"More coming!" they shouted. Some, panic-stricken, turned their horses back; others, abandoning their mounts, began to climb up the mountain and seek shelter behind the rocks. The officers had to shoot at them to enforce discipline. "Down there, down there!" said Demetrio as he leveled his rifle at the translucent thread of the river. A soldier fell into the water; at each shot, invariably a soldier bit the dust. Only Demetrio was shooting in that direction; for every soldier killed, ten or twenty of them, intact, climbed afresh on the other side. "Get those coming up from under! Los de Abajo! Get the underdogs!" he screamed. Now his fellows were exchanging rifles, laughing and making wagers on their marksmanship. "My leather belt if I miss that head there, on the black horse!" "Lend me your rifle, Meco." "Twenty Mauser cartridges and a half yard of sausage if you let me spill that lad riding the bay mare. All right! Watch me.... There! See him jump! Like a bloody deer." "Don't run, you half-breeds. Come along with you! Come and meet Father Demetrio!" Now it was Demetrio's men who screamed insults. Manteca, his smooth face swollen in exertion, yelled his lungs out. Pancracio roared, the veins and muscles in his neck dilated, his murderous eyes narrowed to two evil slits. Demetrio fired shot after shot, constantly warning his men of impending danger, but they took no heed until they felt the bullets spattering them from one side. "Goddamn their souls, they've branded me!" Demetrio cried, his teeth flashing. Then, very swiftly, he slid down a gully and was lost.... IV Two men were missing, Serapio the candymaker, and Antonio, who played the cymbals in the Juchipila band. "Maybe they'll join us further on," said Demetrio. The return journey proved moody. Anastasio Montanez alone preserved his equanimity, a kindly expression playing in his sleepy eyes and on his bearded face. Pancracio's harsh, gorillalike profile retained its repulsive immutability. The soldiers had retreated; Demetrio began the search for the soldiers' horses which had been hidden in the sierra. Suddenly Quail, who had been walking ahead, shrieked. He had caught sight of his companions swinging from the branches of a mesquite. There could be no doubt of their identity; Serapio and Antonio they certainly were. Anastasio Montanez prayed brokenly. "Our Father Who art in heaven, hallowed be Thy name. Thy kingdom come..." "Amen," his men answered in low tones, their heads bowed, their hats upon their breasts.... Then, hurriedly, they took the Juchipila canyon northward, without halting to rest until nightfall. Quail kept walking close to Anastasio unable to banish from his mind the two who were hanged, their dislocated limp necks, their dangling legs, their arms pendulous, and their bodies moving slowly in the wind.