General Robles with his staff. He wanted badly to make some
prisoners. He, too, seemed disappointed for a moment. 'What! Is it you?'
he cried. But he dismounted at once to embrace me, for he was an old
friend of my family. I pointed to the body at our feet, and said only
these two words:

"'Gaspar Ruiz.'

"He threw his arms up in astonishment.

"'Aha! Your strong man! Always to the last with your strong man. No
matter. He saved our lives when the earth trembled enough to make the
bravest faint with fear. I was frightened out of my wits. But he--no!
Que guape! Where's the hero who got the best of him? ha! ha! ha! What
killed him, chico?'

"'His own strength, General,' I answered."

XII

"But Gaspar Ruiz breathed yet. I had him carried in his poncho under the
shelter of some bushes on the very ridge from which he had been gazing
so fixedly at the fort while unseen death was hovering already over his
head.

"Our troops had bivouacked round the fort. Towards daybreak I was not
surprised to hear that I was designated to command the escort of a
prisoner who was to be sent down at once to Santiago. Of course the
prisoner was Gaspar Ruiz' wife.

"'I have named you out of regard for your feelings,' General Robles
remarked. 'Though the woman really ought to be shot for all the harm she
has done to the Republic.'

"And as I made a movement of shocked protest, he continued:

"'Now he is as well as dead, she is of no importance. Nobody will know
what to do with her. However, the Government wants her.' He shrugged his
shoulders. 'I suppose he must have buried large quantities of his loot
in places that she alone knows of.'

"At dawn I saw her coming up the ridge, guarded by two soldiers, and
carrying her child on her arm.

"I walked to meet her.

"'Is he living yet?' she asked, confronting me with that white,
impassive face he used to look at in an adoring way.

"I bent my head, and led her round a clump of bushes without a word. His
eyes were open. He breathed with difficulty, and uttered her name with a
great effort.

"'Erminia!'

"She knelt at his head. The little girl, unconscious of him, and with
her big eyes looking about, began to chatter suddenly, in a joyous, thin
voice. She pointed a tiny finger at the rosy glow of sunrise behind the
black shapes of the peaks. And while that child-talk, incomprehensible
and sweet to the ear, lasted, those two, the dying man and the kneeling
woman, remained silent,