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Updated: May 13, 2025
This vigorous captain with the insolent air who might shoot him at any minute was the same urchin whom he had seen running around the ranch, the beardless Moltkecito who had been the butt of his daughter's ridicule. . . . The soldier, meanwhile, was explaining his presence there. He belonged to another division. There were many . . . many!
They should have killed even the women and children. We've got to put an end to these sharpshooters." His uncle looked at him in amazement. His Moltkecito was as formidable and ferocious as the others. . . . But the captain brought the conversation to an abrupt close by repeating the monstrous and everlasting excuse. "Very horrible, but what else can you expect! . . . That is war."
His nephew, divining his thoughts, could only offer the same old excuse "What a mess! . . . But that is war!" With Moltkecito, he did not have to subside into the respectful civilities of fear. "That is NOT war!" he thundered bitterly. "It is an expedition of bandits. . . . Your comrades are nothing less than highwaymen." Captain von Hartrott swelled up with a jerk.
Captain von Hartrott rose, too; it was necessary for him to return to his general; he had already dedicated too much time to family expansion. His uncle accompanied him to the automobile where Moltkecito once more justified the ruin and plunder of the castle. "It is war. . . . We have to be very ruthless that it may not last long.
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