The country became a vast fertile plain, cut up by irrigating ditches which were overshadowed by long lines of great alamo trees, leafless and gray as ashes. Like a furnace door, the white-hot sun blazed upon us, and the far-stretched barren fields reeked a thin mist. A cloud of white dust moved with us and around us. By the church of the Hacienda San Pedro we stopped and dickered with an aged peon for a sack of corn and straw for the mules. Farther along was an exquisite low building of pink plaster, set back from the road in a grove of green willows. "That?" said Antonio. "Oh, that is nothing but a flour mill." We had lunch in the long whitewashed, dirt-floored room of a peon’s house at another great hacienda, whose name I forget, but which I know had once belonged to Luis Terrazzas and was now the confiscated property of the Constitutionalist government. And that night we made camp beside an irrigation ditch miles from any house, in the middle of the bandit territory. After a dinner of chopped-up meat and peppers, _tortillas_, beans and black coffee, Antonio and I gave Primitivo his instructions. He was to keep watch beside the fire with Antonio’s revolver and, if he heard anything, was to wake us. But on no account was he to go to sleep. If he did we would kill him. Primitivo said, "_Si, señor_," very gravely, opened his eyes wide, and gripped the pistol. Antonio and I rolled up in our blankets by the fire. I must have gone to sleep at once, because when I was wakened by Antonio’s rising, my watch showed only half an hour later. From the place where Primitivo had been placed on guard came a series of hearty snores. The lieutenant walked over to him. "Primitivo!" he said. No answer. "Primitivo, you fool!" Our sentinel stirred in his sleep and turned over with noises indicative of comfort. "Primitivo!" shouted Antonio, violently kicking him. He gave absolutely no response. Antonio drew back and launched a kick at his back that lifted him several feet into the air. With a start Primitivo woke. He started up alertly, waving the revolver. "_Quien vive?_" cried Primitivo.