In the dark they came up the hill through the timber to the narrow pass at the top. They were all loaded heavily and they climbed slowly. The horses had loads too, packed over the saddles.
 "We can cut them loose if it is necessary," Pilar had said. "But with that, if we can keep it, we can make another camp."
 "And the rest of the ammunition?" Robert Jordan had asked as they lashed the packs.
 "In those saddlebags."
 Robert Jordan felt the weight of his heavy pack, the dragging on his neck from the pull of his jacket with its pockets full of grenades, the weight of his pistol against his thigh, and the bulging of his trouser pockets where the clips for the submachine gun were. In his mouth was the taste of the coffee, in his right hand he carried the submachine gun and with his left hand he reached and pulled up the collar of his jacket to ease the pull of the pack straps.
 "_Ingl廥_," Pablo said to him, walking close beside him in the dark.
 "What, man?"
 "These I have brought think this is to be successful because I have brought them," Pablo said. "Do not say anything to disillusion them."
 "Good," Robert Jordan said. "But let us make it successful."
 "They have five horses, _sabes?_" Pablo said cautiously.
 "Good," said Robert Jordan. "We will keep all the horses together."
 "Good," said Pablo, and nothing more.
 I didn't think you had experienced any complete conversion on the road to Tarsus, old Pablo, Robert Jordan thought. No. Your coming back was miracle enough. I don't think there will ever be any problem about canonizing you.
 "With those five I will deal with the lower post as well as Sordo would have," Pablo said. "I will cut the wire and fall back upon the bridge as we convened."
 We went over this all ten minutes ago, Robert Jordan thought. I wonder why this now--
 "There is a possibility of making it to Gredos," Pablo said. "Truly, I have thought much of it."
 I believe you've had another flash in the last few minutes, Robert Jordan said to himself. You have had another revelation. But you're not going to convince me that I am invited. No, Pablo. Do not ask me to believe too much.
 Ever since Pablo had come into the cave and said he had five men Robert Jordan felt increasingly better. Seeing Pablo again had broken the pattern of tragedy into which the whole operation had seemed grooved ever since the snow, and since Pablo had been back he felt not that his luck had turned, since he did not believe in luck, but that the whole thing had turned for the better and that now it was possible. Instead of the surety of failure he felt confidence rising in him as a tire begins to fill with air from a slow pump. There was little difference at first, although there was a definite beginning, as when the pump starts and the rubber of the tube crawls a little, but it came now as steadily as a tide rising or the sap rising in a tree until he began to feel the first edge of that negation of apprehension that often turned into actual happiness before action.
 This was the greatest gift that he had, the talent that fitted him for war; that ability not to ignore but to despise whatever bad ending there could be. This quality was destroyed by too much responsibility for others or the necessity of undertaking something ill planned or badly conceived. For in such things the bad ending, failure, could not be ignored. It was not simply a possibility of harm to one's self, which _could_ be ig............