About eleven I rounded the shoulder of a mountain and saw the small gray patch that was Bruquilla. Here passed the Camino Real, and the desert lay flat and open. A mile away a tiny horseman jogged along. He seemed to see me; he pulled up short and looked in my direction a long time. I stood perfectly motionless. Pretty soon he went on, getting smaller and smaller, until at last there was nothing but a little puff of dust. There was no other sign of life for miles and miles. I bent low and ran along the side of the road, where there was no dust. Half a league westward lay the Güereca’s house, hidden in the gigantic row of alamo trees that fringed its running brook. A long way off I could see a little red spot on the top of the low hill beside it; when I came nearer, I saw it was father Güereca, staring toward the east. He came running down when he saw me, clenching his hands. "What has passed? What has passed? Is it true that the _colorados_ have taken the Cadena?" I told him briefly what had happened. "And Longinos?" he cried, wrenching at my arm. "Have you seen Longinos?" "No," I said. "The _compañeros_ all retreated to Santo Domingo." "You must not stay here," said the old man, trembling. "Let me have some water—I can hardly speak." "Yes, yes, drink. There is the brook. The _colorados_ must not find you here." The old man looked around with anguish at the little rancho he had fought so hard to gain. "They would destroy us all." Just then the old mother appeared in the doorway. "Come here, Juan Reed," she cried. "Where is my boy? Why doesn’t he come? Is he dead? Tell me the truth!" "Oh, I think they all got away all right," I told her. "And you! Have you eaten? Have you breakfasted?" "I haven’t had a drop of water since last night, nor any food. And I came all the way from La Cadena on foot." "Poor little boy! Poor little boy!" she wailed, putting her arms around me. "Sit down now, and I will cook you something." Old Güereca bit his lip in an agony of apprehension. Finally hospitality won. "My house is at your orders," he muttered. "But hurry! Hurry! You must not be seen here! I will go up on the hill and watch for dust!" I drank several quarts of water and ate four fried eggs and some cheese. The old man had returned and was fidgeting around. "I sent all my children to Jarral Grande," he said. "We heard this morning. The whole valley is fleeing to the mountains. Are you ready?" "Stay here," invited the Señora. "We will hide you from the _colorados_ until Longinos comes home!" Her husband screamed at her. "Are you mad? He mustn’t be found here! Are you ready now? Come on then!" I limped along down through a burnt, yellow cornfield. "Follow this path," said the old man, "through those two fields and the chaparral. It will take you to the highroad to the Pelayo. May you go well!" We shook hands, and a moment later I saw him shuffling back up the hill with flapping sandals.