A Set of Six | Page 6

early morning, after
having been driven hard all night, Gaspar Ruiz's throat was parched,
and his tongue felt very large and dry in his mouth.
And Gaspar Ruiz, besides being very thirsty, was stirred by a feeling of
sluggish anger, which he could not very well express, as though the
vigour of his spirit were by no means equal to the strength of his body.
The other prisoners in the batch of the condemned hung their heads,
looking obstinately on the ground. But Gaspar Ruiz kept on repeating:
"What should I desert for to the Royalists? Why should I desert? Tell
me, Estaban!"
He addressed himself to the sergeant, who happened to belong to the
same part of the country as himself. But the sergeant, after shrugging
his meagre shoulders once, paid no further attention to the deep
murmuring voice at his back. It was indeed strange that Gaspar Ruiz
should desert. His people were in too humble a station to feel much the
disadvantages of any form of government. There was no reason why
Gaspar Ruiz should wish to uphold in his own person the rule of the
King of Spain. Neither had he been anxious to exert himself for its
subversion. He had joined the side of Independence in an extremely
reasonable and natural manner. A band of patriots appeared one
morning early, surrounding his father's ranche, spearing the watch-dogs
and hamstringing a fat cow all in the twinkling of an eye, to the cries of
"Viva la Libertad!" Their officer discoursed of Liberty with enthusiasm
and eloquence after a long and refreshing sleep. When they left in the
evening, taking with them some of Ruiz, the father's, best horses to
replace their own lamed animals, Gaspar Ruiz went away with them,
having been invited pressingly to do so by the eloquent officer.
Shortly afterwards a detachment of Royalist troops coming to pacify
the district, burnt the ranche, carried off the remaining horses and cattle,
and having thus deprived the old people of all their worldly possessions,
left them sitting under a bush in the enjoyment of the inestimable boon
of life.
II
GASPAR RUIZ, condemned to death as a deserter, was not thinking
either of his native place or of his parents, to whom he had been a good

son on account of the mildness of his character and the great strength of
his limbs. The practical advantage of this last was made still more
valuable to his father by his obedient disposition. Gaspar Ruiz had an
acquiescent soul.
But it was stirred now to a sort of dim revolt by his dislike to die the
death of a traitor. He was not a traitor. He said again to the sergeant:
"You know I did not desert, Estaban. You know I remained behind
amongst the trees with three others to keep the enemy back while the
detachment was running away!"
Lieutenant Santierra, little more than a boy at the time, and unused as
yet to the sanguinary imbecilities of a state of war, had lingered near by,
as if fascinated by the sight of these men who were to be shot pres-
ently -- "for an example" -- as the Commandante had said.
The sergeant, without deigning to look at the prisoner, addressed
himself to the young officer with a superior smile.
"Ten men would not have been enough to make him a prisoner, mi
teniente. Moreover, the other three rejoined the detachment after dark.
Why should he, unwounded and the strongest of them all, have failed to
do so?"
"My strength is as nothing against a mounted man with a lasso," Gaspar
Ruiz protested, eagerly. "He dragged me behind his horse for half a
mile."
At this excellent reason the sergeant only laughed contemptuously. The
young officer hurried away after the Commandante.
Presently the adjutant of the castle came by. He was a truculent,
raw-boned man in a ragged uniform. His spluttering voice issued out of
a flat yellow face. The sergeant learned from him that the condemned
men would not be shot till sunset. He begged then to know what he was
to do with them meantime.
The adjutant looked savagely round the courtyard and, pointing to the
door of a small dungeon-like guardroom, receiving light and air
through one heavily barred window, said: "Drive the scoundrels in
there."
The sergeant, tightening his grip upon the stick he carried in virtue of
his rank, executed this order with alacrity and zeal. He hit Gaspar Ruiz,
whose move- ments were slow, over his head and shoulders. Gaspar
Ruiz stood still for a moment under the shower of blows, biting his lip

thoughtfully as if absorbed by a perplexing mental process -- then
followed the others without haste. The door was locked, and the
adjutant carried off the key.