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Demetrio smiled:
"What are we fighting for That's what I'd like to
know."
In his disconcertment, Luis Cervantes could find no
reply.
"Look at that mug, look at 'im! Why waste any time,
Demetrio Let's shoot him," Pancracio urged impatiently.
Demetrio laid a hand on his hair which covered his
ears, and stretching himself out for a long time, seemed to
be lost in thought. Having found no solution, he said:
"Get out, all of you; it's aching again. Anastasio put
out the candle. Lock him up in the corral and let Pancracio
and Manteca watch him. Tomorrow, we'll see.
VI
Through the shadows of the starry night, Luis Cervantes
had not yet managed to detect the exact shape of
the objects about him. Seeking the most suitable restingplace,
he laid his weary bones down on a fresh pile of
manure under the blurred mass of a huizache tree. He
lay down, more exhausted than resigned, and closed his
eyes, resolutely determined to sleep until his fierce keepers
or the morning sun, burning his ears, awakened him.
Something vaguely like warmth at his side, then a tired
hoarse breath, made him shudder. He opened his eyes
and feeling about him with his hands, he sensed the
coarse hairs of a large pig which, resenting the presence of
a neighbor, began to grunt.
All Luis' efforts to sleep proved quite useless, not
only because the pain of his wound or the bruises on his
flesh smarted, but because he suddenly realized the
exact nature of his failure.
Yes, failure! For he had never learned to appreciate
exactly the difference between fulminating sentences of