For Whom the Bell Tolls Read Free Page B

head.
    â€œYou have that many years?” Robert Jordan asked, seeing that now, for the moment, it would be all right and trying to make it go easier.
    â€œSixty-eight in the month of July.”
    â€œIf we should ever see that month,” said Pablo. “Let me help you with the pack,” he said to Robert Jordan. “Leave the other to the old man.” He spoke, not sullenly, but almost sadly now. “He is an old man of great strength.”
    â€œI will carry the pack,” Robert Jordan said.
    â€œNay,” said the old man. “Leave it to this other strong man.”
    â€œI will take it,” Pablo told him, and in his sullenness there was a sadness that was disturbing to Robert Jordan. He knew that sadness and to see it here worried him.
    â€œGive me the carbine then,” he said and when Pablo handed it to him, he slung it over his back and, with the two men climbing ahead of him, they went heavily, pulling and climbing up the granite shelf and over its upper edge to where there was a green clearing in the forest.
    They skirted the edge of the little meadow and Robert Jordan, striding easily now without the pack, the carbine pleasantly rigid over his shoulder after the heavy, sweating pack weight, noticed thatthe grass was cropped down in several places and signs that picket pins had been driven into the earth. He could see a trail through the grass where horses had been led to the stream to drink and there was the fresh manure of several horses. They picket them here to feed at night and keep them out of sight in the timber in the daytime, he thought. I wonder how many horses this Pablo has?
    He remembered now noticing, without realizing it, that Pablo’s trousers were worn soapy shiny in the knees and thighs. I wonder if he has a pair of boots or if he rides in those alpargatas, he thought. He must have quite an outfit. But I don’t like that sadness, he thought. That sadness is bad. That’s the sadness they get before they quit or before they betray. That is the sadness that comes before the sell-out.
    Ahead of them a horse whinnied in the timber and then, through the brown trunks of the pine trees, only a little sunlight coming down through their thick, almost-touching tops, he saw the corral made by roping around the tree trunks. The horses had their heads pointed toward the men as they approached, and at the foot of a tree, outside the corral, the saddles were piled together and covered with a tarpaulin.
    As they came up, the two men with the packs stopped, and Robert Jordan knew it was for him to admire the horses.
    â€œYes,” he said. “They are beautiful.” He turned to Pablo. “You have your cavalry and all.”
    There were five horses in the rope corral, three bays, a sorrel, and a buckskin. Sorting them out carefully with his eyes after he had seen them first together, Robert Jordan looked them over individually. Pablo and Anselmo knew how good they were and while Pablo stood now proud and less sad-looking, watching them lovingly, the old man acted as though they were some great surprise that he had produced, suddenly, himself.
    â€œHow do they look to you?” he asked.
    â€œAll these I have taken,” Pablo said and Robert Jordan was pleased to hear him speak proudly.
    â€œThat,” said Robert Jordan, pointing to one of the bays, a big stallion with a white blaze on his forehead and a single white foot, the near front, “is much horse.”
    He was a beautiful horse that looked as though he had come out of a painting by Velásquez.
    â€œThey are all good,” said Pablo. “You know horses?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œLess bad,” said Pablo. “Do you see a defect in one of these?”
    Robert Jordan knew that now his papers were being examined by the man who could not read.
    The horses all still had their heads up looking at the man. Robert Jordan slipped through between the double rope of the corral