"Not only all right," Venancio said insinuatingly, "but
I think it absolutely necessary."

"Now Chief," Cervantes pursued, "I took a fancy to
you the first time I laid eyes on you and I like you more
and more every day because I realize what you are
worth. Please let me be utterly frank. You do not yet
realize your lofty noble function. You are a modest man
without ambitions, you do not wish to realize the ex-
ceedingly important role you are destined to play in the
revolution. It is not true that you took up arms simply be-
cause of Senor Monico. You are under arms to protest
against the evils of all the caciques who are overrunning
the whole nation. We are the elements of a social move-
ment which will not rest until it has enlarged the destinies
of our motherland. We are the tools Destiny makes use of
to reclaim the sacred rights of the people. We are not
fighting to dethrone a miserable murderer, we are fight-
ing against tyranny itself. What moves us is what men call
ideals; our action is what men call fighting for a prin-
ciple. A principle! That's why Villa and Natera and Car-
ranza are fighting; that's why we, every man of us, are
fighting."

"Yes ... yes ... exactly what I've been thinking my-
self," said Venancio in a climax of enthusiasm.

"Hey, there, Pancracio," Macias called, "pull down
two more beers."