He was one with the wire in his hand and one with the bridge, and one with the charges the _Ingles_ had placed.
He was one with the _Ingles_ still working under the bridge and he was one with all of the battle and with the Republic.
But there was no excitement.
It was all calm now and the sun beat down on his neck and on his shoulders as he crouched and as he looked up he saw the high, cloudless sky and the slope of the mountain rising beyond the river and he was not happy but he was neither lonely nor afraid.
Up the hill slope Pilar lay behind a tree watching the road that came down from the pass.
She had three loaded rifles by her and she handed one to Primitivo as he dropped down beside her.
"Get down there," she said.
"Behind that tree.
Thou, gypsy, over there," she pointed to another tree below.
"Is he dead?"
"Nay.
Not yet," Primitivo said.
"It was bad luck," Pilar said.
"If we had had two more it need not have happened.
He should have crawled around the sawdust pile.
Is he all right there where he is?"
Primitivo shook his head.
"When the _Ingles_ blows the bridge will fragments come this far?" the gypsy asked from behind his tree.
"I don't know," Pilar said.
"But Agustin with the _maquina_ is closer than thee.
The _Ingles_ would not have placed him there if it were too close."
"But I remember with the blowing of the train the lamp of the engine blew by over my head and pieces of steel flew by like swallows."
"Thou hast poetic memories," Pilar said.
"Like swallows. _Joder!_ They were like wash boilers.
Listen, gypsy, thou hast comported thyself well today.
Now do not let thy fear catch up with thee."
"Well, I only asked if it would blow this far so I might keep well behind the tree trunk," the gypsy said.
"Keep it thus," Pilar told him.
"How many have we killed?"
"_Pues_ five for us.
Two here.
Canst thou not see the other at the far end?
Look there toward the bridge.
See the box?
Look!
Dost see?"
He pointed.
"Then there were eight below for Pablo.
I watched that post for the _Ingles_."
Pilar grunted.
Then she said violently and raging,
"What passes with that _Ingles?_ What is he obscenitying off under that bridge. _Vaya mandanga!_ Is he building a bridge or blowing one?"
She raised her head and looked down at Anselmo crouched behind the stone marker.
"Hey, _viejo!_" she shouted.
"What passes with thy obscenity of an _Ingles?_"
"Patience, woman," Anselmo called up, holding the wire lightly but firmly.
"He is terminating his work."
"But what in the name of the great whore does he take so much time about?"
"Es muy _concienzudo!_" Anselmo shouted.
"It is a scientific labor."