"Yes you did! And don't try and deny it! You fed her
Spanish fly and . . ."

Venancio's shout of protest was drowned out in the
loud laughter of the others. Demetrio, looking pale and
sallow, motioned for silence. Then, plaintively:

"That'll do. Bring in the student."

Luis Cervantes entered. He uncovered Demetrio's
wound, examined it carefully, and shook his head. The
ligaments had made a furrow in the skin. The leg, badly
swollen, seemed about to burst. At every move he made,
Demetrio stifled a moan. Luis Cervantes cut the liga-
ments, soaked the wound in water, covered the leg with
large clean rags and bound it up. Demetrio was able to
sleep all afternoon and all night. On the morrow he
woke up happy.

"That tenderfoot has the softest hand in the world!"
he said.

Quickly Venancio cut in:

"All right; just as you say. But don't forget that ten-
derfoots are like moisture, they seep in everywhere. It's
the tenderfoots who stopped us reaping the harvest of
the revolution."