was standing at the bar one evening, my foot on the rail, with an acquaintance-they make a very good dry Martini at the Palace Hotel in Guatemala City-when the man with the scar came up. I shook my head as for the twentieth time since my arrival he held out for my inspection his lottery tickets. But my companion nodded affably.
'Que tal, general? How is life?'
'Not so bad. Business is none too good, but it might be worse.'
'What will you have, general?'
'A brandy.'
He tossed it down and put the glass back on the bar. He nodded to my acquaintance. 'Gracias. Hasta luego.'
Then he turned away and offered his tickets to the men who were standing next to us.
'Who is your friend?' I asked. 'That's a terrific scar on his face.'
'It doesn't add to his beauty, does it? He's an exile from Nicaragua. He's a ruffian of course and a bandit, but not a bad fellow. I give him a few pesos now and then. He was a revolutionary general, and if his ammunition hadn't given out he'd have upset the government and be Minister of War now instead of selling lottery tickets in Guatemala. They captured him, along with his staff, such as it was, and tried him by court-martial. Such things are rather summary in these countries, you know, and he was sentenced to be shot at dawn. I guess he knew what was coming to him when he was caught. He spent the night in gaol and he and the others, there were five of them altogether, passed the time playing poker. They used matches for chips. He told me he'd never had such a run of bad luck in his life; they were playing with a short pack, Jacks to open, but he never held a card; he never improved more than half a dozen times in the whole sitting and no sooner did he buy a new stack than he lost it. When day broke and the soldiers came into the cell to fetch them for execution he had lost more matches than a reasonable man could use in a lifetime.
'They were led into the patio of the gaol and placed against a wall, the five of them side by side, with the firing party facing them. There was a pause and our friend asked the officer in charge of them what the devil they were keeping him waiting for. The officer said that the general commanding the government troops wished to attend the execution and they awaited his arrival.
'"Then I have time to smoke another cigarette," said our friend. "He was always unpunctual."
'But he had barely lit it when the general-it was San Ignacio, by the way: I don't know whether you ever met him-followed by his A.D.C. came into the patio. The usual formalities were performed and San Ignacio asked the condemned men whether there was anything they wished before the execution took place. Four of the five shook their heads, but our friend spoke.
'"Yes, I should like to say good-bye to my wife." '"Bueno," said the general, "I have no objection to that. Where is she?"
'"She is waiting at the prison door." '"Then it will not cause a delay of more than five minutes."
'"Hardly that, Senor General," said our friend.
'"Have him placed on one side."
'Two soldiers advanced and between them the condemned rebel walked to the spot indicated. The officer in command of the firing squad on a nod from the general gave an order, there was a ragged report, and the four men fell. They fell strangely, not together, but one after the other, with movements that were almost grotesque, as though they were puppets in a toy theatre. The officer went up to them and into one who was still alive emptied two barrels of his revolver. Our friend finished his cigarette and threw away the stub.
'There was a little stir at the gateway. A woman came into the patio, with quick steps, and then, her hand on her heart, stopped suddenly. She gave a cry and with outstretched arms ran forward.
'"Caramba," said the General.
'She was in black, with a veil over her hair, and her face was dead white. She was hardly more than a girl, a slim creature, with little regular features and enormous eyes. But they were distraught with anguish. Her loveliness was such that as she ran, her mouth slightly open and the agony of her face beautiful, a gasp of surprise was wrung from those indifferent