The walls of the farmhouse were thick, and unless Pablo brought his artillery into action they had a very fair chance of holding the place for some hours.
Holtz checked over the stores that the General had left for them. There were sufficient rations for four meals. It was enough. Holtz had no intention of holding the place longer than necessary. Not that he was going to surrender; he made a little face at the thought. Pablo was noted for his cruelty. He would have no mercy on prisoners.
There was a story told about this Pablo. Holtz had heard it several times. He remembered quite well the first time he heard it. It was while he was spending a few days away from the actual front line preparing for an offensive which proved later to be unsuccessful. He had spent the day inspecting horses, guns and men, and in the evening he was glad to sit by the fire, relaxing his aching limbs. It was Santez, his brother officer, who began talking about Pablo.
“I have studied this man,” Santez said, holding two bony hands towards the fire. “He interested me. I wanted to know why he is so successful in the field. Why it is that Cortez has tried so often to trap him and has failed each time. So, for some time I made it my business to find out things about him, and although I never succeeded in finding out why he is a better general than Cortez, I heard a little story about him which supports my theory that a General who is feared is more successful than a General who is merely admired.”
Holtz had said, rather impatiently: “But no one admires Cortez. Are you comparing these two men?”
“No. Cortez is a fool. Comparison is out of the question between them.”
“I have heard it said that Pablo is very cruel,” Holtz said. “He has done many barbarous things in his time.”
Santez nodded. “Yes,” he said, “I will tell you. I have heard it from a good source. It was told me by one of Pablo’s men who fell into our hands a few weeks ago. It happened like this. There was an engagement; Pablo’s advance was checked by a small band of our troops who had become separated from the main body. Pablo was very annoyed that such a small band could hold up an army as large as his. At the same time, he was determined that he would not lose any more men attacking this band who were on the top of a rocky hill which afforded excellent cover.
“Not very far away there was a colony, and Pablo sent some of his soldiers and brought from this colony a large number of old men, women and children. These he forced to approach the hill with his own men sheltering behind them. Our men, of course, were very unwilling to fire on these innocent people, but as they kept coming closer they had no alternative. It is a bad thing to see women and children fall before a volley of rifle-fire. After the first volley the remaining soldiers refused to fire any more and they stood up and surrendered. The officer in charge begged them to continue the fighting, but the soldiers would not do so. They were not to know that some of these people were their own relations. It was a very difficult situation. So they surrendered, and they were brought before Pablo. There were sixteen of them. They were brave men and they had done their duty. Pablo decided that they should all die. They stood before him, in two rows, waiting for him to decide how they were going to die.
“The officer was a very brave man and he stood stiffly to attention, looking at Pablo with scorn in his eyes. Pablo ordered sixteen horses to be brought and each man was tied by the feet to the horse’s saddle. Then, at Pablo’s command, the horses were ridden across the rough country at a furious pace, dragging these men behind them. It is not a nice death, and it is only one example of Pablo’s cruelty. Perhaps the wickedest thing he ever did was when he took a small village and slaughtered everyone. The women had a very bad time. When his men had finished with them, he made them parade naked in the village street, and he flogged them with barbed wire until they died. The children were all thrown into a large fire, where they perished, screaming for their mothers; and the men were buried in the sand, alive, and left to suffocate. That indeed was a black day in Pablo’s life.”
Those and other stories Holtz had heard about Pablo. It would not do to surrender, rather, to keep a bullet for himself, if the worst came. He wondered if he would have the courage to kill himself if the time came for him to do so; he didn’t know. He thought that he would; but until he had to press the cold barrel against his temple he really didn’t know. He hoped that he would find the courage, anyway.
His thoughts were interrupted by Sergeant Castra, who came in at that moment. “The gun is set up, Lieutenant,” he said. “Shall I post one of the men as sentry?”
Holtz nodded. “Yes,” he said; “send Golz. Send him down the road where he can observe for some distance. If he sees the enemy advancing, he is to come back here immediately. See how Dedos is getting on. I left him with the dynamite.”
