vertical slope, but the animals kept their balance, and she saw them pass swiftly by, using their hind legs to brake themselves. She was dizzied by the succession of cavalrymen’s faces flashing by and the sabers that the officers were brandishing to point the way, when suddenly there was a stir in the caatinga. The men in grass mantles emerged from the holes, the branches, and fired their shotguns, or, like the jagunço who had been with them and was now creeping downhill, riddled them with arrows that hissed like snakes. She heard, very distinctly, Pajeú’s voice: “Go after the horses, those of you who have machetes.” She could no longer see the cavalrymen, but she imagined them splashing in the river—amid a fusillade and a distant pealing of bells she could hear whinnying—and being struck in the back, without knowing where they were coming from, by those arrows and bullets that she could see and hear the jagunços scattered about her shooting. Some of them, standing upright, were steadying their carbines or crossbows on branches of the mandacarus. The caboclo with the nose missing was not shooting. He was standing directing his men to the right or to the left. At that moment the Dwarf clutched her belly so tightly that she could barely breathe. She could feel him trembling, put her two arms round him, and rocked him back and forth: “They’ve passed now, they’re gone, look!” But when she looked herself, there was another cavalryman there, on a white horse, its mane ruffled by the wind as it galloped down the slope. The little officer riding it was holding its reins with one hand and brandishing a saber in the other. He was so close that she could see his frowning face, his burning eyes, and a moment later she saw him hunch over, his face suddenly blank. Pajeú had his carbine aimed at him and she thought that he was the one who had shot at him. She saw the white horse caracole, wheel about in one of those pirouettes that cowboys put their mounts through to impress the crowds at fairs, and saw it climb back up the slope with its rider clinging to its neck. As it disappeared from sight, she saw Pajeú aiming once again and doubtless getting off another shot.
“Let’s get out of here, let’s get out of here. We’re in the midst of the battle,” the Dwarf whimpered, huddling up next to her again.
“Shut up, you stupid idiot, you coward,” Jurema insulted him. The Dwarf fell silent, drew away, and stared at her in terror, his eyes begging forgiveness. The din of explosions, gunfire, bugle calls, pealing bells continued and the men in grass mantles disappeared, running or crawling down the wooded slope that descended in the distance to the river and Canudos. She looked around for Pajeú and he, too, was no longer there. The two of them were all alone now. What should she do? Stay where she was? Follow the jagunços? Look for a trail that would lead her away from Canudos? She felt dead tired, a stiffness in her every joint and muscle, as though her body were protesting against the mere idea of budging from the spot. She leaned her back against the damp side of the pit and closed her eyes. She felt herself drifting, falling into sleep.
When awakened by the Dwarf shaking her, murmuring apologies for rousing her, she found herself barely able to move. Her bones ached and she was obliged to massage the nape of her neck. Darkness was already falling, to judge from the slanting shadows and the fading light. The deafening din that assailed her ears was not a dream. “What’s happening?” she asked, her tongue feeling parched and swollen. “They’re coming this way. Can’t you hear them?” the Dwarf murmured, pointing down the slope. “We must go have a look,” Jurema said. The Dwarf clung to her, trying to hold her back, but when she climbed out of the pit, he followed her on all fours. She walked down to the rocks and brambles where Pajeú had disappeared from sight, and squatted on her heels. Despite the cloud of dust, she spied a swarm of dark ants moving about on the foothills below her and thought it was more soldiers descending to the river, but she