The men were hurling burning wood away from the front of the _tienda_ and a flaming board fell across Pedro's body. "Take the board off that man!" someone shouted. "It's Pedro. He's dead," said Manuel. "Pedro's dead!" shouted Salvador. "Pedro's dead!" others shouted. Rifle fire began all along the walls and soon men came and informed Raul that they had beaten off the attackers; presently, others reported that the dining-room fire had been extinguished ... ashen faces, wounded men ... Raul, his clothes ripped and filthy, stared at them. They went up to a water pail and splashed and drank, saying little. "Shall we take a look at the mill?" Raul asked Manuel. "Yes ... yes." Raul stood by the smoldering ashes a long time before he said: "The bastards, to burn it! They might better have stolen the corn and wheat. They could have eaten that. This way everybody loses!" A gentle mist was falling and he and Manuel stood under a jacaranda, the body of a scorched rat near their feet. The wind shook the damp leaves and pigeons flew low, avoiding the mill. The chapel bell tolled, telling the story. "Well, we've seen the mill," said Raul. "What a fire!" said Manuel. "Look how the beams burned." Raul noticed the charred beams in the ruin. "The quake knocked down the mill," he said. "The fire got going, then the quake pulled down the beams." He nodded toward the volcano, now drowned in mist. Raul pulled Manuel's sleeve. "We have things to do, Manuel. I want to go back to the house. I must bury my father." "What ... he's dead!" "The quake killed him. Help me take his body away, Manuel. It won't be easy." And he welcomed the rain, for now the mist had changed to rain; he welcomed the cool of it, walking back to the house: he liked the fresh smell. The chapel bell had stopped tolling but now someone dragged at its rope again and the sound seemed to bring great gouts of rain and Raul and Manuel hurried toward the kitchen. They sat down at a table near the tiled stove and gulped coffee. Manuel touched the side of his head and the side of his neck, barely brushing the skin. Raul wanted to ask him how he felt but he couldn't put the words together. A bearlike man, dirty and rain-soaked, came in, asking for food. No one had seen him before. He spoke out, both hands on a crooked staff, his voice quavering and wild: "I've just come across Petaca. The peons are leaving. I've seen 'em ... many of them. They're just walking away." Raul gouged a line across the rough table with his thumbnail: the line divided Petaca: so much for the workers, so much for himself. He wouldn't relinquish more. He damned the blundering peasants: without proper clothing or food they were forsaking Petaca for more insecurity, hunger and beatings. They were deserting their families. The bearlike fellow droned on about the peasants. Then, suddenly he stopped, put down his staff, and spat: "Have you heard about General Matanzas?"