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I
wonder
what
it
is
like
up
at
Sordo
’
s
.
That
’
s
what
we
all
have
to
expect
,
given
enough
time
.
I
imagine
it
is
not
too
jovial
up
at
Sordo
’
s
.
We
certainly
got
Sordo
into
a
fine
jam
with
that
horse
business
.
How
does
it
go
in
Spanish
?
Un
callejón
sin
salida
.
A
passageway
with
no
exit
.
I
suppose
I
could
go
through
with
it
all
right
.
You
only
have
to
do
it
once
and
it
is
soon
over
with
.
But
wouldn
’
t
it
be
luxury
to
fight
in
a
war
some
time
where
,
when
you
were
surrounded
,
you
could
surrender
?
Estamos
copados
.
We
are
surrounded
.
That
was
the
great
panic
cry
of
this
war
.
Then
the
next
thing
was
that
you
were
shot
;
with
nothing
bad
before
if
you
were
lucky
.
Sordo
wouldn
’
t
be
lucky
that
way
.
Neither
would
they
when
the
time
ever
came
.
It
was
three
o
’
clock
.
Then
he
heard
the
far
-
off
,
distant
throbbing
and
,
looking
up
,
he
saw
the
planes
.
El
Sordo
was
making
his
fight
on
a
hilltop
.
He
did
not
like
this
hill
and
when
he
saw
it
he
thought
it
had
the
shape
of
a
chancre
.
But
he
had
had
no
choice
except
this
hill
and
he
had
picked
it
as
far
away
as
he
could
see
it
and
galloped
for
it
,
the
automatic
rifle
heavy
on
his
back
,
the
horse
laboring
,
barrel
heaving
between
his
thighs
,
the
sack
of
grenades
swinging
against
one
side
,
the
sack
of
automatic
rifle
pans
banging
against
the
other
,
and
Joaquín
and
Ignacio
halting
and
firing
,
halting
and
firing
to
give
him
time
to
get
the
gun
in
place
.
There
had
still
been
snow
then
,
the
snow
that
had
ruined
them
,
and
when
his
horse
was
hit
so
that
he
wheezed
in
a
slow
,
jerking
,
climbing
stagger
up
the
last
part
of
the
crest
,
splattering
the
snow
with
a
bright
,
pulsing
jet
,
Sordo
had
hauled
him
along
by
the
bridle
,
the
reins
over
his
shoulder
as
he
climbed
.
He
climbed
as
hard
as
he
could
with
the
bullets
spatting
on
the
rocks
,
with
the
two
sacks
heavy
on
his
shoulders
,
and
then
,
holding
the
horse
by
the
mane
,
had
shot
him
quickly
,
expertly
,
and
tenderly
just
where
he
had
needed
him
,
so
that
the
horse
pitched
,
head
forward
down
to
plug
a
gap
between
two
rocks
.
He
had
gotten
the
gun
to
firing
over
the
horse
’
s
back
and
he
fired
two
pans
,
the
gun
clattering
,
the
empty
shells
pitching
into
the
snow
,
the
smell
of
burnt
hair
from
the
burnt
hide
where
the
hot
muzzle
rested
,
him
firing
at
what
came
up
to
the
hill
,
forcing
them
to
scatter
for
cover
,
while
all
the
time
there
was
a
chill
in
his
back
from
not
knowing
what
was
behind
him
.
Once
the
last
of
the
five
men
had
reached
the
hilltop
the
chill
went
out
of
his
back
and
he
had
saved
the
pans
he
had
left
until
he
would
need
them
.
There
were
two
more
horses
dead
along
the
slope
and
three
more
were
dead
here
on
the
hilltop
.
He
had
only
succeeded
in
stealing
three
horses
last
night
and
one
had
bolted
when
they
tried
to
mount
him
bareback
in
the
corral
at
the
camp
when
the
first
shooting
had
started
.
Of
the
five
men
who
had
reached
the
hilltop
three
were
wounded
.
Sordo
was
wounded
in
the
calf
of
his
leg
and
in
two
places
in
his
left
arm
.
He
was
very
thirsty
,
his
wounds
had
stiffened
,
and
one
of
the
wounds
in
his
left
arm
was
very
painful
.
He
also
had
a
bad
headache
and
as
he
lay
waiting
for
the
planes
to
come
he
thought
of
a
joke
in
Spanish
.
It
was
,
"
Hay
que
tomar
la
muerte
como
si
fuera
aspirina
,
"
which
means
,
"
You
will
have
to
take
death
as
an
aspirin
.
"
But
he
did
not
make
the
joke
aloud
.
He
grinned
somewhere
inside
the
pain
in
his
head
and
inside
the
nausea
that
came
whenever
he
moved
his
arm
and
looked
around
at
what
there
was
left
of
his
band
.
The
five
men
were
spread
out
like
the
points
of
a
five
-
pointed
star
.
They
had
dug
with
their
knees
and
hands
and
made
mounds
in
front
of
their
heads
and
shoulders
with
the
dirt
and
piles
of
stones
.
Using
this
cover
,
they
were
linking
the
individual
mounds
up
with
stones
and
dirt
.
Joaquín
,
who
was
eighteen
years
old
,
had
a
steel
helmet
that
he
dug
with
and
he
passed
dirt
in
it
.
He
had
gotten
this
helmet
at
the
blowing
up
of
the
train
.
It
had
a
bullet
hole
through
it
and
every
one
had
always
joked
at
him
for
keeping
it
.
But
he
had
hammered
the
jagged
edges
of
the
bullet
hole
smooth
and
driven
a
wooden
plug
into
it
and
then
cut
the
plug
off
and
smoothed
it
even
with
the
metal
inside
the
helmet
.
