metrio repeats this order.

A young man, a recent recruit, his head turned by drink, laughs and
walks boldly toward the door. But before he has reached the threshold,
a shot lays him low. He falls like a bull pierced in the neck by the
matador's sword. Motionless, his smoking gun in his hand, Demetrio
waits for the soldiers to withdraw.

"Set fire to the house!" he orders Luis Cervantes when they reach their
quarters.

With a curious eagerness Luis Cervantes does not transmit the order but
undertakes the task in person.

Two hours later when the city square was black with smoke and enormous
tongues of fire rose from Monico's house, no one could account for the
strange behavior of the general.

VI

They established themselves in a large gloomy house, which likewise
belonged to the cacique of Moyahua. The previous occupants had already
left strong evidences in the patio, which had been converted into a
manure pile. The walls, once whitewashed, were now faded and cracked,
revealing the bare unbaked adobe; the floor had been torn up by the
hoofs of animals; the orchard was littered with rotted branches and
dead leaves. From the entrance one stumbled over broken bits of chairs
and other furniture covered with dirt.

By ten o'clock, Luis Cervantes yawned with boredom, said good night to
Blondie and War Paint, who were downing endless drinks on a bench in
the square, and made for the barracks. The drawing room was alone
furnished. As he entered, Demetrio, lying on the floor with his eyes
wide open, trying to count the beams, gazed at him.

"It's you, eh? What's new? Come on, sit down."

Luis Cervantes first went over to trim the candle, then drew up a chair
without a back, a coarse rag doing the duty of a wicker bottom. The
legs of the chair squeaked. War Paint's black horse snorted and whirled
its crupper in wide circles. Luis Cervantes sank into his seat.

"General, I wish to make my report. Here you have ..."

"Look here, man, I didn't really want this done, you know. Moyahua is
almost like my native town. They'll say this is why we've been
fighting!" Demetrio said, looking at the bulging sack of silver
Cervantes was passing to him. Cervantes left his seat to squat down by
Demetrio's side.

He stretched a blanket over the floor and into it poured the ten-peso
pieces, shining, burning gold.

"First of all, General, only you and I know about this.... Secondly,
you know well enough that if the sun shines,