know."

In his disconcertment, Luis Cervantes could find no
reply.

"Look at that mug, look at 'im! Why waste any time,
Demetrio? Let's shoot him," Pancracio urged impatiently.

Demetrio laid a hand on his hair which covered his
ears, and stretching himself out for a long time, seemed to
be lost in thought. Having found no solution, he said:

"Get out, all of you; it's aching again. Anastasio put
out the candle. Lock him up in the corral and let Pan-
cracio and Manteca watch him. Tomorrow, we'll see."




VI

Through the shadows of the starry night, Luis Cer-
vantes had not yet managed to detect the exact shape of
the objects about him. Seeking the most suitable resting-
place, he laid his weary bones down on a fresh pile of
manure under the blurred mass of a huizache tree. He
lay down, more exhausted than resigned, and closed his
eyes, resolutely determined to sleep until his fierce keepers
or the morning sun, burning his ears, awakened him.
Something vaguely like warmth at his side, then a tired