Demetrio in melancholy accents sang thestrains of the intriguing song. Then he fell silent; forquite a while he continued to feel oppressed and sad."You'll see, as soon as we reach Lagos you'll come outof it, General. There's plenty of pretty girls to give us agood time," Blondie said."Right now I feel like getting damn drunk," Deme-trio answered, spurring his horse forward and leavingthem as if he wished to abandon himself entirely to hissadness.After many hours of riding he called Cervantes."Listen, Tenderfoot, why in hell do we have to go toAguascalientes?""You have to vote for the Provisional President of theRepublic, General!""President, what? Who in the devil, then, is this manCarranza? I'll be damned if I know what it's all about."At last they reached Lagos. Blondie bet that he wouldmake Demetrio laugh that evening. Trailing his spurs noisily over the pavement, Deme-trio entered "El Cosmopolita" with Luis Cervantes,Blondie, and his assistants.The civilians, surprised in their attempt to escape, re-mained where they were. Some feigned to return to theirtables to continue drinking and talking; others hesitantlystepped up to present their respects to the commander."General, so pleased! . . . Major! Delighted to meet you!""That's right! I love refined and educated friends,"Blondie said. "Come on, boys," he added, jovially draw-ing his gun, "I'm going to play a tune that'll make youall dance."A bullet ricocheted on the cement floor passing be-tween the legs of the tables, and the smartly dressedyoung men-about-town began to jump much as a womanjumps when frightened by a mouse under her skirt. Paleas ghosts, they conjured up wan smiles of obsequious ap-proval. Demetrio barely parted his lips, but his followersdoubled over with laughter."Look, Blondie," Quail shouted, "look at that mangoing out there. Look, he's limping." "I guess the bee stung him all right."Blondie, without turning to look at the wounded man,announced with enthusiasm that he could shoot off thetop of a tequila bottle at thirty paces without aiming."Come on, friend, stand up," he said to the waiter.He dragged him out by the hand to the patio of thehotel and set a tequila bottle on his head. The poordevil refused. Insane with fright, he sought to escape,but Blondie pulled his gun and took aim."Come on, you son of a sea cook! If you keep onI'll give you a nice warm one!"Blondie went to the opposite wall, raised his gun andfired. The bottle broke into bits, the alcohol poured overthe lad's ghastly face."Now it's a go," cried Blondie, running to the bar toget another bottle, which he placed on the lad's head.He returned to his former position, he whirled about,and shot without aiming. But he hit the waiter's ear in-stead of the bottle. Holding his sides with laughter, hesaid to the young waiter:"Here, kid, take these bills. It ain't much. But you'llbe all right with some alcohol and arnica."After drinking a great deal of alcohol and beer, Deme-trio spoke:"Pay the bill, Blondie, I'm going to leave you.""I ain't got a penny, General, but that's all right. I'llfix it. How much do we owe you, friend?""One hundred and eighty pesos, Chief," the bartenderanswered amiably.Quickly, Blondie jumped behind the bar and with asweep of both arms, knocked down all the glasses andbottles."Send the bill to General Villa, understand?"He left, laughing loudly at his prank."Say there, you, where do the girls hang out?"Blondie asked, reeling up drunkenly toward a small well-dressed man, standing at the door of a tailor shop.The man stepped down to the sidewalk politely to letBlondie pass.Blondie stopped and looked at him curiously, im-pertinently."Little boy, you're very small and dainty, ain't you?. . . No? . . . Then I'm a liar! . . . That's right! . . . Youknow the puppet dance. . . . You don't? The hell youdon't! . . . I met you in a circus! I know you can evendance on a tightrope! . . . You watch!"Blondie drew his gun out and began to shoot, aimingat the tailor's feet; the tailor gave a little jump at everypull of the trigger."See! You do know how to dance on the tightrope,don't you?"Taking his friends by the arm, he ordered them tolead him to the red-light district, punctuating every stepby a shot which smashed a street light, or struck somewall, a door, or a distant house.Demetrio left him and returned to the hotel, singingto himself:"Someone plunged a knifeDeep in my side.Did he know why?I don't know why.Maybe he knew,I never knew."XIVStale cigarette smoke, the acrid odors