river. She seemed to have lost control of herself. Kicking, pushing the two men away from her, using her feet and arms and even the lantern for defence, she yelled at them: ' Let me go! Caray, let me go! What do you want from me? What have I done? Leave me alone, for God's sake or for the devil's, but leave me alone!'
17
On this side of the river-bank, not far from the end of the bridge, a group of men began to attract attention. There was excited talking, nodding of heads, animated gesticulation. On coming closer I saw that the speaker was the same old white-haired Indian whom I had observed earlier in the night. The group, with that old man in its midst, marched off to the pump-master's.
And once more the bridge became a very lively scene. Boys had broken away from the group after receiving certain instructions and they were now on the bridge preparing something which I could not make out, for I, too, was going to the pump-master's to find out what was happening.
All over the place people began to hustle, scattering in all directions. It was obvious they had a definite purpose in spite of the fact that they looked like ants running around aimlessly. Most of the people, however, did not know the cause of all that liveliness, because it seemed that those in the know had no time to stop and answer questions. People asked one another what was going to come out of that sudden agitation.
While no one mentioned it, everybody realized that the kid was the centre of the noise and bustle.
The two men who, a little while ago, had started fishing again were now working faster than ever. Two others joined them at this moment.
At the pump-master's choza I heard the old Indian say to the woman: 'Yes, senora, a thick candle it must be.'
'Sorry; I've only a few thin ones, but you are welcome to them,' the pump-master woman answered.
'That won't do.' The old Indian looked around and asked: 'Who might have a thick candle around here? Does anybody here have a good thick candle?'
'I don't think that anybody has that sort of candle,' the woman said; 'they are all thin ones, the same as I offered you. Of course, I know they are not of much use, since they bend over so quickly because of the heat.'
'If we could only get a good strong candle that would stand up,' the old Indian repeated, looking vaguely around as if he expected such a candle to fall out of the skies.
'Olla, wait a minute,' the pump-master woman shouted triumphantly. 'I'm sure I've got a good strong candle. It's only,' she added in a sad voice, 'it's only that this candle is a consecrated one, one specially blessed by the senor cura. I've kept it in the house since the Corpus Christi celebration in Rio Lodoso.'
'A consecrated one?' the old Indian gasped. 'A consecrated one, a real consecrated one! Woman, be thanked, that's exactly the very one I'm looking for. Now we can't fail. Bring it! Quick! Hurry! Please let me have that candle, senora!'
The pump-master woman took a lantern from the post and disappeared in her hut. The old Indian explained to the men: 'A consecrated candle is a thousand times better than any other, no matter how beautiful it may look or how costly it is. But this one, being blessed, will work in no time.'
He looked around and discovered a wooden case. It was an ordinary box in which canned milk or soap might have been shipped, but it was weather-beaten, so its exact origin could not be made out.
The old man drew the box into the light of the lantern. Carefully looking it over, he finally selected a board which he broke off. It was half an inch thick and perhaps twenty by ten in area.
He pulled out all the nails. Then he balanced it, held it up to the light, and judged its evenness, for, as he explained, all four corners had to be exactly on the same level; if the board were bent even slightly, it would be useless. After looking at it from every angle he said: 'This board will do, if any.'
The pump-master woman came out of her house holding in
17
On this side of the river-bank, not far from the end of the bridge, a group of men began to attract attention. There was excited talking, nodding of heads, animated gesticulation. On coming closer I saw that the speaker was the same old white-haired Indian whom I had observed earlier in the night. The group, with that old man in its midst, marched off to the pump-master's.
And once more the bridge became a very lively scene. Boys had broken away from the group after receiving certain instructions and they were now on the bridge preparing something which I could not make out, for I, too, was going to the pump-master's to find out what was happening.
All over the place people began to hustle, scattering in all directions. It was obvious they had a definite purpose in spite of the fact that they looked like ants running around aimlessly. Most of the people, however, did not know the cause of all that liveliness, because it seemed that those in the know had no time to stop and answer questions. People asked one another what was going to come out of that sudden agitation.
While no one mentioned it, everybody realized that the kid was the centre of the noise and bustle.
The two men who, a little while ago, had started fishing again were now working faster than ever. Two others joined them at this moment.
At the pump-master's choza I heard the old Indian say to the woman: 'Yes, senora, a thick candle it must be.'
'Sorry; I've only a few thin ones, but you are welcome to them,' the pump-master woman answered.
'That won't do.' The old Indian looked around and asked: 'Who might have a thick candle around here? Does anybody here have a good thick candle?'
'I don't think that anybody has that sort of candle,' the woman said; 'they are all thin ones, the same as I offered you. Of course, I know they are not of much use, since they bend over so quickly because of the heat.'
'If we could only get a good strong candle that would stand up,' the old Indian repeated, looking vaguely around as if he expected such a candle to fall out of the skies.
'Olla, wait a minute,' the pump-master woman shouted triumphantly. 'I'm sure I've got a good strong candle. It's only,' she added in a sad voice, 'it's only that this candle is a consecrated one, one specially blessed by the senor cura. I've kept it in the house since the Corpus Christi celebration in Rio Lodoso.'
'A consecrated one?' the old Indian gasped. 'A consecrated one, a real consecrated one! Woman, be thanked, that's exactly the very one I'm looking for. Now we can't fail. Bring it! Quick! Hurry! Please let me have that candle, senora!'
The pump-master woman took a lantern from the post and disappeared in her hut. The old Indian explained to the men: 'A consecrated candle is a thousand times better than any other, no matter how beautiful it may look or how costly it is. But this one, being blessed, will work in no time.'
He looked around and discovered a wooden case. It was an ordinary box in which canned milk or soap might have been shipped, but it was weather-beaten, so its exact origin could not be made out.
The old man drew the box into the light of the lantern. Carefully looking it over, he finally selected a board which he broke off. It was half an inch thick and perhaps twenty by ten in area.
He pulled out all the nails. Then he balanced it, held it up to the light, and judged its evenness, for, as he explained, all four corners had to be exactly on the same level; if the board were bent even slightly, it would be useless. After looking at it from every angle he said: 'This board will do, if any.'
The pump-master woman came out of her house holding in
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