A cloudy sky hides the moon, and a cold wind, the omen of approaching December, whirls the dry leaves and dust in the narrow path leading to the cemetery.

Under the gate, three forms are conversing in a low tone.

“Have you spoken to Elias?” asked a voice.

“No; you know he is very odd and discreet. But he ought to be with us. Don Crisostomo saved his life.”

“I accepted the offer for the same reason,” said the first voice. “Don Crisostomo is having my wife treated at a doctor’s house in Manila. I have agreed to take charge of the convent in the attack, so that I can settle my accounts with the curate.”

“And we, we will have charge of the attack on the cuartel, so that we can say to the members of the Guardia Civil that our father had sons.”

“How many will there be of you?”

“Five! Five will be enough. Don Crisostomo’s servant says that there will be twenty in all.”

“And if things don’t turn out well?”

“St!” said one, and they all became silent.

In the semi-darkness, a form could be seen crawling along the fence. From time to time it stopped, as if to look behind.

And it did so not without reason. Behind, at some twenty paces, came another form. This one was taller and seemed to be darker than the first. Each time that the first stopped this second one would disappear as if the earth had swallowed it.

“They are following me,” murmured the one ahead. “Is it a Guardia Civil? Has the sacristan lied?”

“It appears that the appointment is here,” said the second, in a low voice. “They are up to something bad, when the two brothers hide it from me.”

The first form finally arrived at the gate of the cemetery. The three who were already there advanced.

“Is it you?”

“Is it you?”

“Let us separate. Some one is following me. To-morrow we will have the arms and to-morrow night will be our time. The cry is ‘Viva Don Crisostomo!’ Begone!”

The three persons disappeared behind the wall. The recent arrival hid himself in the hollow of the gate and waited silently.

“Let’s see who is following me!” he murmured.

The second person came along very cautiously, and stopped to look around.

“I have arrived late!” said he in a half intelligible voice. “But perhaps they will return.”

And, as a fine rain began to fall and threatened to continue, he took refuge under the gate. Naturally, he met the other.

“Ah! who are you?” asked the one who had just come up, in a manly voice.

“And who are you?” replied the other tranquilly.

There was a moment’s pause. Each tried to recognize the other by the tone of his voice and to distinguish the other’s features.

“What are you waiting here for?” asked the one with the heavy voice.

“Till the clock strikes eight, so as to have a game of cards with the dead. I want to win some money to-night,” replied the other, in an ordinary tone. “And you: what do you come here for?”

“A—a—for the same thing.”

“Well! I am glad. So I will not be without a companion. I have brought some cards. At the first stroke of the bell, I put down the albur (the first two cards put on the board in monte). At the second stroke, I put down the gallo (the second pair). The cards which move after I have put them down, are those which the dead choose for themselves. Did you also bring some cards?”

“No.”

“Then?”

“It is simple. Just as you act as ‘banker’ for them, so I hope that they will ‘bank’ for me.” (In monte the banker deals the cards and bets that one of the cards in either the albur or gallo is turned up by dealing off the pack, before the card chosen by the other person is turned up. A banker can play against two others.)

“And if the shades do not care to ‘bank’?”

“What can be done? The game is not obligatory upon the dead.”

There was a moment’s silence.

“Did you come armed? What if you have to fight with the shades of the dead?”

“I’ll use my fists,” replied the taller of the two.

“Ah! The devil! Now, I remember! The dead do not bet when there is more than one live person around. There are two of us.”

“Is that true? Well, I don’t want to go away.”

“Nor I. I need some money,” replied the smaller one. “But let us do this: We will decide by the cards which one shall go away.”

“All right!” replied the other, showing a certain amount of displeasure.

“Then let us go in. Have you any matches?”

They entered the cemetery and in the obscurity they searched for a place where they might decide the question with the cards. They soon found a niche upon which they sat down. The shorter one took from his hat some playing cards and the other lighted a match.

