“Surely,” Hi said, “they’ll let us go ashore again, when the troubles are over.”
“When will the troubles be over?”
“I suppose in a week.”
“Not in a year, kid.”
The American had been talking in a low voice to one of the squad of soldiers: he now spoke to the company.
“See there, now,” he said, jerking his head to the right, as they came out upon the water-front, “the Whites got into the town here. They got in at the gate there. The man says that they fit like hell along the beach, till all the lot of them was killed.”
“All the lot?”
“Yep.”
“And Don Manuel, too?”
“Yep. Not one man left alive.”