its somnolence. The orange tints of the sun
streaked the sky; the last star flickered out.

Demetrio walked slowly to the encampment.

He was thinking of his plow, his two black oxen--young beasts they
were, who had worked in the fields only two years--of his two acres of
well-fertilized corn. The face of his young wife came to his mind,
clear and true as life: he saw her strong, soft features, so gracious
when she smiled on her husband, so proudly fierce toward strangers. But
when he tried to conjure up the image of his son, his efforts were
vain; he had forgotten....

He reached the camp. Lying among the farrows, the soldiers slept with
the horses, heads bowed, eyes closed.

"Our horses are pretty tired, Anastasio. I think we ought to stay here
at least another day."

"Well, Compadre Demetrio, I'm hankering for the sierra.... If you only
knew.... You may not believe me but nothing strikes me right here. I
don't know what I miss but I know I miss something. I feel sad ...
lost...."

"How many hours' ride from here to Limon?"

"It's no matter of hours; it's three days' hard riding, Demetrio."

"You know," Demetrio said softly, "I feel as though I'd like to see my
wife again!"

Shortly after, War Paint sought out Camilla.

"That's one on you, my dear.... Demetrio's going to leave you flat! He
told me so himself; 'I'm going to get my real woman,' he says, and he
says, 'Her skin is white and tender ... and her rosy cheeks.... How
beautiful she is!' But you don't have to leave him, you know; if you're
set on staying, well--they've got a child, you know, and I suppose you
could drag it around...."

When Demetrio returned, Camilla, weeping, told him everything.

"Don't pay no attention to that crazy baggage. It's all lies, lies!"

Since Demetrio did not go to Limon or remember his wife again, Camilla
grew very happy. War Paint had merely stung herself, like a scorpion.

XI

Before dawn, they left for Tepatitlan. Their silhouettes wavered
indistinctly over the road and the fields that bordered it, rising and
falling with the monotonous, rhythmical gait of their horses, then
faded away in the nacreous light of the swooning moon that bathed the
valley. Dogs barked in the distance.

"By noon we'll reach Tepatitlan, Cuquio tomorrow, and then ... on to
the sierra!" Demetrio said.

"Don't you think it advisable to go to Aguascalientes first, General?"
Luis Cervantes asked.

"What for?"

"Our funds are