“Yes! Yes!” he said. “I will sleep here on the corridor. Don’t have any fear. I shall have my pistol.”
He marched off, and returned with the pistol, an old long-barrelled affair.
“It has five shots,” he said, showing the weapon. “If you open the door in the night, you must say a word to me first. Because if I see anything move, I shall fire five shots. Pst! Pst!”
She saw by the flash of his eyes what satisfaction it would give him to fire five shots at something moving in the night. The thought of shots being fired at him gave him not the least concern.
“And Niña,” said Juana, “If you come home late, after the light is out, you must call Ezequiel! Because if not, Brumm! Brumm!—and who knows who will be killed!”
Ezequiel slept on a straw mat on the brick verandah outside Kate’s door, rolled up in his blanket, and with the pistol at his side. So she could leave her shutter open for air. And the first night she was kept awake once more by his fierce snoring. Never had she heard such a tremendous resonant sound! What a chest that boy must have! It was sound from some strange, savage other world. The noise kept her awake, but there was something in it which she liked. Some sort of wild strength.