"_Na_, and be hacked by the _machetes_ of the _guerrillas_, or lassoed by government soldiers and dragged off to the war?" The official mopped the damp from his purple brow. "_Caramba!_" he went on. "But the Antioquanians will come down the Simití trail from Remedios and butcher every one they meet! They hate us Simitanians, since we whipped them in the revolution of seventy-six! And--_Diablo_! if we stay here and beat them back, then the federal troops will come with their ropes and chains and force us away to fight on their side! _Nombre de Dios!_ I am for the mountains--_pronto_!" Josè's own fear mounted by leaps. And yet, in the welter of conflicting thought two objects stood out above the rest--Carmen and Rosendo. The latter was on the trail, somewhere. Would he fall afoul of the bandits who find in these revolutions their opportunities for plunder and bloodshed? As for Carmen--the priest's apprehensions were piling mountain-high. He had quickly forgotten his recent theories regarding the nature of God and man. He had been swept by the force of ill tidings clean off the lofty spiritual plane up to which he had struggled during the past weeks. Again he was befouled in the mire of material fears and corroding speculations as to the probable manifestations of evil, real and immanent. Don Mario was right. He must take the child and fly at once. He would go to Doña Maria immediately and bid her prepare for the journey. "You had best go to Don Nicolás," replied Doña Maria, when the priest had voiced his fears to her. "He lives in Boque, and has a _hacienda_ somewhere up that river. He will send you there in his canoe." "And Boque is--?" "Three hours from Simití, across the shales. You must start with the dawn, or the heat will overtake you before you arrive." "Then make yourself ready, Doña Maria," said Josè in relief, "and we will set out in the morning." "Padre, I will stay here," the woman quietly replied. "Stay here!" ejaculated the priest. "Impossible! But why?" "There will be many women too old to leave the town, Padre. I will stay to help them if trouble comes. And I would not go without Rosendo." Shame fell upon the priest like a blanket. He, the _Cura_, was deserting his charge! And this quiet, dignified woman had shown herself stronger than the man of God! He turned to the door. Carmen was just entering. He took the child by the hand and led her to his own cottage. "Carmen," he said, as she stood expectantly before him, "we--there is trouble in the country--that is, men are fighting and killing down on the river--and they may come here. We must--I mean, I think it best for us to go away from Simití for a while." The priest's eyes fell before the perplexed gaze of the girl. "Go away?" she repeated slowly. "But, Padre--why?" "The soldiers might come--wicked men might come and harm you, _chiquita_!" The child seemed not to comprehend. "Is it that you think they will, Padre?" she at length spoke.