He lifted the leather wine bag and took a long pull, then handed it to Robert Jordan.

"One thing more, Ingles," he said.

"Of course."

"I have cared much for her, too."

Robert Jordan put his hand on his shoulder.

"Much," Agustin said. "Much. More than one is able to imagine."

"I can imagine."

"She has made an impression on me that does not dissipate."

"I can imagine."

"Look. I say this to thee in all seriousness."

"Say it."

"I have never touched her nor had anything to do with her but I care for her greatly. Ingles, do not treat her lightly. Because she sleeps with thee she is no whore."

"I will care for her."

"I believe thee. But more. You do not understand how such a girl would be if there had been no revolution. You have much responsibility. This one, truly, has suffered much. She is not as we are."

"I will marry her."

"Nay. Not that. There is no need for that under the revolution. But-" he nodded his head-"it would be better."

"I will marry her," Robert Jordan said and could feel his throat swelling as he said it. "I care for her greatly."

"Later," Agustin said. "When it is convenient. The important thing is to have the intention."

"I have it."

"Listen," Agustin said. "I am speaking too much of a matter in which I have no right to intervene, but hast thou known many girls of this country?"

"A few."

"Whores?"

"Some who were not."

"How many?"

"Several."

"And did you sleep with them?"

"No."

"You see?"

"Yes."

"What I mean is that this Maria does not do this lightly."

"Nor I."

"If I thought you did I would have shot you last night as you lay with her. For this we kill much here."

"Listen, old one," Robert Jordan said. "It is because of the lack of time that there has been informality. What we do not have is time. Tomorrow we must fight. To me that is nothing. But for the Maria and me it means that we must live all of our life in this time."

"And a day and a night is little time," Agustin said.

"Yes. But there has been yesterday and the night before and last night."

"Look," Agustin said. "If I can aid thee."

"No. We are all right."

"If I could do anything for thee or for the cropped head-"

"No."

"Truly, there is little one man can do for another."

"No. There is much."

"What?"

"No matter what passes today and tomorrow in respect to combat, give me thy confidence and obey even though the orders may appear wrong."

"You have my confidence. Since this of the cavalry and the sending away of the horse."

"That was nothing. You see that we are working for one thing. To win the war. Unless we win, all other things are futile. Tomorrow we have a thing of great importance. Of true importance. Also we will have combat. In combat there must be discipline. For many things are not as they appear. Discipline must come from trust and confidence."

Agustin spat on the ground.

"The Maria and all such things are apart," he said. "That you and the Maria should make use of what time there is as two human beings. If I can aid thee I am at thy orders. But for the thing of tomorrow I will obey thee blindly. If it is necessary that one should die for the thing of tomorrow one goes gladly and with the heart light."

"Thus do I feel," Robert Jordan said. "But to hear it from thee brings pleasure."

"And more," Agustin said. "That one above," he pointed toward Primitivo, "is a dependable value. The Pilar is much, much more than thou canst imagine. The old man Anselmo, also. Andres also. Eladio also. Very quiet, but a dependable element. And Fernando. I do not know how thou hast appreciated him. It is true he is heavier than mercury. He is fuller of boredom than a steer drawing a cart on the highroad. But to fight and to do as he is told. Es muy hombre! Thou wilt see."

"We are lucky."

"No. We have two weak elements. The gypsy and Pablo. But the band of Sordo are as much better than we are as we are better than goat manure."

"All is well then."

"Yes," Agustin said. "But I wish it was for today."

"Me, too. To finish with it. But it is not."

"Do you think it will be bad?"

"It can be."

"But thou are very cheerful now, Ingles."

"Yes."

"Me also. In spite of this of the Maria and all."

"Do you know why?"

"No."

"Me neither. Perhaps it is the day. The day is good."

"Who knows? Perhaps it is that we will have action."

"I think it is that," Robert Jordan said. "But not today. Of all things; of all importance we must avoid it today."

As he spoke he heard something. It was a noise far off that came above the sound of the warm wind in the trees. He could not be sure and he held his mouth open and listened, glancing up at Primitivo as he did so. He thought he heard it but then it was gone. The wind was blowing in the pines and now Robert Jordan strained all of himself to listen. Then he heard it faintly coming down the wind.

"It is nothing tragic with me," he heard Agustin say. "That I should never have the Maria is nothing. I will go with the whores as always."

"Shut up," he said, not listening, and lying beside him, his head having been turned away. Agustin looked over at him suddenly.

"Que pasa?" he asked.

Robert Jordan put his hand over his own mouth and went on listening. There it came again. It came faint, muted, dry and far away. But there was no mistaking it now. It was the precise, crackling, curling roll of automatic rifle fire. It sounded as though pack after pack of miniature firecrackers were going off at a distance that was almost out of hearing.

Robert Jordan looked up at Primitivo who had his head up now, his face looking toward them, his hand cupped to his ear. As he looked Primitivo pointed up the mountain toward the highest country.

"They are fighting at El Sordo's," Robert Jordan said.

"Then let us go to aid them," Agustin said. "Collect the people. Vamonos."

"No," Robert Jordan said. "We stay here."

25

Robert Jordan looked up at where Primitivo stood now in his lookout post, holding his rifle and pointing. He nodded his head but the man kept pointing, putting his hand to his ear and then pointing insistently and as though he could not possibly have been understood.

"Do you stay with this gun and unless it is sure, sure, sure that they are coming in do not fire. And then not until they reach that shrub," Robert Jordan pointed. "Do you understand?"

"Yes. But-"

"No but. I will explain to thee later. I go to Primitivo."

Anselmo was by him and he said to the old man:

"Viejo, stay there with Agustin with the gun." He spoke slowly and unhurriedly. "He must not fire unless cavalry is actually entering. If they merely present themselves he must let them alone as we did before. If he must fire, hold the legs of the tripod firm for him and hand him the pans when they are empty."

"Good," the old man said. "And La Granja?"

"Later."

Robert Jordan climbed up, over and around the gray boulders that were wet now under his hands as he pulled himself up. The sun was melting the snow on them fast. The tops of the boulders were drying and as he climbed he looked across the country and saw the pine woods and the long open glade and the dip of the country before the high mountains beyond. Then he stood beside Primitivo in a hollow behind two boulders and the short, brownfaced man said to him, "They are attacking Sordo. What is it that we do?"

"Nothing," Robert Jordan said.

He heard the firing clearly here and as he looked across the country, he saw, far off, across the distant valley where the country rose steeply again, a troop of cavalry ride out of the timber and cross the snowy slope riding uphill in the direction of the firing. He saw the oblong double line of men and horses dark against the snow as they forced at an angle up the hill. He watched the double line top the ridge and go into the farther timber.