"If we are not to run like rabbits all over the country side and be caught or shot in couples, we must rally and make a stand somewhere, senor. Why not at Calvarro’s? The house could be held for a long time, if we can only get a handful of men to it. I own I don’t like these soldiers everywhere. It looks to me as if the blow had fallen at Daroca, and we were too late to do anything there. But we are men, I hope, and can fight and die, if need be, like men. For my part I’d rather find a lodging for a bullet in my body than have my whole body lodged in a gaol to rot there until the cursed Government chose to turn merciful and let me out. To hell with their mercy, say I. Give me the word and let me take my chance of getting into Daroca with a message from you to bring help to Calvarro’s, and I’ll do it and be back before the soldiers can find the place, or finding it, can smoke you out of it." "Your life would——" "I’ll chance my life," he burst in, impatiently. "I beg your pardon, senor; but there are, or were, plenty in Daroca who are of my mind, and would a thousand times rather fight than go on manifestoeing and scheming and fooling the time and the opportunity away. For the Holy Virgin’s sake let some of us do something like men. One good rally, and who knows but the fire will be kindled that will rage all over Spain? It will be the beacon which thousands of eyes are asking to see and thousands of hearts will welcome." "I’m with Cabrera, senor," said Garcia. "Let us go to the town and bring out our friends. If we fail, well, we fail—but we shall at least have tried, while now——" and he shrugged his shoulders and ended with a sneer: "We might be children or Government men." Had I been one of them in reality, the plan was just what I would have welcomed; but as it was, I could not counsel it and give my voice for fighting. "No, not yet. We must wait and hear first, if we can, from Juan how things have gone in Daroca." "Aye, aye, wait, wait, always wait, till the soldiers have time to get their firing platoons in position, and we can be shot like worn-out mules instead of fighting like men," growled Cabrera, gloomily; and he and Garcia turned to grumble in sympathy, while I rode on. When we were quite close to Calvarro’s—a place that lay indeed most marvellously concealed—and were approaching the farm by a path cunningly masked through a dense olive wood, a lad sprang out of the undergrowth and called to Andreas. "Juan is here, senor," he said; and the boy, some two years younger than his brother and much resembling him, came to me. "Tell the senor the news in Daroca, Juan."