It was not till late that night that Miguel and Gabriel were settled comfortably. The old sheepherder had not been seriously injured. Faint from loss of blood, he had asked to be left in the chapel till next day. They set up a cot for Gabriel in the dining room, close to the kitchen in case he needed someone. Raul sat down to read to him. They had agreed on _Don Quixote_. He found the place where he had left off weeks ago and his eyes slid over familiar paragraphs. Had Cervantes written _Don Quixote_ in prison? Then he should at least be able to read aloud under stress ... smoke curled from his pipe ... Gabriel slept.... A night bird called repetitive notes. In a day or two, soldiers might improve local conditions. He must get Angelina to Guadalajara somehow ... tomorrow ... next day. She had grown violently hysterical when she learned that Gabriel and Calvo had been shot. He dimmed the light and laid his book on the buffet and saw his old pipe, a favorite. Manuel had given it to him when Caterina was a baby. Manuel had carved P/C on the bowl, Petaca's cattle brand. He had been clever at carving, but he didn't do any handcraft any more.... His face had lost its smile.... So many, many things had vanished, or changed. Raul paused in the living room by his desk where his revolver gleamed. In the bedroom, his father coughed his dry cough. Gravely concerned for Lucienne, he lit his pipe and stepped to the fireplace. Perhaps the clock needed winding: yes, he wound it carefully, as if for the last time. Someone was coming up the steps. "Don Raul?" "Manuel." "I went to see Calvo." "How is he?" "He's all right." "We must get Angelina's things packed tomorrow." "I'm ready to help you." "Thank you for getting Vicente back to Colima safely. That's an accomplishment these days." "Let's make the rounds together," said Manuel. "It's no world for Angelina," Raul said. "We must get her to Guadalajara." "Have you heard from Palma Sola?" "Not a word." "Esteban has gone there again." "I don't like the silence," Raul exclaimed. "Shall I ride to Colima?" "Wait till tomorrow. After breakfast we must work at the packing. Have the carriage in front of the house. Let's do everything to get Angelina off. Organize her guards, six or eight men. If we can get to Colima tomorrow, I'll see about Lucienne." It seemed to Raul, as he helped load the carriage in the morning, that he might fall asleep as he worked. He had slept little. Even the rain did not revive him, a warm, pleasant rain, slanting in long, insistent lines. He had passed most of the night on the sofa in the living room. The clock had said: Tighten that strap; put that valise on top; go see about Angelina. Someone spoke. "Yes," said Raul, strapping a valise. "I just came from Palma Sola." "Yes," said Raul, looking at a rain-streaked, mustached face, with a scar over one eye.