"Their hour hasn't struck yet."

They went out together; she bore the child in her
arms. At the door, they separated, moving off in different
directions.

The moon peopled the mountain with vague shadows.
As he advanced at every turn of his way Demetrio could
see the poignant, sharp silhouette of a woman pushing
forward painfully, bearing a child in her arms.

When, after many hours of climbing, he gazed back,
huge flames shot up from the depths of the canyon by
the river. It was his house, blazing. . . .



II


Everything was still swathed in shadows as
Demetrio Macias began his descent to the bottom of
the ravine. Between rocks striped with huge eroded
cracks, and a squarely cut wall, with the river flowing
below, a narrow ledge along the steep incline served as a
mountain trail.

"They'll surely find me now and track us down like
dogs," he mused. "It's a good thing they know nothing
about the trails and paths up here. . . . But if they got