Smiling, Pancracio turned his beardless head around as if soliciting applause. Then the stranger spoke: "Who's your commander?" Proudly, Anastasio raised his head, went up to him and looked him in the face. The stranger lowered his tone considerably. "Well, I'm a revolutionist, too, you know. The Government drafted me and I served as a private, but I managed to desert during the battle the day before yesterday, and I've been walking about in search of you all." "So he's a Government soldier, eh?" A murmur of incredulity rose from the men, interrupting the stranger. "So that's what you are, eh? One of those damn half-breeds," said Anastasio Montanez. "Why the hell didn't you pump your lead in his brain, Pancracio?" "What's he talking about, anyhow? I can't make head nor tail of it. He says he wants to see Demetrio and that he's got plenty to say to him. But that's all right: we've got plenty of time to do anything we damn well please so long as you're in no hurry, that's all," said Pancracio, loading his gun. "What kind of beasts are you?" the prisoner cried. He could say no more: Anastasio's fist, crashing down upon his face, sent his head turning on his neck, covered with blood. "Shoot the half-breed!" "Hang him!" "Burn him alive; he's a lousy Federal." In great excitement, they yelled and shrieked and were about to fire at the prisoner. "Sssh! Shut up! I think Demetrio's talking now," Anastasio said, striving to quiet them. Indeed, Demetrio, having ascertained the cause of the turmoil, ordered them to bring the prisoner before him. "It's positively infamous, senor; look," Luis Cervantes said, pointing to the bloodstains on his trousers and to his bleeding face. "All right, all right. But who in hell are you? That's what I want to know," Demetrio said. "My name is Luis Cervantes, sir. I'm a medical student and a journalist. I wrote a piece in favor of the revolution, you see; as a result, they persecuted me, caught me, and finally landed me in the barracks." His ensuing narrative was couched in terms of such detail and expressed in terms so melodramatic that it drew guffaws of mirth from Pancracio and Manteca. "All I've tried to do is to make myself clear on this point. I want you to be convinced that I am truly one of your coreligionists...." "What's that? What did you say? Car ... what?" Demetrio asked, bringing his ear close to Cervantes. "Coreligionist, sir, that is to say, a person who possesses the same religion, who is inspired by the same ideals, who defends and fights for the same cause you are now fighting for." Demetrio smiled: "What are we fighting for? That's what I'd like to know." In his disconcertment, Luis Cervantes could find no reply. "Look at that mug, look at 'im! Why waste any time, Demetrio? Let's shoot him," Pancracio urged impatiently.