"That's right: I was forgetting all about him."

As usual, Demetrio hesitated a while before he reached
a decision.

"Here, Quail, come here. Listen: you go and find out
where's the nearest church around here. I know there's
one about six miles away. Go and steal a priest's robe
and bring it back."

"What's the idea?" asked Pancracio in surprise.

"Well, I'll soon find out if this tenderfoot came here
to murder me. I'll tell him he's to be shot, see, and
Quail will put on the priest's robes, say that he's a
priest and hear his confession. If he's got anything up
his sleeve, he'll come out with it, and then I'll shoot
him. Otherwise I'll let him go."

"God, there's a roundabout way to tackle the ques-
tion. If I were you, I'd just shoot him and let it go at
that," said Pancracio contemptuously.

That night Quail returned with the priest's robes;
Demetrio ordered the prisoner to be led in. Luis Cer-
vantes had not eaten or slept for two days, there were
deep black circles under his eyes; his face was deathly
pale, his lips dry and colorless. He spoke awkwardly,
slowly: "You can do as you please with me. . . . I am
convinced I was wrong to come looking for you."