of sweatyclothing, the vapors of alcohol, the breathing of acrowded multitude, worse by far than a trainful of pigs.Texas hats, adorned with gold braid, and khaki pre-dominate. "Gentlemen, a well-dressed man stole my suit-case in the station. My life's savings! I haven't enoughto feed my little boy now!"The shrill voice, rising to a shriek or trailing off intoa sob, is drowned out by the tumult within the train."What the hell is the old woman talking about?"Blondie asks, entering in search of a seat."Something about a suitcase . . . and a well-dressedman," Pancracio replies. He has already the laps of twocivilians to sit on.Demetrio and the others elbow their way in. Sincethose on whom Pancracio had sat preferred to stand up,Demetrio and Luis Cervantes quickly seize the vacantseats.Suddenly a woman who has stood up holding a childall the way from Irapuato, faints. A civilian takes thechild in his arms. The others pretend to have seen noth-ing. Some women, traveling with the soldiers, occupy twoor three seats with baggage, dogs, cats, parrots. Someof the men wearing Texan hats laugh at the plump armsand pendulous breasts of the woman who fainted."Gentlemen, a well-dressed man stole my suitcase atthe station in Silao! All my life's savings . . . I haven'tgot enough to feed my little boy now! . . ."The old woman speaks rapidly, parrotlike, sighing andsobbing. Her sharp eyes peer about on all sides. Hereshe gets a bill, and further on, another. They showermoney upon her. She finishes the collection, and goes afew seats ahead."Gentlemen, a well-dressed man stole my suitcase inthe station at Silao." Her words produce an immediateand certain effect.A well-dressed man, a dude, a tenderfoot, stealing asuitcase! Amazing, phenomenal! It awakens a feeling ofuniversal indignation. It's a pity: if this well-dressed manwere here every one of the generals would shoot himone after the other!"There's nothing as vile as a city dude who steals!"a man says, exploding with indignation."To rob a poor old lady!""To steal from a poor defenseless woman!"They prove their compassion by word and deed: aharsh verdict against the culprit; a five-peso bill for thevictim."And I'm telling you the truth," Blondie declares."Don't think it's wrong to kill, because when you kill,it's always out of anger. But stealing--Bah!"This profound piece of reasoning meets with unani-mous assent. After a short silence while he meditates,a colonel ventures his opinion:"Everything is all right according to something, see?That is, everything has its circumstances, see? God's owntruth is this: I have stolen, and if I say that everyonehere has done the trick, I'm not telling a lie, I reckon! ""Hell, I stole a lot of them sewing machines in Mex-ico," exclaims a major. "I made more'n five hundredpesos even though I sold them at fifty cents apiece!"A toothless captain, with hair prematurely white, an-nounces:"I stole some horses in Zacatecas, all damn fine horsesthey was, and then I says to myself, 'This is your ownlittle lottery, Pascual Mata,' I says. 'You won't have aworry in all your life after this.' And the damned thingabout it was that General Limon took a fancy to thehorses too, and he stole them from me!""Of course--there's no use denying it, I've stolen too,"Blondie confesses. "But ask any one of my partnershow much profit I've got. I'm a big spender and myPurse is my friends' to have a good time on! I havea better time if I drink myself senseless than I wouldhave sending money back home to the old woman!"The subject of "I stole," though apparently inexhausti-ble, ceases to hold the men's attention. Decks of cardsgradually appear on the seats, drawing generals and of-ficers as the light draws mosquitoes.The excitement of gambling soon absorbs every in-terest, the heat grows more and more intense. To breatheis to inhale the air of barracks, prison, brothel, andpigsty all in one.And rising above the babble, from the car ahead everthe shrill voice, "Gentlemen, a well-dressed young manstole . . ."The streets in Aguascalientes were so many refusepiles. Men in khaki moved to and fro like bees beforetheir hive, overrunning the restaurants, the crapulouslunch houses, the parlous hotels, and the stands of thestreet vendors on which rotten pork lay alongside grimycheese.The smell of these viands whetted the appetites ofDemetrio and his men. They forced their way into asmall inn, where a disheveled old hag served, on earthen-ware plates, some pork with bones swimming in a clearchili