"If we get through the corral, we can make the alley, eh?" Demetrio
asked.
"That's right," the workman answered. "Beyond the corral there's a
house, then another corral, then there's a store."
Demetrio scratched his head, thoughtfully. This time his decision was
immediate.
"Can you get hold of a crowbar or something like that to make a hole
through the wall?"
"Yes, we'll get anything you want, but ..."
"But what? Where can we get a crowbar?"
"Everything is right there. But it all belongs to the boss."
Without further ado, Demetrio strode into the shed which had been
pointed out as the toolhouse.
It was all a matter of a few minutes. Once in the alley, hugging to the
walls, they marched forward in single file until they reached the rear
of the church. Now they had but a single fence and the rear wall of the
chapel to scale.
"God's will be done!" Demetrio said to himself. He was the first to
clamber over.
Like monkeys the others followed him, reaching the other side with
bleeding, grimy hands. The rest was easy. The deep worn steps along the
stonework made their ascent of the chapel wall swifter. The church
vault hid them from the soldiers.
"Wait a moment, will you?" said the workman. "I'll go and see where my
brother is; I'll let you know and then you'll get at the officers."
But no one paid the slightest attention to him.
For a second, Demetrio glanced at the soldiers' black coats hanging on
the wall, then at his own men, thick on the church tower behind the
iron rail. He smiled with satisfaction and turning to his men said:
"Come on, now, boys!"
Twenty bombs exploded simultaneously in the midst of the soldiers who,
awaking terrified out of their sleep, started up, their eyes wide open.
But before they had realized their plight, twenty more bombs burst like
thunder upon them leaving a scattering of men killed or maimed.
"Don't do that yet, for God's sake! Don't do it till I find my
brother," the workman implored in anguish.
In vain an old sergeant harangued the soldiers, insulting them in the
hope of rallying them. For they were rats, caught in a trap, no more,
no less. Some of the soldiers, attempting to reach the small door by
the staircase, fell to the ground pierced by Demetrio's shots. Others
fell at the feet of these twenty-odd specters, with faces and breasts
dark as iron, clad in long torn trousers of white cloth which fell to
their leather sandals, scattering death and destruction below them. In
the belfry, a few men struggled to emerge from the pile of dead who had
fallen upon them.
"It's awful, Chief!" Luis Cervantes cried in alarm. "We've no more
bombs left and we left our guns in the corral."
Smiling, Demetrio drew out a large shining knife. In the twinkling of
an eye, steel flashed in every hand. Some knives were large and
pointed, others wide as the palm of a hand, others heavy as bayonets.
"The spy!" Luis Cervantes cried triumphantly. "Didn't I tell you?"
"Don't kill me, Chief, please don't kill me," the old sergeant implored
squirming at the feet of Demetrio, who stood over him, knife in hand.
The victim raised his wrinkled Indian face; there was not a single gray
hair in his head today. Demetrio recognized the spy who had lied to him
the day before. Terrified, Luis Cervantes quickly averted his face. The
steel blade went crack, crack, on the old man's ribs. He toppled
backward, his arms spread, his eyes ghastly.
"Don't kill my brother, don't kill him, he's my brother!" the workman
shouted in terror to Pancracio who was pursuing a soldier. But it was
too late. With one thrust, Pancracio had cut his neck in half, and two
streams of scarlet spurted from the wound.
"Kill the soldiers, kill them all!"
Pancracio and Manteca surpassed the others in the savagery of their
slaughter, and finished up with the wounded. Montanez, exhausted, let
his arm fall; it hung limp to his side. A gentle expression still
filled his glance; his eyes shone; he was naive as a child, unmoral as
a hyena.
"Here's one who's not dead yet," Quail shouted.
Pancracio ran up. The little blond captain with curled mustache turned
pale as wax. He stood against the door to the staircase unable to
muster enough strength to take another step.
Pancracio pushed him brutally to the edge of the corridor. A jab with
his knee against the captain's thigh--then a sound not unlike a bag of
stones falling from the top of the steeple on the porch of the church.
"My God, you've got no brains!" said Quail. "If I'd known what you were
doing, I'd have kept him for myself. That was a fine pair of shoes you
lost!"
Bending over them, the rebels stripped those among the soldiers who
were best clad, laughing and joking as they despoiled them. Brushing
back his long hair, that had fallen over his sweating forehead and
covered his eyes, Demetrio said:
"Now let's get those city fellows!"