"Here's one who's not dead yet," Quail shouted.

Pancracio ran up. The little blond captain with curled
mustache turned pale as wax. He stood against the door
to the staircase unable to muster enough strength to take
another step.

Pancracio pushed him brutally to the edge of the cor-
ridor. A jab with his knee against the captain's thigh--
then a sound not unlike a bag of stones falling from the
top of the steeple on the porch of the church.

"My God, you've got no brains!" said Quail. "If I'd
known what you were doing, I'd have kept him for my-
self. That was a fine pair of shoes you lost!"

Bending over them, the rebels stripped those among
the soldiers who were best clad, laughing and joking as
they despoiled them. Brushing back his long hair, that
had fallen over his sweating forehead and covered his
eyes, Demetrio said:

"Now let's get those city fellows!"



XVIII