stew and three tough burnt tortillas. They paid twopesos apiece; as they left Pancracio assured his comradeshe was hungrier than when he entered."Now," said Demetrio, "we'll go and consult withGeneral Natera!" They made for the northern leader's billet.A noisy, excited crowd stopped them at a street cross-ing. A man, lost in the multitude, was mouthing wordsin the monotonous, unctuous tones of a prayer. Theycame up close enough to see him distinctly; he wore ashirt and trousers of cheap white cloth and was repeat-ing:"All good Catholics should read this prayer to ChristOur Lord upon the Cross with due devotion. Thus theywill be immune from storms and pestilence, famine, andwar.""This man's no fool," said Demetrio smiling.The man waved a sheaf of printed handbills in hishand and cried:"A quarter of a peso is all you have to pay for thisprayer to Christ Our Lord upon the Cross. A quarter . . ."Then he would duck for a moment, to reappear witha snake's tooth, a sea star, or the skeleton of a fish.In the same predicant tone, he lauded the medical virtuesand the mystical powers of every article he sold.Quail, who had no faith in Venancio, requested theman to pull a tooth out. Blondie purchased a black seedfrom a certain fruit which protected the possessor fromlightning or any other catastrophe. Anastasio Montanezpurchased a prayer to Christ Our Lord upon the Cross,and, folding it carefully, stuck it into his shirt with apious gesture."As sure as there's a God in heaven," Natera said,"this mess hasn't blown over yet. Now it's Villa fightingCarranza."Without answering him, his eyes fixed in a stare,Demetrio demanded a further explanation."It means," Natera said, "that the Convention won'trecognize Carranza as First Chief of the ConstitutionalistArmy. It's going to elect a Provisional President of theRepublic. Do you understand me, General?"Demetrio nodded assent."What's your opinion, General?" asked Natera.Demetrio shrugged his shoulders:"It seems to me that the meat of the matter is thatwe've got to go on fighting, eh? All right! Let's go to it!I'm game to the end, you know.""Good, but on what side?"Demetrio, nonplussed, scratched his head:"Look here, don't ask me any more questions. I neverwent to school, you know. . . . You gave me the eagleI wear on my hat, didn't you? All right then; you justtell me: 'Demetrio, do this or do that,' and that's allthere's to it!"PART THREE"Villa? Obregon? Carranza? What's the difference? I lovethe revolution like a volcano in eruption; I love the volcano,because it's a volcano, the revolution, because it's the revolution!"IEl Paso, Texas, May 16, 1915My Dear Venancio:Due to the pressure of professional duties I havebeen unable to answer your letter of January 4 beforenow. As you already know, I was graduated last De-cember. I was sorry to hear of Pancracio's and Manteca'sfate, though I am not surprised that they stabbed eachother over the gambling table. It is a pity; they wereboth brave men. I am deeply grieved not to be able totell Blondie how sincerely and heartily I congratulatehim for the only noble and beautiful thing he ever didin his whole life: to have shot himself!Dear Venancio, although you may have enough moneyto purchase a degree, I am afraid you won't find itvery easy to become a doctor in this country. You knowI like you very much, Venancio; and I think you de-serve a better fate. But I have an idea which may proveprofitable to both of us and which may improve yoursocial position, as you desire. We could do a fine busi-ness here if we were to go in as partners and set up atypical Mexican restaurant in this town. I have no re-serve funds at the moment since I've spent all I had ingetting my college degree, but I have something muchmore valuable than money; my perfect knowledge of thistown and its needs. You can appear as the owner; wewill make a monthly division of profits. Besides, con-cerning a question that interests us both very much,namely, your social improvement, it occurs to me thatyou play the guitar quite well. In view of the recom-mendations I could give you and in view of your train-ing as well, you might easily be admitted as a memberof some fraternal order; there are several here whichwould bring you no inconsiderable social prestige.Don't hesitate, Venancio, come at once and bringyour funds. I promise you we'll get rich in no time. Mybest wishes to the General, to Anastasio, and the restof the boys.Your affectionate friend,Luis CervantesVenancio finished reading