"We killed a pair of _guardia civil_," he said, explaining the military saddles.
"That is big game."
"They had dismounted on the road between Segovia and Santa Maria del Real.
They had dismounted to ask papers of the driver of a cart.
We were able to kill them without injuring the horses."
"Have you killed many civil guards?" Robert Jordan asked.
"Several," Pablo said.
"But only these two without injury to the horses."
"It was Pablo who blew up the train at Arevalo," Anselmo said.
"That was Pablo."
"There was a foreigner with us who made the explosion," Pablo said.
"Do you know him?"
"What is he called?"
"I do not remember.
It was a very rare name."
"What did he look like?"
"He was fair, as you are, but not as tall and with large hands and a broken nose."
"Kashkin," Robert Jordan said.
"That would be Kashkin."
"Yes," said Pablo.
"It was a very rare name.
Something like that.
What has become of him?"
"He is dead since April."
"That is what happens to everybody," Pablo said, gloomily.
"That is the way we will all finish."
"That is the way all men end," Anselmo said.
"That is the way men have always ended.
What is the matter with you, man?
What hast thou in the stomach?"
"They are very strong," Pablo said.
It was as though he were talking to himself.
He looked at the horses gloomily.
"You do not realize how strong they are.
I see them always stronget always better armed.
Always with more material.
Here am I with horses like these.
And what can I look forward to?
To be hunted and to die.
Nothing more."
"You hunt as much as you are hunted," Anselmo said.
"No," said Pablo.
"Not any more.
And if we leave these mountains now, where can we go?
Answer me that?
Where now?"
"In Spain there are many mountains.
There are the Sierra de Gredos if one leaves here."
"Not for me," Pablo said.
"I am tired of being hunted.