the duty of a wicker bottom. The legs of the chair
squeaked. War Paint's black horse snorted and whirled
its crupper in wide circles. Luis Cervantes sank into his
seat.

"General, I wish to make my report. Here you
have . . ."

"Look here, man, I didn't really want this done, you
know. Moyahua is almost like my native town. They'll
say this is why we've been fighting!" Demetrio said, look-
ing at the bulging sack of silver Cervantes was passing
to him. Cervantes left his seat to squat down by Deme-
trio's side.

He stretched a blanket over the floor and into it
poured the ten-peso pieces, shining, burning gold.

"First of all, General, only you and I know about
this. . . . Secondly, you know well enough that if the
sun shines, you should open the window. It's shining in
our faces now but what about tomorrow? You should
always look ahead. A bullet, a bolting horse, even a
wretched cold in the head, and then there are a widow
and orphans left in absolute want! . . . The Govern-
ment? Ha! Ha! . . . Just go see Carranza or Villa or
any of the big chiefs and try and tell them about your
family. . . . If they answer with a kick you know where,
they'll say they're giving you a handful of jewels. And
they're right; we did not rise up in arms to make some