h you.' So I
wrestled with him, and shook myself free, like this, and ran off as
fast as I could. What do you think of that?"

Camilla had never seen Luis Cervantes laugh so heartily.

"But it is really true, all this you've told me?"

Utterly at a loss, Camilla could not answer. Then he burst into
laughter again and repeated the question. A sense of confusion came
upon her. Disturbed, troubled, she said brokenly:

"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 Cervantes' 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 began 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 afternoon breeze, Luis Cervantes gazed
away in the distance, dreaming and killing time. Below the narrow rock
Pancracio 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 daydreaming 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