the letter for the hundredthtime and, sighing, repeated:"Tenderfoot certainly knows how to pull the stringsall right!""What I can't get into my head," observed AnastasioMontanez, "is why we keep on fighting. Didn't we finishoff this man Huerta and his Federation?"Neither the General nor Venancio answered; but thesame thought kept beating down on their dull brains likea hammer on an anvil.They ascended the steep hill, their heads bowed, pen-sive, their horses walking at a slow gait. Stubbornlyrestless, Anastasio made the same observation to othergroups; the soldiers laughed at his candor. If a man hasa rifle in his hands and a beltful of cartridges, surely heshould use them. That means fighting. Against whom?For whom? That is scarcely a matter of importance.The endless wavering column of dust moved up thetrail, a swirling ant heap of broad straw sombreros, dirtykhaki, faded blankets, and black horses. . . .Not a man but was dying of thirst; no pool or streamor well anywhere along the road. A wave of dust rosefrom the white, wild sides of a small canyon, swayedmistily on the hoary crest of huizache trees and the green-ish stumps of cactus. Like a jest, the flowers in the cac-tus opened out, fresh, solid, aflame, some thorny, othersdiaphanous.At noon they reached a hut, clinging to the precipi-tous sierra, then three more huts strewn over the marginof a river of burnt sand. Everything was silent, desolate.As soon as they saw men on horseback, the people inthe huts scurried into the hills to hide. Demetrio grewindignant."Bring me anyone you find hiding or running away,"he commanded in a loud voice."What? What did you say?" Valderrama cried in sur-prise. "The men of the sierra? Those brave men who'venot yet done what those chickens down in Aguascalientesand Zacatecas have done all the time? Our own brothers,who weather storms, who cling to the rocks like mossitself ? I protest, sir; I protest!"He spurred his miserable horse forward and caughtup with the General. "The mountaineers," he said solemnly and emphati-cally, "are flesh of our flesh, bone of our bone. Os exosibus meis et caro de carne mea. Mountaineers are madefrom the same timber we're made of! Of the same soundtimber from which heroes . . ."With a confidence as sudden as it was courageous,he hit the General across the chest. The General smiledbenevolently.Valderrama, the tramp, the crazy maker of verses, didhe ever know what he said?When the soldiers reached a small ranch, despairingly,they searched the empty huts and small houses withoutfinding a single stale tortilla, a solitary rotten pepper, orone pinch of salt with which to flavor the horrible tasteof dry meat. The owners of the huts, their peacefulbrethren, were impassive with the stonelike impassivityof Aztec idols; others, more human, with a slow smile ontheir colorless lips and beardless faces, watched thesefierce men who less than a month ago had made themiserable huts of others tremble with fear, now in theirturn fleeing their own huts where the ovens were coldand the water tanks dry, fleeing with their tails betweentheir legs, cringing, like curs kicked out of their ownhouses.But the General did not countermand his order. Somesoldiers brought back four fugitives, captive and bound.IIWHY do you hide?" Demetrio asked the prisoners."We're not hiding, Chief, we're hitting the trail.""Where to?""To our own homes, in God's name, to Durango.""Is this the road to Durango?""Peaceful people can't travel over the main roadnowadays, you know that, Chief.""You're not peaceful people, you're deserters. Wheredo you come from?" Demetrio said, eyeing them withkeen scrutiny.The prisoners grew confused; they looked at eachother hesitatingly, unable to give a prompt answer."They're Carranzistas," one of the soldiers said."Carranzistas hell!" one of them said proudly. "I'drather be a pig.""The truth is we're deserters," another said. "After thedefeat we deserted from General Villa's troops this sideof Celaya.""General Villa defeated? Ha! Ha! That's a good joke."The soldiers laughed. But Demetrio's brow waswrinkled as though a black shadow had passed over hiseyes."There ain't a son of a bitch on earth who can beatGeneral Villa!" said a bronzed veteran with a scar clearacross the face.Without a change of expression, one of the desertersstared persistently at him and said:"I know who you are. When we took Torreon youwere with General Urbina. In Zacatecas you were withGeneral Natera and then you shifted to the Jaliscotroops. Am