Castra went away. Holtz felt satisfied with him. He could be relied on to take the responsibilities of preparing for the attack.
Holtz checked over the Lewis gun and then went to the window and peered through the small opening that commanded an uninterrupted view of the road. He could see Dedos kneeling in the dust, his hands busy. Further on, Golz was moving towards the slight crest to take up his position as sentry.
The sun was very hot and threw sharp black shadows. Overhead there were no clouds. It was an unwarlike day, and looking across the courtyard Holtz felt a sudden pang of nostalgia. How absurd all this was. What a farce. At that moment his white-and-gold uniform meant nothing to him. He wanted, very badly, to see Nina again. He could see her very clearly. Tall, dark and vivacious. Yes, you would say she was vivacious. She had a tremendous spirit of gaiety. He had only seen her sad once, and that was just before he said good-bye to her. Neither of them knew when they would meet again. It was the knowledge of not knowing that is the canker of war. Holtz knew that it was she who must suffer in his absence. The privation of her company and of her love were as nothing to the long days of suspended waiting that she must endure. Long before the news could reach her, he would have passed through his pain, and would have been beyond the reach of anything that could harm him more.
He wondered how long she would remain faithful to his memory. It was absurd to expect her to give up her life in mourning for him. He would not like that, or would he? He didn’t know. If he had been like Mendetta, he would not be thinking of her at all. Mendetta had never really loved anyone. He had not a lover’s vulnerability. He could go into action caring only for himself. He had no haunting thought that with his death someone else would die a little too. It was an added responsibility, this being in love. Yet he had no regrets. He would not have had it otherwise. When one loved as he loved, the pattern of life was sharp-etched. The lines ran sharply and life for him had intensified. Within him dwelt a rock-like feeling of security. He was sure of something. Yes, that was it. In this world of uncertainty, of revolution, of distrust and violent death, he was sure of one thing. He knew that Nina loved him and that he loved her. It wasn’t a passing moment of heady, ecstatic love, but a genuine feeling between them that made them as one. That established an affinity between them, binding them close and giving to their love an understanding that is very rare.
Why had he bothered about this stupid revolution? Why had he taken sides in such a hopeless, unequal struggle? Perhaps it was that he wanted to justify himself by taking the hardest road. Nina had listened to him talk, night after night. They sat in the cafes or in their big bedroom, talking and discussing the revolution. She could see him gradually moving in his mind towards the moment when he had to rejoin his regiment. They could have slipped away easily enough over the border into America and have left this all behind. But she knew he wouldn’t do that. She knew he would be unhappy unless he stood with his General. Not that he thought a great deal of Cortez—he didn’t; but he felt that, as an officer, he had no right to shirk his responsibilities, and, finally, he went.
They parted at night. She joined some friends not far from Cortez’ headquarters, and he reported to Cortez with the knowledge that no matter how well they fought, Pablo was certain to prove too much for them. It was an uneasy beginning, but that did not matter. He knew that he was doing right by himself.
He had to stop thinking about the past, because Dedos had finished his work and was coming back to the farm. He moved slowly backwards, unwinding the coil of wire as he went. Holtz turned and went down the uneven stairs and crossed the courtyard to meet him.
“The wire reaches so far,” Dedos said, stopping a few feet beyond the farm gate.
Holtz considered that it would do. “You will have to conceal yourself here,” he said. “As soon as the enemy passes over the mine in sufficient numbers you are to explode it. Then come back to the farmhouse as quickly as possible.”
Dedos smiled. His thin, cruel little face looked quite animated. “It is well, Lieutenant,” he said. “That I will do very well.”
Holtz inspected the mine and found that Dedos had done very well. There was nothing more he could do to better it. He said as much to Dedos, who again smiled. Today had been kind to him.
Holtz helped him connect the wires to the exploder. “You will wait for my signal,” he said. “Sit here in the
