"There is a dust in the road," said Pablo, pointing to the north. "There is a sound of"
"It is so," Felipe attested, his vigilance upon Don Abrahan relaxed a moment in his great wonder over this sudden deliverance.
All stood looking and listening, Roberto and Don Abrahan as greatly amazed by the action of the soldiers as the others. There was a dust in the road just beyond the head of the olive lane; it rose high, and yellow as the summer smoke of a fire in the green forest.
"There is a sound, like the sound of" said Pablo. He smiled.
The soldiers were galloping toward the pueblo, their officer riding after them as if threatened by some terror that would swallow him if he fell another rod behind.
At the turn of the road a flock of goats came pouring into the olive lane. In a moment they had flooded it, for they were being driven as no careful goatherd would urge a flock; in a moment they had found the open gate, and came running up the road to Don Abrahan's feet. After them there followed Liseta, carrying a long stem of the spearlike yucca that stands on the hillsides in summer tall and white as a stately bride.
Liseta's eyes were bright; her dark face was tinted with the red of her rich, racing blood. She was dusty, sweat-streaked, panting; her black hair blew in wild freedom about her face.
"Here are your goats, Don Abrahan Gar-