I lying?" These words met with a sudden and definite effect.The prisoners gave a detailed account of the tremendousdefeat of Villa at Celaya. Demetrio's men listened insilence, stupefied.Before resuming their march, they built a fire on whichto roast some bull meat. Anastasio Montanez, searchingfor food among the huizache trees, descried the close-cropped neck of Valderrama's horse in the distanceamong the rocks."Hey! Come here, you fool, after all there ain't beenno gravy!" he shouted.Whenever anything was said about shooting someone,Valderrama, the romantic poet, would disappear for awhole day.Hearing Anastasio's voice, Valderrama was convincedthat the prisoners had been set at liberty. A few mo-ments later, he was joined by Venancio and Demetrio."Heard the news?" Venancio asked gravely."No.""It's very serious. A terrible mess! Villa was beatenat Celaya by Obregon and Carranza is winning allalong the line! We're done for!"Valderrama's gesture was disdainful and solemn asan emperor's. "Villa? Obregon? Carranza? What's thedifference? I love the revolution like a volcano in erup-tion; I love the volcano because it's a volcano, the revolu-tion because it's the revolution! What do I care aboutthe stones left above or below after the cataclysm? Whatare they to me?"In the glare of the midday sun the reflection of awhite tequila bottle glittered on his forehead; and, jubi-lant, he ran toward the bearer of such a marvelous gift."I like this crazy fool," Demetrio said with a smile."He says things sometimes that make you think."They resumed their march; their uncertainty translatedinto a lugubrious silence. Slowly, inevitably, the catastro-phe must come; it was even now being realized. Villadefeated was a fallen god; when gods cease to beomnipotent, they are nothing.Quail spoke. His words faithfully interpreted the gen-eral opinion:"What the hell, boys! Every spider's got to spin hisown web now!"IIIIn Zacatecas and Aguascalientes, in the little countrytowns and the neighboring communities, haciendas andranches were deserted. When one of the officers founda barrel of tequila, the event assumed miraculous propor-tions. Everything was conducted with secrecy and care;deep mystery was preserved to oblige the soldiers toleave on the morrow before sunrise under Anastasio andVenancio.When Demetrio awoke to the strains of music, hisgeneral staff, now composed chiefly of young ex-govern-ment officers, told him of the discovery, and Quail, in-terpreting the thoughts of his colleagues, said senten-tiously:"These are bad times and you've got to take advantageof everythin'. If there are some days when a duck canswim, there's others when he can't take a drink."The string musicians played all day; the most solemnhonors were paid to the barrel: but Demetrio was very sad."Did he know why?I don't know why."He kept repeating the same refrain.In the afternoon there were cockfights. Demetrio satdown with the chief officers under the roof of the mu-nicipal portals in front of a city square covered withweeds, a tumbled kiosk, and some abandoned adobehouses."Valderrama," Demetrio called, looking away from thering with tired eyes, "come and sing me a song--sing'The Undertaker.'"But Valderrama did not hear him; he had no eyesfor the fight; he was reciting an impassioned soliloquy ashe watched the sunset over the hills.With solemn gestures and emphatic tones, he said:"O Lord, Lord, pleasurable it is this thy land! I shallbuild me three tents: one for Thee, one for Moses, onefor Elijah!""Valderrama," Demetrio shouted again. "Come andsing 'The Undertaker' song for me.""Hey, crazy, the General is calling you," an officershouted.Valderrama with his eternally complacent smile wentover to Demetrio's seat and asked the musicians for aguitar."Silence," the gamesters cried. Valderrama finishedtuning his instrument.Quail and Meco let loose on the sand a pair of cocksarmed with long sharp blades attached to their legs. Onewas light red; his feathers shone with beautiful obsidianglints. The other was sand-colored with feathers likescales burned slowly to a fiery copper color.The fight was swift and fierce as a duel between men.As though moved by springs, the roosters flew at eachother. Their feathers stood up on their arched necks;their combs were erect, their legs taut. For an instantthey swung in the air without even touching the ground,their feathers, beaks, and claws lost in a dizzy whirl-wind. The red rooster suddenly broke, tossed with hislegs to heaven outside the