"Cowards do not serve the Republic," the shepherd said. He remained ten feet behind them, ignoring Segador's further attempts at conversation, marching them toward a thatched hut on the outskirts of a tiny village. When they approached the hut, the dog ran ahead, started to scratch on the unpainted door.
An Indian woman with a mestizo baby in her arms stood in the doorway when the three men reached the hut. "Let them in, woman," the shepherd ordered.
The inside of the small hut was dark and bare. On a pallet in the far corner, Hall could see the forms of children huddled in sleep, how many he could not tell. There was a stone stove, a hand-hewn table and two benches. In another corner, a fragment of a tallow candle burned fitfully under a dim portrait. Hall realized, with an inward start, that the portrait was not of Jesus but of Anibal Tabio.
"Hold the gun."
The woman put the baby on the pallet with the other children, took the rifle in her hands.
"If you are of the Republic," the shepherd said, "you will allow me to tie your hands."
"We are of the Republic—and for the Educator, who is now dead."
The woman, who held the gun, backed away, closer to the picture, while her husband bound the hands of Segador and Hall behind their backs, and then connected all four hands with a third length of rope.
"Send your woman for the educated man," Segador said. "But hurry. We are on a mission for the Republic. We must not be delayed too long."
The shepherd took the gun from his wife. "Go then," he said to her. "Bring Bustamente the Notary to this house."