But he knew it was no use to tell thoughts like that to women; they were afraid to let go their little wooden saints and the jargon of prayers they did not understand. The mystery of it held them!
Thus brooded Rotil, unlearned driver of burros and general of an army of the people!
"We will forget all but the ammunition," he said. "It is as food to my men, and some of them are starving there to the east; with ammunition food can be commandeered. I knew the guns were on Soledad land, but even a golden dream of angels would not have let me hope for as much as you have given me. It is packed,--that room, from floor to roof tiles. In the morning I take the trail, and there is much to be done before I go. You;--I must think of first. Will you let me be your confessor, and tell me any wish of your heart I may help you to?"
"My heart has no wish left alive in it," she said. "There have been days when I had wish for the hut under the palms where my mother lived. A childish wish,--but other wishes are dead!"
"There is no going back," he said, staring at the tiles, and not looking at her. "It is of future things we must think. He said things--Perez did, and you----"
"Yes!" she half whispered. "There is no way but to tell of it, but--I would ask that the child wait outside. The story is not a story for a girl child, Ramon."
"Outside the door, but in call," he said, and without a word or look Tula went softly out.
There was silence for a bit between them, her hands were clasped at full length, and she leaned forward painfully tense, looking not at him, but past him.
"It is not easy, but you will comprehend better than many," she said at last. "There were three of us. There was my little brother Palemon, who ran away last year to be a soldier--he was only fourteen. José would not let me send searchers for him, and he may be dead. Then there was only--only Lucita and me. You maybe remember Lucita?"
Her question was wistful as if it would help her to even know he remembered. He nodded his head in affirmation.
"A golden child," he said. "I have seen pictured saints and angels in great churches since the days in the hills, but never once so fair a child as little Lucita."
"Yes, white and gold, and an angel of innocence," she said musingly. "Always she was that, always! And there was a sweetheart, Mariano Avila, a good lad, and the wedding was to be. She was embroidering the wedding shirt for Mariano when--God! God!"