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Page 16
There was a prolonged silence. Then:
"I thought that you would welcome a man who comes
to offer his help, with open arms, even though his help
was quite worthless. After all, you might perhaps have
found some use for it. What, in heaven's name, do I
stand to gain, whether the revolution wins or loses?"
Little by little he grew more animated; at times the
languor in his eyes disappeared.
"The revolution benefits the poor, the ignorant, all
those 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 rule
them, change their sweat and blood and tears into
gold. . ."
"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 me
aside. . . . Very well, then, you can do as you please
with me!"
"All I'm going to do now is to put this rope around
your 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 have
you 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 gently
by the arm.
"Come along this way, Tenderfoot."
They all laughed uproariously, when a few minutes
later, 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 a
bit 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 at
all, Compadre," said Anastasio.
"Give him something to eat and guard him."
VIII
On the morrow, Luis Cervantes was barely able to
get up. His injured leg trailing behind him, he shuffled
from hut to hut in search of a little alcohol, a kettle of
boiled 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? Why
did you boil that water? Why did you boil the rags?
Look, look, how careful you are about everything! And
what did you put on your hands? Really. . . . And why
did you pour on alcohol? I just knew alcohol was good
to rub on when you had a bellyache, but . . . Oh, I
see! So you was going to be a doctor, huh? Ha, ha, that's
a good one! Why don't you mix it with cold water?
Well, there's a funny sort of a trick. Oh, stop fooling
me . . . the idea: little animals alive in the water unless
you boil it! Ugh! Well, I can't see nothing in it myself."
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