His eyes looked stranger than ever.
"Paco," he said, happily, "you and I will go up there."
"Not me."
"What?"
The captain had his pistol out again.
I hate these pistol brandishers, Berrendo was thinking.
They cannot give an order without jerking a gun out.
They probably pull out their pistols when they go to the toilet and order the move they will make.
"I will go if you order me to.
But under protest," Lieutenant Berrendo told the captain.
"Then I will go alone," the captain said.
"The smell of cowardice is too strong here."
Holding his pistol in his right hand, he strode steadily up the slope.
Berrendo and the sniper watched him.
He was making no attempt to take any cover and he was looking straight ahead of him at the rocks, the dead horse, and the fresh-dug dirt of the hilltop.
El Sordo lay behind the horse at the corner of the rock, watching the captain come striding up the hill.
Only one, he thought.
We get only one.
But from his manner of speaking he is _caza mayor_.
Look at him walking.
Look what an animal.
Look at him stride forward.
This one is for me.
This one I take with me on the trip.
This one coming now makes the same voyage I do.
Come on, Comrade Voyager.
Come striding.
Come right along.
Come along to meet it.
Come on.
Keep on walking.
Don't slow up.
Come right along.
Come as thou art coming.
Don't stop and look at those.
That's right.
Don't even look down.
Keep on coming with your eyes forward.
Look, he has a moustache.
What do you think of that?
He runs to a moustache, the Comrade Voyager.
He is a captain.
Look at his sleeves.
I said he was _caza mayor_.
He has the face of an _Ingles_.
Look.
With a red face and blond hair and blue eyes.
With no cap on and his moustache is yellow.
With blue eyes.
With pale blue eyes.