o return this time with a moth-eaten
wallet containing a few Huerta bills.

Demetrio smiles and without further delay calls to his men to come in.
Like hungry dogs who have sniffed their meat, the mob bursts in,
trampling down the women who sought to bar the entrance with their
bodies. Several faint, fall to the ground; others flee in panic. The
children scream.

Pancracio is about to break the lock of a huge wardrobe when suddenly
the doors open and out comes a man with a rifle in his hands.

"Senor Don Monico!" they all exclaim in surprise.

"Demetrio, please, don't harm me! Please don't harm me! Please don't
hurt me! You know, Senor Don Demetrio, I'm your friend!"

Demetrio Macias smiles slyly. "Are friends," he asked, "usually
welcomed gun in hand?"

Don Monico, in consternation, throws himself at Demetrio's feet, clasps
his knees, kisses his shoes: "My wife! ... My children! ... Please,
Senor Don Demetrio, my friend!"

Demetrio with taut hand puts his gun back in the holster.

A painful silhouette crosses his mind. He sees a woman with a child in
her arms walking over the rocks of the sierra in the moonlight. A house
in flames....

"Clear out. Everybody outside!" he orders darkly.

His staff obeys. Monico and the ladies kiss his hands, weeping with
gratitude. The mob in the street, talking and laughing, stands waiting
for the general's permission to ransack the cacique's house.

"I know where they've buried their money but I won't tell," says a
youngster with a basket in his hands.

"Hm! I know the right place, mind you," says an old woman carrying a
burlap sack to hold whatever the good Lord will provide. "It's on top
of something ... there's a lot of trinkets nearby and then there's a
small bag with mother-of-pearl around it. That's the thing to look for!"

"You ain't talking sense, woman," puts in a man. "They ain't such fools
as to leave silver lying loose like that. I'm thinking they've got it
buried in the well, in a leather bag."

The mob moves slowly; some carry ropes to tie about their bundles,
others wooden trays. The women open out their aprons or shawls
calculating their capacity. All give thanks to Divine Providence as
they wait for their share of the booty.

When Demetrio announces that he will not allow looting and orders them
to disband, the mob, disconsolate, obeys him, and soon scatters; but
there is a dull rumor among the soldiers and no one moves from his
place.

Annoyed, De