“To go off and get drunk,” Pilar said. “Here, take these instead.” He reached over and put two of the grenades in his pockets.
“Qué va, to get drunk,” Pablo said. “There is gravity in the situation. But give me the bota. I do not like to do all this on water.”
He reached his arms up, took the reins and swung up into the saddle. He grinned and patted the nervous horse. Robert Jordan saw him rub his leg along the horse’s flank affectionately.
“Qué caballo más bonito,” he said and patted the big gray again. “Qué caballo más hermoso. Come on. The faster this gets out of here the better.”
He reached down and pulled the light automatic rifle with its ventilated barrel, really a submachine gun built to take the 9 mm. pistol cartridge, from the scabbard, and looked at it. “Look how they are armed,” he said. “Look at modern cavalry.”
“There’s modern cavalry over there on his face,” Robert Jordan said. “Vamonos.”
“Do you, Andrés, saddle and hold the horses in readiness. If you hear firing bring them up to the woods behind the gap. Come with thy arms and leave the women to hold the horses. Fernando, see that my sacks are brought also. Above all, that my sacks are brought carefully. Thou to look after my sacks, too,” he said to Pilar. “Thou to verify that they come with the horses. Vamonos,” he said. “Let us go.”
“The Maria and I will prepare all for leaving,” Pilar said. Then to Robert Jordan, “Look at him,” nodding at Pablo on the gray horse, sitting him in the heavy-thighed herdsman manner, the horse’s nostrils widening as Pablo replaced the clip in the automatic rifle. “See what a horse has done for him.”
“That I should have two horses,” Robert Jordan said fervently.
“Danger is thy horse.”
“Then give me a mule,” Robert Jordan grinned.
“Strip me that,” he said to Pilar and jerked his head toward where the man lay face down in the snow. “And bring everything, all the letters and papers, and put them in the outside pocket of my sack. Everything, understand?”
“Yes.”
“Vamonos,” he said.
Pablo rode ahead and the two men followed in a single file in order not to track up the snow. Robert Jordan carried the submachine gun muzzle down, carrying it by its forward hand grip. I wish it took the same ammunition that saddle gun takes, he thought. But it doesn’t. This is a German gun. This was old Kashkin’s gun.
The sun was coming over the mountains now. A warm wind was blowing and the snow was melting. It was a lovely late spring morning.
Robert Jordan looked back and saw Maria now standing with Pilar. Then she came running up the trail. He dropped behind Primitivo to speak to her.
“Thou,” she said. “Can I go with thee?”
“No. Help Pilar.”
She was walking behind him and put her hand on his arm.
“I’m coming.”
“Nay.”
She kept on walking close behind him.
“I could hold the legs of the gun in the way thou told Anselmo.”
“Thou wilt hold no legs. Neither of guns nor of nothing.”
Walking beside him she reached forward and put her hand in his pocket.
“No,” he said. “But take good care of thy wedding shirt.”
“Kiss me,” she said, “if thou goest.”
“Thou art shameless,” he said.
“Yes,” she said. “Totally.”
“Get thee back now. There is much work to do. We may fight here if they follow these horse tracks.”
“Thou,” she said. “Didst thee see what he wore on his chest?”
“Yes. Why not?”
“It was the Sacred Heart.”
“Yes. All the people of Navarre wear it.”
“And thou shot for that?”
“No. Below it. Get thee back now.”
“Thou,” she said. “I saw all.”
“Thou saw nothing. One man. One man from a horse. Vete. Get thee back.”
“Say that you love me.”
“No. Not now.”
“Not love me now?”
“Déjamos. Get thee back. One does not do that and love all at the same moment.”
“I want to go to hold the legs of the gun and while it speaks love thee all in the same moment.”