chalk lines. His vermilion eyesclosed slowly, revealing eyelids of pink coral; his tangledfeathers quivered and shook convulsively amid a pool ofblood.Valderrama, who could not repress a gesture of violentindignation, began to play. With the first melancholystrains of the tune, his anger disappeared. His eyesgleamed with the light of madness. His glance strayedover the square, the tumbled kiosk, the old adobe houses,over the mountains in the background, and over the sky,burning like a roof afire. He began to sing. He put suchfeeling into his voice and such expression into the stringsthat, as he finished, Demetrio turned his head aside tohide his tears.But Valderrama fell upon him, embraced him warmly,and with a familiarity he showed everyone at the ap-propriate moment, he whispered:"Drink them! . . . Those are beautiful tears."Demetrio asked for the bottle, passed it to Valder-rama. Greedily the poet drank half its contents in onegulp; then, showing only the whites of his eyes, he facedthe spectators dramatically and, in a highly theatricalvoice, cried:"Here you may witness the blessings of the revolutioncaught in a single tear."Then he continued to talk like a madman, but like amadman whose vast prophetic madness encompassed allabout him, the dusty weeds, the tumbled kiosk, the grayhouses, the lovely hills, and the immeasurable sky.IVJuchipila rose in the distance, white, bathed in sun-light, shining in the midst of a thick forest at the foot of aproud, lofty mountain, pleated like a turban.Some of the soldiers, gazing at the spire of the church,sighed sadly. They marched forward through the canyon,uncertain, unsteady, as blind men walking without a handto guide them. The bitterness of the exodus pervadedthem."Is that town Juchipila?" Valderrama asked.In the first stage of his drunkenness, Valderrama hadbeen counting the crosses scattered along the road, alongthe trails, in the hollows near the rocks, in the tortuouspaths, and along the riverbanks. Crosses of black timbernewly varnished, makeshift crosses built out of two logs,crosses of stones piled up and plastered together, crosseswhitewashed on crumbling walls, humble crosses drawnwith charcoal on the surface of whitish rocks. Thetraces of the first blood shed by the revolutionists of1910, murdered by the Government.Before Juchipila was lost from sight, Valderrama got offhis horse, bent down, kneeled, and gravely kissed theground.The soldiers passed by without stopping. Some laughedat the crazy man, others jested. Valderrama, deaf to allabout him, breathed his unctuous prayer:"O Juchipila, cradle of the Revolution of 1910, 0blessed land, land steeped in the blood of martyrs, bloodof dreamers, the only true men . . .""Because they had no time to be bad!" an ex-Federalofficer interjected as he rode.Interrupting his prayer, Valderrama frowned, burst intostentorian laughter, reechoed by the rocks, and ran to-ward the officer begging for a swallow of tequila.Soldiers minus an arm or leg, cripples, rheumatics,and consumptives spoke bitterly of Demetrio. Youngwhippersnappers were given officers' commissions andwore stripes on their hats without a day's service, evenbefore they knew how to handle a rifle, while the veter-ans, exhausted in a hundred battles, now incapacitatedfor work, the veterans who had set out as simple pri-vates, were still simple privates. The few remaining offi-cers among Demetrio's friends also grumbled, becausehis staff was made up of wealthy, dapper young men whooiled their hair and used perfume."The worst part of it," Venancio said, "is that we'regettin' overcrowded with Federals!"Anastasio himself, who invariably found only praisefor Demetrio's conduct, now seemed to share the generaldiscontent."See here, brothers," he said, "I spits out the truthwhen I sees something. I always tell the boss that ifthese people stick to us very long we'll be in a hell of afix. Certainly! How can anyone think otherwise? I've nohair on my tongue; and by the mother that bore me, I'mgoing to tell Demetrio so myself."Demetrio listened benevolently, and, when Anastasiohad finished, he replied:"You're right, there's no gettin' around it, we're in abad way. The soldiers grumble about the officers, theofficers grumble about us, see? And we're damn wellready now to send both Villa and Carranza to hell tohave a good time all by themselves. . . . I guess we're inthe same fix as that peon from Tepatitlan who com-plained about his boss all day long but worked on justthe same. That's