Each one looked at the other in the light which the match made, but, judging from the expression on their faces, they did not recognize each other. However, we can recognize in the taller one, the one with the manly voice, Elias; and in the smaller one, Lucas, with the scar on his cheek.

“Cut the cards!” said the latter, without ceasing to look at the other.

He pushed aside some bones which were found on the niche and turned up an ace and a jack for the albur. Elias lighted one match after another.

“On the jack!” said he and, in order to show which of the cards he was betting on, he placed upon it a piece of vertebrÆ.

“I deal!” said Lucas and, after turning up four or five cards, an ace came up.

“You have lost,” he added. “Now leave me alone so that I may win some money.”

Elias, without saying a word, disappeared in the darkness.

Some minutes afterward, the clock in the church struck eight and the bell announced the hour of prayer. But Lucas did not invite anybody to play with him. He did not call out the shades, as superstition demanded. Instead, he uncovered his head, murmured some prayers and crossed himself with the same fervor as the chief of the Brotherhood of the Most Sacred Rosary would have done at that moment.

The drizzling rain continued all night. At nine o’clock the streets were dark and lonely. The little cocoanut oil lanterns, which each citizen had to hang out in front of his house gave light scarcely a meter around. It seemed as though they had been lighted so one might see the darkness.

Two Civil Guards were walking from one side of the street to the other near the church.

“It is cold,” said one in Tagalog with a Visayan accent. “We aren’t catching any sacristans. There is nobody to clean out the alferez’s hen yard and we ought to catch some sacristan and make him do it. Since that one was killed, they have taken warning. I am getting tired of this.”

“So am I,” replied the other. “Nobody commits any robbery; no one disturbs the peace; but, thank God, they say that Elias is in town. The alferez says that the one who catches him will be free from whippings for three months.”

“Ah! Do you know his identification marks?” asked the Visayan.

“I certainly do! Stature, tall, according to the alferez’s description; ordinary, according to the description of Father DÁmaso; color, brunette; eyes, black; nose, regular; mouth, regular; beard, none; hair, black.”

“Ah! And particular marks?”

“Camisa, black; pantaloons, black; a wood-cutter——”

“Ah! He will not escape. I think I see him already.”

“I don’t confuse him with anybody else, although you might think so.”

Both soldiers continued their beats.

By the light of the lantern two forms could again be seen, one following the other cautiously. A forcible “Quien vive?” stops them both. The first one replied “EspaÑa,” in a trembling voice.

The two soldiers drag him along and bring him up to the light, to recognize him. It was Lucas, but the soldiers were in doubt and questioned each other with a glance.

“The alferez said nothing about his having a scar,” said the Visayan in a low voice. “Where are you going?”

“To order a mass for to-morrow.”

“Have you not seen Elias?”

“I do not know him, seÑor,” replied Lucas.

“You dunce! I am not asking if you know him. Nor do we know him. I am asking you if you have seen him.”

“No, seÑor.”

“Listen closely. I will give you his description. Stature, at times tall, at times regular; skin and eyes, black; all the others are regular,” said the Visayan. “Do you know him now?”

“No, seÑor,” replied Lucas, frightened.

“Then, sulung! (Go along). You brute! You ass!” And they gave him a shove.

“Do you know why Elias is tall, according to the alferez, and why he is short, according to the curate?” asked the Tagalog of the other.

“No.”

“Because the alferez was stuck in a mud hole when he observed him, and the curate was on foot when he saw him.”

“That’s right!” exclaimed the Visayan. “You are bright. Why are you a Guardia Civil?”

“I haven’t been always. I was a smuggler at one time,” replied the Tagalog boastingly.

But another form attracted their attention. They called out “Quien Vive?” and brought him up to the light. This time it was Elias himself.

“Where are you going?”

“I am pursuing, seÑor, a man who has whipped and threatened my brother. He has a scar on his face and his name is Elias——”

“Ha?” exclaimed the two, and looked at each other frightened.

And at once they started on a run toward the church, where a few minutes before Lucas had disappeared.