"_Salud!_" he had shouted. "_Salud, milicianos!_"
"How many are you?" some one called from behind the parapet.
"One. Me. Alone."
"Who are you?"
"Have you your rifle and equipment?"
"Yes, man."
"We can take in none without rifle and equipment," the voice said. "Nor in larger groups than three."
He could hear them talking behind the parapet but not what they were saying. Then the voice shouted again, "How many are you?"
"One. Me. Alone. For the love of God."
They were talking behind the parapet again. Then the voice came, "Listen, fascist."
"He's crazy," he heard some one say. "Toss a bomb at him."
"He speaks like a Christian," he heard some one say and laugh.
Then some one else said, "The best thing is to toss a bomb down on him."
It was for this reason that he had never enjoyed trips back and forth between the lines. Sometimes it was better than others. But it was never good.
"You are alone?" the voice called down again.
"Then if you should be alone stand up and hold thy rifle over thy head."
"Keep them up," the voice commanded.
"It would have been simpler to have thrown a bomb at him," a voice said.
"Let him sling his rifle," another voice said. "He cannot come through there with his hands above his head. Use a little reason."
"All these fascists are the same," the other voice said. "They demand one condition after another."
"I have never heard of the band of Pablo," the man who was evidently in command of the post said. "Neither of Peter nor of Paul nor of any of the other saints nor apostles. Nor of their bands. Sling thy rifle over thy shoulder and use thy hands to come through the wire."
He was working his way through the wire.
"_Amables_," some one shouted at him. "We are in a war, man."
"What's he say?"
"Nothing," he shouted. "I say nothing. Do not shoot until I get through this fornicating wire."
"Don't speak badly of our wire," some one shouted. "Or we'll toss a bomb on you."
"Throw a bomb at him," he heard the one voice say. "I tell you that's the soundest way to deal with the whole thing."
"I believe it," the bomb man said.
"There is no more serious thing than liberty," the bomb man shouted. "Thou thinkest there is anything more serious than liberty?" he asked challengingly.
"_Viva la F. A. I. Viva la C.N.T._," they shouted back at him from the parapet. "_Viva el anarco-sindicalismo_ and liberty."
"He is a coreligionary of ours," the bomb man said. "And I might have killed him with this."
"I am content that nothing happened to thee, brother," he said. "I am very content."
"I command here," a man said. "Let me see thy papers."
He took them into a dugout and looked at them with the light of a candle. There was the little square of folded silk with the colors of the Republic and the seal of the S. I. M. in the center. There was the _Salvoconducto_ or safe-conduct pass giving his name, age, height, birthplace and mission that Robert Jordan had written out on a sheet from his notebook and sealed with the S. I. M. rubber stamp and there were the four folded sheets of the dispatch to Golz which were tied around with a cord and sealed with wax and the impression of the metal S. I. M. seal that was set in the top end of the wooden handle of the rubber stamp.
"This I have seen," the man in command of the post said and handed back the piece of silk. "This you all have, I know. But its possession proves nothing without this." He lifted the _Salvoconducto_ and read it through again. "Where were you born?"
"And what do they raise there?"
"Who do you know there?"
"Why? Are you from there?"
"Ask me about any one."
"Describe Jos?Rincon."
"Who keeps the bodega?"
"Naturally."
"With a shaved head and a big belly and a cast in one eye."
"Then this is valid," the man said and handed him back the paper. "But what do you do on their side?"
"How goes it in the country of the fascists?" the man commanding asked. He was in no hurry.
"And who is Sordo?" the other asked deprecatingly.
"The leader of one of the best bands in the mountains."
"All of you should come in to the Republic and join the army," the officer said. "There is too much of this silly guerilla nonsense going on. All of you should come in and submit to our Libertarian discipline. Then when we wished to send out guerillas we would send them out as they are needed."
"Listen, _Compadre_," he said. "It is very possible that you are right. But I have orders to deliver that dispatch to the General commanding the Thirty-Fifth Division, which makes an attack at daylight in these hills and it is already late at night and I must go."
"What attack? What do you know of an attack?"
"Nay. I know nothing. But I must go now to Navacerrada and go on from there. Wilt thou send me to thy commander who will give me transport to go on from there? Send one with me now to respond to him that there be no delay."
"I distrust all of this greatly," he said. "It might have been better to have shot thee as thou approached the wire."
"Papers can be forged," the officer said. "Any fascist could invent such a mission. I will go with thee myself to the Commander."
"Thou, Sanchez. Thou commandest in my place," the officer said. "Thou knowest thy duties as well as I do. I take this so-called Comrade to the Commander."
Ahead of him the officer stopped suddenly.
"You have your _carabine_ still," he said.
"Give it to me," the officer said. "You could shoot me in the back with it."
"One never knows," the officer said. "I trust no one. Give me the carbine."
"If it pleases thee to carry it," he said.
"It is better," the officer said. "We are safer that way."
They went on down the hill in the dark.