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Chapter 6
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Hebegantoturnthecigarinhislipsalittlenervously,andwenton—
“Butthatistalk—goodforthepoliticos.Iamamilitaryman.Idonotknowwhatmayhappen.ButIknowwhatoughttobedone—themineshouldmarchuponthetownwithguns,axes,knivestieduptosticks—porDios.Thatiswhatshouldbedone.Only—”
Hisfoldedhandstwitchedonthehilt.Thecigarturnedfasterinthecornerofhislips.
“AndwhoshouldleadbutI?Unfortunately—observe—IhavegivenmywordofhonourtoDonCarlosnottolettheminefallintothehandsofthesethieves.Inwar—youknowthis,Padre—thefateofbattlesisuncertain,andwhomcouldIleaveheretoactformeincaseofdefeat?Theexplosivesareready.Butitwouldrequireamanofhighhonour,ofintelligence,ofjudgment,ofcourage,tocarryouttheprepareddestruction.SomebodyIcantrustwithmyhonourasIcantrustmyself.AnotheroldofficerofPaez,forinstance.Or—or—perhapsoneofPaez’soldchaplainswoulddo.”
Hegotup,long,lank,upright,hard,withhismartialmoustacheandthebonystructureofhisface,fromwhichtheglanceofthesunkeneyesseemedtotransfixthepriest,whostoodstill,anemptywoodensnuff-boxheldupsidedowninhishand,andglaredback,speechless,atthegovernorofthemine.