cia he had gone straight on to the
Avellanos's house to tell his brother-in-law, and though he stayed there
no more than half an hour he had found himself cut off from his ascetic
abode. Nostromo, after waiting there for some time, watching uneasily
the increasing uproar in the street, had made his way to the offices of
the Porvenir, and stayed there till daylight, as Decoud had mentioned
in the letter to his sister. Thus the Capataz, instead of riding towards
the Los Hatos woods as bearer of Hernandez's nomination, had remained in
town to save the life of the President Dictator, to assist in repressing
the outbreak of the mob, and at last to sail out with the silver of the
mine.

But Father Corbelan, escaping to Hernandez, had the document in his
pocket, a piece of official writing turning a bandit into a general in
a memorable last official act of the Ribierist party, whose watchwords
were honesty, peace, and progress. Probably neither the priest nor the
bandit saw the irony of it. Father Corbelan must have found messengers
to send into the town, for early on the second day of the disturbances
there were rumours of Hernandez being on the road to Los Hatos ready
to receive those who would put themselves under his protection. A
strange-looking horseman, elderly and audacious, had appeared in the
town, riding slowly while his eyes examined the fronts of the houses,
as though he had never seen such high buildings before. Before the
cathedral he had dismounted, and, kneeling in the middle of the Plaza,
his bridle over his arm and his hat lying in front of him on the ground,
had bowed his head, crossing himself and beating his breast for some
little time. Remounting his horse, with a fearless but not unfriendly
look round the little gathering formed about his public devotions, he
had asked for the Casa Avellanos. A score of hands were extended in
answer, with fingers pointing up the Calle de la Constitucion.

The horseman had gone on with only a glance of casual curiosity upwards
to the windows of the Amarilla Club at the corner. His stentorian voice
shouted periodically in the empty street, "Which is the Casa Avellanos?"
till an answer came from the scared porter, and he disappeared under
the gate. The letter he was bringing, written by Father Corbelan with
a pencil by the camp-fire of Hernandez, was addressed to Don Jose, of
whose critical state the priest was not aware. Antonia read it, and,
after consulting Charles Gou