The Dust of Conflict by Harold Bindloss

THE moon hung low above the clump of cottonwoods that flung their black shadows across the road when Appleby with Harper and four of the Sin Verguenza crept in among the roots which, rising like buttresses, supported the great columnar trunks. Beyond the trees the road wound faintly white towards Santa Marta through the cane that stretched away a vast sweep of dusky blueness, under the moon. The night was hot and almost still, though a little breeze that was heavy with a spicy, steamy smell now and then shook a faint sighing from the cane.

The men sank into the blackest of the shadow with ears strained to catch the slightest sound, while Appleby lay in a hollow with his rifle across his knees where he could follow the strip of road until it twisted sharply. He also fancied that the light was clear enough to make it risky for any of Morales' cazadores to venture round that bend, and there was, he felt tolerably certain, a handful of them not far away, for certain supplies which had been sent the Sin Verguenza had failed to reach the hacienda. Supplies were also necessary, for, as Maccario had predicted, adherents had flocked in daily. They, however, had travelled by paths through the cane, and Appleby had gone out to locate one of the pickets which were watching the road.