One wintry gloaming of Jacinto Quesada's thirteenth year, there entered Minas de la Sierra, a ruddy-haired, blue-eyed, burly man on horseback. He was clad in weather-worn corduroys; a week's golden stubble was on his broad, sunburned face; and his body smelled sourly of sweat. He guided his horse with his knees and heels. In both hands he held half-raised a Mauser carbine.
The horse halted under the cork-oak, but the man did not dismount. He sat looking slowly from right to left, from left to right, along the village street. Presently he shouted:
"Hola, mis paisanos! Why do you not come out to greet me?"
With trembling and hesitation they came forth from their doorways. They were like so many wary brown lizards stealing out from their rocks. They formed a tongue-tied ring about the quiet horseman and eyed him with awe.
"I desire food," said he shortly.
"It is our wish to serve you, maestro," said Antonio Villarobledo, speaking for the rest. "You shall have the best of our poor lean store."
Then spoke up Carlos Machado, a showy and presumptuous man.
"Come to my house with me. I have a stew of lentils!"
"But I have a puchero!" another bid. "Come with me, Gran Caballero."
Suddenly a woman who had been hiding in her doorway ran out into the street, crying shrilly: