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, she grew frightened, and Picking up the
empty pitcher, flew out the door.
"No, Demetrio," Anastasio Montanez commented gravely, "you've got to break them in
first. Hmm! It's a hell 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 pretended he had not heard him. "I had fever,
and I sweated like a horse all night, but I feel quite fresh today. The thing that's irking me
hellishly is that Goddamn wound. Can Venancio to look after me."
"What are we going to do with the tenderfoot we caught last night?" Pancracio asked.
"That's right: I was forgetting all about him."
As usual, Demetrio hesitated a while before he reached a decision.
"Here, Quail, come here. Listen: you go and find out where's the nearest church around
here. I know there's one about six miles away. Go and steal a priest's robe and bring it
back."
"What's the idea?" asked Pancracio in surprise.
"Well, I'll soon find out if this tenderfoot came here to murder me. I'll tell him he's to be
shot, see, and Quail will put on the priest's robes, say that he's a priest and hear his
confession. If he's got anything up his sleeve, he'll come out with it, and then I'll shoot
him. Otherwise I'll let him go."
"God, there's a roundabout way to tackle the question. If I were you, I'd just shoot him
and let it go at that," said Pancracio contemptuously.
That night Quail returned with the priest's robes; Demetrio ordered the prisoner to be led
in. Luis Cervantes had not eaten or slept for two days, there were deep black circles under
his eyes; his face was deathly pale, his lips dry and colorless. He spoke awkwardly,
slowly: "You can do as you please with me.... I am convinced I was wrong to come
looking for you."
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 unhappy people who do not even suspect they are poor because 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 oppressed, 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 interrupted 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 questions."
"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, Camilla 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

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