sudden wind, the hurrying waves rose behind, giving the boat a slap and throwing her forward, sending spray sometimes, in the heat and silence of the lake.
Kate lost her consciousness, under her yellow shawl, in the silence of men.
She woke to the sudden stopping of the engine, and sat up. They were near shore; the white towers of San Pablo among near trees. The boatman, wide-eyed, was bending over the engine, abandoning the tiller. The waves pushed the boat slowly round.
“What is it?” said Cipriano.
“More gasoline, Excellency!” said the boatman.
The soldiers woke and sat up.
The breeze had died.
“The water is coming,” said Cipriano.
“The rain?” said Kate.
“Yes—” and he pointed with his fine black finger, which was pale on the inside, to where black clouds were rushing up behind the mountains, and in