When they had saddled the mule they set off again, the mestizo holding the stirrup. They were silent—sometimes the half-caste stumbled, and the grey false dawn began; a small coal of cruel satisfaction glowed at the back of the priest’s mind—this was Judas sick and unsteady and scared in the dark. He had only to beat the mule on to leave him stranded in the forest once he dug in the point of his stick and forced it forward at a weary trot, and he could feel the
