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 resting-place, 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 death upon bandits in the
columns of a small country newspaper and actually setting out in search
of them, and tracking them to their lairs, gun in hand. During his
first day's march as volunteer lieutenant, he had begun to suspect the
error of his ways--a brutal sixty miles' journey it was, that left his
hips and legs one mass of raw soreness and soldered all his bones
together. A week later, after his first skirmish against the rebels, he
understood every rule of the game. Luis Cervantes would have taken up a
crucifix and solemnly sworn that as soon as the soldiers, gun in hand,
stood ready to shoot, some profoundly eloquent voice had spoken behind
them, saying, "Run for your lives." It was all crystal clear. Even his
noble-spirited horse, accustomed to battle, sought to sweep back on its
hind legs and gallop furiously away, to stop only at a safe distance
from the sound of firing. The sun was setting, the mountain became
peopled with vague and restless shadows, darkness scaled the ramparts
of the mountain hastily. What could be more logical then, than to seek
refuge behind the rocks and attempt to sleep, granting mind and body a
sorely needed rest?

But the soldier's logic is the logic of absurdity. On the morrow, for
example, his colonel awakened him rudely out of his sleep, cuffing and
belaboring him unmercifully, and, after having bashed in