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Chapter 3

           Therewasacharcoalbrazieroutsidethesentrybox,madefromanoldpetroltinwiththetopcutoffandholespunchedinit,whichrestedontwostones;butheheldnofire.Thereweresomefire-blackenedemptytinsintheashesunderit.

           RobertJordanhandedtheglassestoAnselmowholayflatbesidehim.Theoldmangrinnedandshookhishead.Hetappedhisskullbesidehiseyewithonefinger.

           "Yaloveo,"hesaidinSpanish."Ihaveseenhim,"speakingfromthefrontofhismouthwithalmostnomovementofhislipsinthewaythatisquieterthananywhisper.HelookedatthesentryasRobertJordansmiledathimand,pointingwithonefinger,drewtheotheracrosshisthroat.RobertJordannoddedbuthedidnotsmile.

           Thesentryboxatthefarendofthebridgefacedawayfromthemanddowntheroadandtheycouldnotseeintoit.Theroad,whichwasbroadandoiledandwellconstructed,madeaturntotheleftatthefarendofthebridgeandthenswungoutofsightaroundacurvetotheright.Atthispointitwasenlargedfromtheoldroadtoitspresentwidthbycuttingintothesolidbastionoftherockonthefarsideofthegorge;anditsleftorwesternedge,lookingdownfromthepassandthebridge,wasmarkedandprotectedbyalineofuprightcutblocksofstonewhereitsedgefellsheerawaytothegorge.Thegorgewasalmostacanyonhere,wherethebrook,thatthebridgewasflungover,mergedwiththemainstreamofthepass.

           "Andtheotherpost?"RobertJordanaskedAnselmo.

           "Fivehundredmetersbelowthatturn.Intheroadmender’shutthatisbuiltintothesideoftherock."

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