us. We kick and kick, but we keep onkilling and killing. But there's no use in saying anythingto them!" "Why, Demetrio?""Hm, I don't know. . . . Because . . . because . . . doyou see? . . . What we've got to do is to make the mentoe the mark. I've got orders to stop a band of mencoming through Cuquio, see? In a few days we'll haveto fight the Carranzistas. It will be great to beat the hellout of them."Valderrama, the tramp, who had enlisted in Deme-trio's army one day without anyone remembering thetime or the place, overheard some of Demetrio's words.Fools do not eat fire. That very day Valderrama disap-peared mysteriously as he had come.VThey entered the streets of Juchipila as the churchbells rang, loud and joyfully, with that peculiar tone thatthrills every mountaineer."It makes me think we are back in the days when therevolution was just beginning, when the bells rang likemad in every town we entered and everybody came outwith music, flags, cheers, and fireworks to welcome us,"said Anastasio Montanez."They don't like us no more," Demetrio returned."Of course. We're crawling back like a dog with its tailbetween its legs," Quail remarked."It ain't that, I guess. They don't give a whoop for theother side either.""But why should they like us?"They spoke no more.Presently they reached the city square and stopped infront of an octagonal, rough, massive church, reminis-cent of the colonial period. At one time the square musthave been a garden, judging from the bare stunted orangetrees planted between iron and wooden benches. Thesonorous, joyful bells rang again. From within the church,the honeyed voices of a female chorus rose melancholyand grave. To the strains of a guitar, the young girls ofthe town sang the "Mysteries.""What's the fiesta, lady?" Venancio asked of an oldwoman who was running toward the church."The Sacred Heart of Jesus!" answered the piouswoman, panting.They remembered that one year ago they had capturedZacatecas. They grew sadder still.Juchipila, like the other towns they had passed throughon their way from Tepic, by way of Jalisco, Aguasca-lientes and Zacatecas, was in ruins. The black trail ofthe incendiaries showed in the roofless houses, in theburnt arcades. Almost all the houses were closed, yet,here and there, those still open offered, in ironic contrast,portals gaunt and bare as the white skeletons of horsesscattered over the roads. The terrible pangs of hungerseemed to speak from every face; hunger on every dustycheek, in their dusty countenances; in the hectic flameof their eyes, which, when they met a soldier, blazedwith hatred. In vain the soldiers scoured the streets insearch of food, biting their lips in anger. A single lunch-room was open; at once they filled it. No beans, no tor-tillas, only chili and tomato sauce. In vain the officersshowed their pocketbooks stuffed with bills or usedthreats:"Yea, you've got papers all right! That's all you'vebrought! Try and eat them, will you?" said the owner,an insolent old shrew with an enormous scar on hercheek, who told them she had already lain with a deadman, "to cure her from ever feeling frightened again."Despite the melancholy and desolation of the town,while the women sang in the church, birds sang in thefoliage, and the thrushes piped their lyrical strain onthe withered branches of the orange trees.VIDemetrio Macias' wife, mad with joy, rushedalong the trail to meet him, leading a child by the hand.An absence of almost two years!They embraced each other and stood speechless. Shewept, sobbed. Demetrio stared in astonishment at hiswife who seemed to have aged ten or twenty years.Then he looked at the child who gazed up at him in sur-prise. His heart leaped to his mouth as he saw in thechild's features his own steel features and fiery eyes ex-actly reproduced. He wanted to hold him in his arms, butthe frightened child took refuge in his mother's skirts."It's your own father, baby! It's your daddy!"The child hid his face within the folds of his mother'sskirt, still hostile.Demetrio handed the reins of his horse to his orderlyand walked slowly along the steep trail with his wifeand son."Blessed be the Virgin Mary, Praise be to God! Nowyou'll never leave us any more, will you? Never . . .never. . . . You'll stay with us always?"Demetrio's face grew dark. Both remained silent, lostin anguish. Demetrio suppressed a sigh. Memoriescrowded and buzzed through his brain like bees about ahive.A black cloud rose behind the sierra and a deafeningroar of