with sword and horses. It was revolution here and rebellion there, and
bandits everywhere. Ah, well, it is no matter; I was speaking of the boy
and his father and myself, the compadre. We were all great friends. But
you know the way of men. One day he and I--Santiago, Bernal's father--
had been drinking mescal. We quarrelled--I know not why. It is not well
nor right for a padre and a compadre to fight--there is trouble in Heaven
over that. But there is a way; and we did it as others have done. We
took off our sombreros, and put our compadreship on the ground under
them. That was all right--it was hid there under the hat. Then we stood
up and fought--such a fight--for half an hour. Then he cut me in the
thigh--a great gash--and I caught him in the neck the same. We both came
to the ground then, the fight was over, and we were, of course, good
friends again. I dragged myself over to him as he lay there, and lifted
his head and sopped the blood at his neck with my scarf. I did not think
that he was hurt so bad. But he said: 'I am gone, my Becodar. I haven't
got five minutes in me. Put on your compadreship quick.' I snatched up
the sombrero and put it on, and his I tucked under his head. So that we
were compadres again. Ah, senor, senor! Soon he drew my cheek down to
his and said: 'Adios, compadre: Bernal is thine now. While your eyes
see, and your foot travels, let him not want a friend. Adios!' That was
the end of him. They had me in Balim for a year, and then I came out to
the boy; and since then for twelve years he has not suffered."

At this point he offered us the pulque and the sandwiches, and I took
both, eating and enjoying as well as I could. Sherry groaned, but took
the pulque, refusing the sandwiches almost violently.

"How did you lose your sight, Becodar?" asked Sherry presently.

Becodar sat perfectly still for a moment, and then said in a low voice: