The grandfather went many days without speaking to the father, Juli
fell sick, but Cabesang Tales did not shed a single tear, although for
two days he never left the house, as if he feared the looks of reproach
from the whole village or that he would be called the executioner of
his son. But on the third day he again sallied forth with his shotgun.

Murderous intentions were attributed to him, and there were
well-meaning persons who whispered about that he had been heard to
threaten that he would bury the friar-administrator in the furrows of
his fields, whereat the friar was frightened at him in earnest. As a
result of this, there came a decree from the Captain-General forbidding
the use of firearms and ordering that they be taken up. Cabesang Tales
had to hand over his shotgun but he continued his rounds armed with
a long bolo.

"What are you going to do with that bolo when the tulisanes have
firearms?" old Selo asked him.

"I must watch my crops," was the answer. "Every stalk of cane growing
there is one of my wife's bones."

The bolo was taken up on the pretext that it was too long. He then
took his father's old ax and with it on his shoulder continued his
sullen rounds.

Every time he left the house Tandang Selo and Juli trembled for his
life. The latter would get up from her loom, go to the window, pray,
make vows to the saints, and recite novenas. The grandfather was at
times unable to finish the handle of a broom and talked of returning
to the forest--life in that house was unbearable.