thunder resounded. The rain began to fall inheavy drops; they sought refuge in a rocky hut.The rain came pelting down, shattering the white SaintJohn roses clustered like sheaves of stars clinging to tree,rock, bush, and pitaya over the entire mountainside.Below in the depths of the canyon, through the gauzeof the rain they could see the tall, sheer palms shakingin the wind, opening out like fans before the tempest.Everywhere mountains, heaving hills, and beyond morehills, locked amid mountains, more mountains encircledin the wall of the sierra whose loftiest peaks vanished inthe sapphire of the sky."Demetrio, please. For God's sake, don't go away! Myheart tells me something will happen to you this time."Again she was wracked with sobs. The child, fright-ened, cried and screamed. To calm him, she controlledher own great grief.Gradually the rain stopped, a swallow, with silverbreast and wings describing luminous charming curves,fluttered obliquely across the silver threads of the rain,gleaming suddenly in the afternoon sunshine. "Why do you keep on fighting, Demetrio?"Demetrio frowned deeply. Picking up a stone absent-mindedly, he threw it to the bottom of the canyon. Thenhe stared pensively into the abyss, watching the arch ofits flight."Look at that stone; how it keeps on going. . . ."VIIIt was a heavenly morning. It had rained all night,the sky awakened covered with white clouds. Young wildcolts trotted on the summit of the sierra, with tensemanes and waving hair, proud as the peaks lifting theirheads to the clouds.The soldiers stepped among the huge rocks, buoyedup by the happiness of the morning. None for a momentdreamed of the treacherous bullet that might be awaitinghim ahead; the unforeseen provides man with his greatestjoy. The soldiers sang, laughed, and chattered away.The spirit of nomadic tribes stirred their souls. What mat-ters it whether you go and whence you come? All thatmatters is to walk, to walk endlessly, without ever stop-ping; to possess the valley, the heights of the sierra, faras the eye can read.Trees, brush, and cactus shone fresh after rain. Heavydrops of limpid water fell from rocks, ocher in hue asrusty armor.Demetrio Macias' men grew silent for a moment.They believed they heard the familiar rumor of firing inthe distance. A few minutes elapsed but the sound wasnot repeated."In this same sierra," Demetrio said, "with but twentymen I killed five hundred Federals. Remember, Anasta-sio?"As Demetrio began to tell that famous exploit, themen realized the danger they were facing. What if theenemy, instead of being two days away, was hiding some-where among the underbrush on the terrible hill throughwhose gorge they now advanced? None dared show theslightest fear. Not one of Demetrio Macias' men daredsay, "I shall not move another inch!" So, when firing began in the distance where the van-guard was marching, no one felt surprised. The recruitsturned back hurriedly, retreating in shameful flight,searching for a way out of the canyon.A curse broke from Demetrio's parched lips."Fire at 'em. Shoot any man who runs away!""Storm the hill!" he thundered like a wild beast.But the enemy, lying in ambush by the thousand,opened up its machine-gun fire. Demetrio's men fell likewheat under the sickle.Tears of rage and pain rise to Demetrio's eyes asAnastasio slowly slides from his horse without a sound,and lies outstretched, motionless. Venancio falls closebeside him, his chest riddled with bullets. Meco hurtlesover the precipice, bounding from rock to rock.Suddenly, Demetrio finds himself alone. Bullets whizpast his ears like hail. He dismounts and crawls over therocks, until he finds a parapet: he lays down a stone toprotect his head and, lying flat on the ground, begins toshoot.The enemy scatter in all directions, pursuing the fewfugitives hiding in the brush. Demetrio aims; he does notwaste a single shot.His famous marksmanship fills him with joy. Wherehe settles his glance, he settles a bullet. He loads his gunonce more . . . takes aim. . . .The smoke of the guns hangs thick in the air. Locustschant their mysterious, imperturbable song. Doves coolyrically in the crannies of the rocks. The cows grazeplacidly.The sierra is clad in gala colors. Over its inaccessiblepeaks the opalescent fog settles like a snowy veil on theforehead of a bride.At the foot of a hollow, sumptuous and huge as theportico of an old cathedral, Demetrio Macias, his eyesleveled in an eternal glance, continues to point the barrelof his gun.