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Page 11
"Will you have some more?"
He raised his eyes and glanced at the girl, whose
features were common but whose voice had a note of
kindness in it. Wiping his sweating brow with the back of
his palm and turning on one side, he gasped:
"May God reward you."
Then his whole body shook, making the leaves of the
stretcher 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 down
beside the stretcher like faithful dogs, watchful of their
master's wishes. The rest scattered about in search of
food.
Remigia offered them all she had, chili and tortillas.
"Imagine! I had eggs, chickens, even a goat and her
kid, but those damn soldiers wiped me out clean."
Then, making a trumpet of her hands, she drew near
Anastasio and murmured in his ear:
"Imagine, they even carried away Senora Nieves'
little girl!"
V
Suddenly awakening, Quail opened his eyes and
stood up.
"Montanez, did you hear? A shot, Montanez! Hey,
Montanez, get up!"
He shook him vigorously until Montanez ceased
snoring 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 tell
you. I heard it all right."
"A shot, you say? All right, then, hand me my gun."
Anastasio Montanez rubbed his eyes, stretched out his
arms and legs, and stood up lazily.
They left the hut. The sky was solid with stars; the
moon rose like a sharp scythe. The confused rumor of
women crying in fright resounded from the various huts;
the men who had been sleeping in the open, also woke up
and 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 mound
and over hollow, until it spent itself at the far, silent
reaches of the night.
"Who goes there?" Anastasio repeated his challenge
louder, pulling back the lock of his Mauser.
"One of Demetrio's men," came the answer.
"It's Pancracio," Quail cried joyfully. Relieved, he rested
the butt of his rifle on the ground.
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