"Oh, come, you'll surely spare us! I didn't know you
were there. I'll always stand up for a brave man."

Demetrio stood his ground, looking them up and down,
an insolent and disdainful smile wrinkling his face.

"Yes, I not only respect brave men, but I like them.
I'm proud and happy to call them friends. Here's my
hand on it: friend to friend." Then, after a pause: "All
right, Demetrio Macias, if you don't want to shake
hands, all right! But it's because you don't know me,
that's why, just because the first time you saw me I was
doing this dog's job. But look here, I ask you, what in
God's name can a man do when he's poor and has a
wife to support and kids? . . . Right you are, Sergeant,
let's go: I've nothing but respect for the home of what I
call a brave man, a real, honest, genuine man!"

When they had gone, the woman drew close to
Demetrio.

"Holy Virgin, what agony! I suffered as though it was
you they'd shot."

"You go to father's house, quick!" Demetrio ordered.
She wanted to hold him in her arms; she entreated, she
wept. But he pushed away from her gently and, in a sullen
voice, said, "I've an idea the whole lot of them are com-
ing."
"Why didn't you kill 'em?"