"The cliff recedes there. There is a drop of four hundred metres,
and then deep water."

"Yes, I know."

"It was there," hissed the old Spaniard, with a terrible gleam in
his eyes. "We sat there on the low walk, and I spoke to him. As we
came along, Nino had said to me in our dialect: 'With a man like
this, fear is better than pain;' and I knew that he was right.

"We did not touch him with our knives. We merely spoke to him. And
then we began quietly making our arrangements. That man died a
hundred times in the ten minutes wherein we ballasted him. We tied
heavy stones upon his body--we filled his pockets with smaller ones.
We left his arms free, but to the palm of each hand we bound a stone
as large as my head. The same to each foot.

"Then I said, 'Lie down! Hands and legs straight out! It is only
right that a Scorpion should die from his own rock, and taking some
souvenirs with him.'

"I took his arms and Nino his feet. We swung him three times, and
let him fly into the darkness.

"And Lorenza never forgave us. She told me that she loved him
still. One never comes to understand a woman!"



ON THE ROCKS