The gray horse was standing almost over him and he could see his ribs heaving. The grass was green where he sat and there were meadow flowers in it and he looked down the slope across to the road and the bridge and the gorge and the road and saw the tank and waited for the next flash. It came almost at once with again no whish and in the burst of it, with the smell of the high explosive, the dirt clods scattering and the steel whirring off, he saw the big gray horse sit quietly down beside him as though it were a horse in a circus. And then, looking at the horse sitting there, he heard the sound the horse was making.
Then Primitivo and Agustín had him under the armpits and were dragging him up the last slope and the new joint in his leg let it swing any way the ground swung it. Once a shell whished close over them and they dropped him and fell flat, but the dirt scattered over them and and the metal sung off and they picked him up again. And then they had him up to the shelter of the long draw in the timber where the horses were, and Maria, Pilar and Pablo were standing over him.
Maria was kneeling by him and saying, “Roberto, what hast thou?”
He said, sweating heavily, “The left leg is broken, guapa.”
“We will bind it up,” Pilar said. “Thou canst ride that.” She pointed to one of the horses that was packed. “Cut off the load.”
Robert Jordan saw Pablo shake his head and he nodded at him.
“Get along,” he said. Then he said, “Listen, Pablo. Come here.”
The sweat-streaked, bristly face bent down by him and Robert Jordan smelt the full smell of Pablo.
“Let us speak,” he said to Pilar and Maria. “I have to speak to Pablo.”
“Does it hurt much?” Pablo asked. He was bending close over Robert Jordan.
“No. I think the nerve is crushed. Listen. Get along. I am mucked, see? I will talk to the girl for a moment. When I say to take her, take her. She will want to stay. I will only speak to her for a moment.”
“Clearly, there is not much time,” Pablo said.
“Clearly.”
“I think you would do better in the Republic,” Robert Jordan said.
“Nay. I am for Gredos.”
“Use thy head.”
“Talk to her now,” Pablo said. “There is little time. I am sorry thou hast this, Inglés.”
“Since I have it–” Robert Jordan said. “Let us not speak of it. But use thy head. Thou hast much head. Use it.”
“Why would I not?” said Pablo. “Talk now fast, Inglés. There is no time.”
Pablo went over to the nearest tree and watched down the slope, across the slope and up the road across the gorge. Pablo was looking at the gray horse on the slope with true regret on his face and Pilar and Maria were with Robert Jordan where he sat against the tree trunk.
“Slit the trouser, will thee?” he said to Pilar. Maria crouched by him and did not speak. The sun was on her hair and her face was twisted as a child’s contorts before it cries. But she was not crying.
Pilar took her knife and slit his trouser leg down below the lefthand pocket. Robert Jordan spread the cloth with his hands and looked at the stretch of his thigh. Ten inches below the hip joint there was a pointed, purple swelling like a sharp-peaked little tent and as he touched it with his fingers he could feel the snapped-off thigh bone tight against the skin. His leg was lying at an odd angle. He looked up at Pilar. Her face had the same expression as Maria’s.
“Anda,” he said to her. “Go.”
She went away with her head down without saying anything nor looking back and Robert Jordan could see her shoulders shaking.
“Guapa,” he said to Maria and took hold of her two hands. “Listen. We will not be going to Madrid–”
Then she started to cry.
“No, guapa, don’t,” he said. “Listen. We will not go to Madrid now but I go always with thee wherever thou goest. Understand?”