by razor since the night he quitted Don Abrahan's house.
Across from him was Felipe, seated on a block of wood, the black islets of his face now almost submerged in the forest of beard that sprung thick around them. Felipe's sombrero was pushed back from his eyes, admitting the light to his face. The candle stood between them on a broken chair, drawing their strength and weakness in strong, revealing lines. A man did not consider the niceties of bodily adornment when life itself was running in frantic seeking, like a mouse shut in a room.
At one side of them the three horses loomed large in the shadow, their eyes luminous as they turned a head now and then and caught a beam of light.
Such was the picture of the refugees from Don Roberto's jealous vengeance as they considered life and death, calmly as other men and women, in happier surroundings, their hopes unclouded, considered their dinners or their amusements for the night.
"Soldiers will be here, and here," Felipe said, indicating the spots on his map, "keeping the road, Gabriel. Here, at the summit of the pass, three could hold a regiment."
"Roberto hasn't the men to spare to guard all these places, Felipe."
"You forget that Don Abrahan has raised his friends. He can gather forty or fifty men."
"From what I've seen of them, Felipe, they're
