in corn-husk wrapper; it seemed as if he closed his eyes against the sharp savor of it as he sat with dangling legs, toes almost on the ground, never a word out of his bearded, dry old mouth. There was a look of cynical pleasure on his face that Henderson never had seen before.
Henderson knew him well enough to give him his own time to tell what there was to be told. Simon stood looking at the flag, the cannon, the men with guns, plainly very much concerned over his situation.
Pablo united the rope that passed around his donkey's body and gave the end of it to Henderson.
"Here is an old goat," he said.
"There's rope enough to hang him here," Henderson remarked, as seriously as if the speculation were a forecast of his intention.
"It will do the work," Pablo nodded.
"But it would seem like a waste of a good rope," said Henderson. "What have you got to say for yourself? you sneaking scoundrel!"
"For the love of Our Señor, Don Gabriel, do not hang me!" Simon pleaded.
"What do you think, Pablo?"
Pablo raised his thin shoulders, lifted his shaggy eyebrows, spread his hands, in expression of complete surrender of all opinion in the case. That done, he lapsed into an attitude of serene and complete indifference.
Simon was an unhappy figure to see, dusty and jaded between fear and fatigue. His big mustache
