ong, to shoot at
him, to put him in the stocks, to take him to the capital, and only
because--because he had a new pair of pantaloons! This calls for
vengeance! The civil-guards are committing abuses! I swear that if
I ever again catch one of them in my garden, as has often happened,
I'll chop him up, I'll chop him up, or else--let him try to chop me
up!" Few persons, however, joined in the protests of the Mussulmanish
mother-in-law.

"Don Crisostomo is to blame for all this," sighed a woman.

The schoolmaster was also in the crowd, wandering about bewildered. Nor
Juan did not rub his hands, nor was he carrying his rule and plumb-bob;
he was dressed in black, for he had heard the bad news and, true
to his habit of looking upon the future as already assured, was in
mourning for Ibarra's death.

At two o'clock in the afternoon an open cart drawn by two oxen stopped
in front of the town hall. This was at once set upon by the people,
who attempted to unhitch the oxen and destroy it. "Don't do that!" said
Capitana Maria. "Do you want to make them walk?" This consideration
acted as a restraint on the prisoners' relatives.

Twenty soldiers came out and surrounded the cart; then the prisoners
appeared. The first was Don Filipo, bound. He greeted his wife
smilingly, but Doray broke out into bitter weeping and two guards had
difficulty in preventing her from embracing her husband. Antonio, the
son of Capitana Tinay, appeared crying like a baby, which only added to
the lamentations of his family. The witless Andong broke out into tears
at sight of his mother-in-law, the cause of his misfortune. Albino,
the quondam theological student, was also bound, as were Capitana
Maria's twins. All three were grave and serious. The last to come
out was Ibarra, unbound, but conducted between two guards. The pallid
youth looked about him for a friendly face.

"He's the one that's to blame!" cried many voices. "He's to blame
and he goes loose!"

"My son-in-law hasn't done anything and he's got handcuffs on!" Ibarra
turned to the guards. "Bind me, and bind me well, elbow to elbow,"
he said.

"We haven't any order."

"Bind me!" And the soldiers obeyed.

The alferez appeared on horseback, armed to the teeth, ten or fifteen
more soldiers following him.

Each prisoner had his family there to pray for him, to weep for him,
to bestow on him the most endearing names--all save Ibarra, who had
no one, even Nor Juan and the schoolmaster having