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"They are not two miles away," said Anastacio. "And the dawn will be here in an hour. There are ten miles between us and the mountains. I don't wish to fight in the open without knowing their numbers." Roldan danced up and down with sudden excitement. "I have a plan," he cried. "You can trust me. I don't want to go back."
Who are your fathers?" Roldan explained. Anastacio flushed under his thick skin. "Good. I will double the ransom and the guard." "The conscription will be over in a few weeks " "You could not go before. We too must hide. Of course the soldiers are behind. I have many scouts watching. Now go to sleep." The following week was clear and bright, but very cold.
Anastacio Barela, the fourth and last inquisitor, maintained unmoved the disinterested attitude he had held since the interrogation began. Feet crossed, he lounged in his chair, graceful, silent, smoking, listening, idly observant of wall and ceiling. No answer being forthcoming to his query Pringle launched another: "Speaking of faces, Creagan, old sport, what's happened to you and your nose?
For just as Gandara was devoted to piebald horses, so Don Anastacio was devoted to pigs. It would not have been like him if these had been pigs for profit: they were not animals fit to be fattened for the market, and no person would have thought of buying such beasts.
But what could they do in an uprising? We must get rid of Anastacio. I will go now and speak to Padre Flores." Roldan went out into the square and strolled over to the soldiers' quarters. The door was closed, but light streamed from an uncovered window, and he had a good view of the guard room. A half dozen soldiers were lying about on benches, half-dressed, smoking the eternal cigarrito.
In this chapter I wish to introduce the reader to the last but one of the half a dozen of our nearest neighbours, selected as typical of the smaller estancieros a class of landowners and cattle-breeders then in their decay and probably now fast vanishing. This was Don Anastacio Buenavida, who was an original person too in his little way.
The sky was turning grey as they reached the straggling outposts of the forest on the mountain. The firing had ceased. Their ruse had doubtless been discovered. "We will hide for twenty-four hours and rest," Anastacio said to Roldan, who was the only person he condescended to hold converse with, although he allowed Adan to sun himself in his presence.
It was on a brilliant winter's morning that Anastacio, his captives, and his five hundred men wound their way down through the cold forest on the mountain into the soft warm air of the valley. There had been no rain for three weeks, and the river was not more than half full; and it was very quiet.
The boys barely recognised Anastacio. Where was that commanding presence, that haughty mien? Bowed like an old man, blind from smoke, with simmering brain, he reeled into the water with as little dignity as his creatures. But in less than an hour all had sprung forth briskly, danced about in the sun to dry, and started on a run for the pueblo.
The cool imperturbability of the earlier part of the day had fled with their arrows. Anastacio fought like a tiger. Despite his wounded thigh he stood firmly on his feet, snatched the musket from a man his hands had throttled, and whirled it about his head, threatening death to all that approached.
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