Chapter 4

           CHARLESGOULDturnedtowardsthetown.BeforehimthejaggedpeaksoftheSierracameoutallblackinthecleardawn.Hereandthereamuffledleperowhiskedroundthecornerofagrass-grownstreetbeforetheringinghoofsofhishorse.Dogsbarkedbehindthewallsofthegardens;andwiththecolourlesslightthechillofthesnowsseemedtofallfromthemountainsuponthedisjointedpavementsandtheshutteredhouseswithbrokencornicesandtheplasterpeelinginpatchesbetweentheflatpilastersofthefronts.ThedaybreakstruggledwiththegloomunderthearcadesonthePlaza,withnosignsofcountrypeopledisposingtheirgoodsfortheday’smarket,pilesoffruit,bundlesofvegetablesornamentedwithflowers,onlowbenchesunderenormousmatumbrellas;withnocheeryearlymorningbustleofvillagers,women,children,andloadeddonkeys.Onlyafewscatteredknotsofrevolutionistsstoodinthevastspace,alllookingonewayfromundertheirslouchedhatsforsomesignofnewsfromRincon.ThelargestofthosegroupsturnedaboutlikeonemanasCharlesGouldpassed,andshouted,“Vivalalibertad!”afterhiminamenacingtone.

           CharlesGouldrodeon,andturnedintothearchwayofhishouse.Inthepatiolitteredwithstraw,apracticante,oneofDr.Monygham’snativeassistants,satonthegroundwithhisbackagainsttherimofthefountain,fingeringaguitardiscreetly,whiletwogirlsofthelowerclass,standingupbeforehim,shuffledtheirfeetalittleandwavedtheirarms,hummingapopulardancetune.