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Page 22
"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 his
tender white skin that showed below the line of his
collar and on his shoulders, protruding from under a
rough woolen poncho; at his hair, ever so slightly curled.
"What the devil are you waiting for, fool? If the chief
likes you, what more do you want?"
Camilla felt something rise within her breast, an empty
ache that became a knot when it reached her throat; she
closed her eyes fast to hold back the tears that welled up
in them. Then, with the back of her hand, she wiped her
wet cheeks, and just as she had done three days
ago, fled with all the swiftness of a young deer.
XII
Demetrio's wound had already healed. They be-
gan to discuss various projects to go northward where,
according to rumor, the rebels had beaten the Federal
troops 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 the
jarales along one of the river margins, were playing
cards. 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 a
chat!"
Luis Cervantes did not move; Anastasio went over to
him and sat down beside him like a friend.
"What you need is the excitement of the city. I wager
you 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 because
I've got to be and don't you think so. Why, I own twenty
oxen. Certainly I do; ask my friend Demetrio. I cleared
ten bushels last harvest time. You see, if there's one
thing I love, that's riling these Government fellows and
making them furious. The last scrape I had--it'll be eight
months gone now, ever since I've joined these men--I
stuck 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 and
because I wanted to give my mate Demetrio a hand."
"Christ! The bloody little darling of my life!" Manteca
shouted, waxing enthusiastic over a winning hand. He
placed 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 he
shook them together.
Meanwhile, Pancracio dealt the cards, the jack of
spades 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, who
looked at him with snake's eyes, convulsive, foaming at
the mouth. Another moment and they would have been
exchanging blows. Having completely exhausted their
stock of direct insults, they now resorted to the most
flowery and ornate insulting of each other's ancestors,
male and female, paternal or maternal. Yet nothing unto-
ward occurred.
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