"Don't cry," he said, awkward not only from the load.

"I do not," she said. "But come back quickly."

"Do not worry when you hear the firing. There is bound to be much firing."

"Nay. Only come back quickly."

"Good-by, guapa," he said awkwardly.

"Salud, Roberto."

Robert Jordan had not felt this young since he had taken the train at Red Lodge to go down to Billings to get the train there to go away to school for the first time. He had been afraid to go and he did not want any one to know it and, at the station, just before the conductor picked up the box he would step up on to reach the steps of the day coach, his father had kissed him good-by and said, "May the Lord watch between thee and me while we are absent the one from the other." His father had been a very religious man and he had said it simply and sincerely. But his moustache had been moist and his eyes were damp with emotion and Robert Jordan had been so embarrassed by all of it, the damp religious sound of the prayer, and by his father kissing him good-by, that he had felt suddenly so much older than his father and sorry for him that he could hardly bear it.

After the train started he had stood on the rear platform and watched the station and the water tower grow smaller and smaller and the rails crossed by the ties narrowed toward a point where the station and the water tower stood now minute and tiny in the steady clicking that was taking him away.

The brakeman said, "Dad seemed to take your going sort of hard, Bob."

"Yes," he had said watching the sagebrush that ran from the edge of the road bed between the passing telegraph poles across to the streaming-by dusty stretching of the road. He was looking for sage hens.

"You don't mind going away to school?"

"No," he had said and it was true.

It would not have been true before but it was true that minute and it was only now, at this parting, that he ever felt as young again as he had felt before that train left. He felt very young now and very awkward and he was saying good-by as awkwardly as one can be when saying good-by to a young girl when you are a boy in school, saying good-by at the front porch, not knowing whether to kiss the girl or not. Then he knew it was not the good-by he was being awkward about. It was the meeting he was going to. The good-by was only a part of the awkwardness he felt about the meeting.

You're getting them again, he told himself. But I suppose there is no one that does not feel that he is too young to do it. He would not put a name to it. Come on, he said to himself. Come on. It is too early for your second childhood.

"Good-by, guapa," he said. "Good-by, rabbit."

"Good-by, my Roberto," she said and he went over to where Anselmo and Agustin were standing and said, "Vamonos."

Anselmo swung his heavy pack up. Agustin, fully loaded since the cave, was leaning against a tree, the automatic rifle jutting over the top of his load.

"Good," he said, "Vamonos."

The three of them started down the hill.

"Buena suerte, Don Roberto," Fernando said as the three of them passed him as they moved in single file between the trees. Fernando was crouched on his haunches a little way from where they passed but he spoke with great dignity.

"Buena suerte thyself, Fernando," Robert Jordan said.

"In everything thou doest," Agustin said.

"Thank you, Don Roberto," Fernando said, undisturbed by Agustin.

"That one is a phenomenon, Ingles," Agustin whispered.

"I believe thee," Robert Jordan said. "Can I help thee? Thou art loaded like a horse."

"I am all right," Agustin said. "Man, but I am content we are started."

"Speak softly," Anselmo said. "From now on speak little and softly."

Walking carefully, downhill, Anselmo in the lead, Agustin next, Robert Jordan placing his feet carefully so that he would not slip, feeling the dead pine needles under his rope-soled shoes, bumping a tree root with one foot and putting a hand forward and feeling the cold metal jut of the automatic rifle barrel and the folded legs of the tripod, then working sideways down the hill, his shoes sliding and grooving the forest floor, putting his left hand out again and touching the rough bark of a tree trunk, then as he braced himself his hand feeling a smooth place, the base of the palm of his hand coming away sticky from the resinous sap where a blaze had been cut, they dropped down the steep wooded hillside to the point above the bridge where Robert Jordan and Anselmo had watched the first day.

Now Anselmo was halted by a pine tree in the dark and he took Robert Jordan's wrist and whispered, so low Jordan could hardly hear him, "Look. There is the fire in his brazier."

It was a point of light below where Robert Jordan knew the bridge joined the road.

"Here is where we watched," Anselmo said. He took Robert Jordan's hand and bent it down to touch a small fresh blaze low on a tree trunk. "This I marked while thou watched. To the right is where thou wished to put the maquina."

"We will place it there."

"Good."

They put the packs down behind the base of the pine trunks and the two of them followed Anselmo over to the level place where there was a clump of seedling pines.

"It is here," Anselmo said. "Just here."

"From here, with daylight," Robert Jordan crouched behind the small trees whispered to Agustin, "thou wilt see a small stretch of road and the entrance to the bridge. Thou wilt see the length of the bridge and a small stretch of road at the other end before it rounds the curve of the rocks."

Agustin said nothing.

"Here thou wilt lie while we prepare the exploding and fire on anything that comes from above or below."

"Where is that light?" Agustin asked.

"In the sentry box at this end," Robert Jordan whispered.

"Who deals with the sentries?"

"The old man and I, as I told thee. But if we do not deal with them, thou must fire into the sentry boxes and at them if thou seest them."

"Yes. You told me that."

"After the explosion when the people of Pablo come around that corner, thou must fire over their heads if others come after them. Thou must fire high above them when they appear in any event that others must not come. Understandest thou?"

"Why not? It is as thou saidst last night."

"Hast any questions?"

"Nay. I have two sacks. I can load them from above where it will not be seen and bring them here."

"But do no digging here. Thou must be as well hid as we were at the top."

"Nay. I will bring the dirt in them in the dark. You will see. They will not show as I will fix them."

"Thou are very close. Sabes? In the daylight this clump shows clearly from below."

"Do not worry, Ingles. Where goest thou?"

"I go close below with the small maquina of mine. The old man will cross the gorge now to be ready for the box of the other end. It faces in that direction."

"Then nothing more," said Agustin. "Salud, Ingles. Hast thou tobacco?"

"Thou canst not smoke. It is too close."

"Nay. Just to hold in the mouth. To smoke later."

Robert Jordan gave him his cigarette case and Agustin took three cigarettes and put them inside the front flap of his herdsman's flat cap. He spread the legs of his tripod with the gun muzzle in the low pines and commenced unpacking his load by touch and laying the things where he wanted them.

"Nada mas," he said. "Well, nothing more."

Anselmo and Robert Jordan left him there and went back to where the packs were.

"Where had we best leave them?" Robert Jordan whispered.

"I think here. But canst thou be sure of the sentry with thy small maquina from here?"

"Is this exactly where we were on that day?"