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into the ditch, when Strawbridge cried out, “Don't! Let him alone!” and began groping hurriedly under the seat for a box where they carried their provisions. When the other prisoners learned that the motorists were about to give away food, a score of living cadavers came dragging their chains out of the pit, holding out hands that were claws and babbling in all keys, flattened, hoarsened, edged by starvation. “A little here, señor!” “A bit for Christ's sake, señor!” “Give me a bit of bread and take a dying man's blessing, señor!” They stunk, their red rags crawled. Such odors, such lazar faces tickled Strawbridge's throat with nausea. Saliva pooled under his tongue. He spat, gripped his nerves, and asked one of the creatures:

“For God's sake, what brought you here?”

The prisoners were mumbling their gracias for each bit of food. One poor devil even refrained, for a moment, from chewing, to answer, “Señor, I had a cow, and the jefe civil took my cow and sent me to the ‘reds.’” “Señor,” shivered another voice, “I… I fished in the Orinoco. I was never very fortunate. When the jefe civil was forced to make up his tally to the ‘reds,’ he chose me. I was never very fortunate.”

An old man whose face was all eyes and long gray hair had got around on the side of the car opposite to the guard. He leaned toward Strawbridge, wafting a revolting odor.

“Señor,” he whispered, “ I had a pretty daughter. I meant to give her to a strong lad called Esteban, for a wife, but the jefe civil suddenly broke up my home and sent me to the ‘reds.’ She was a pretty girl, my little Madruja. Señor, can it be, by chance, that you are traveling toward Canalejos?”

The American nodded slightly into the sunken eyes.

“Then, for our Lady's sake, señor, if she is not already lost, be kind to my little Madruja! Give her a word from