There were in all eighty-seven wagons loaded with wine, corn, flour, and provisions for the use of the army.
An equal division was made of these among the various bands of peasants in proportion to their strength.

A few casks of wine were broached.

The peasants then buried their own dead--who were very few in number, so securely had they been sheltered in their hiding places--and then the force broke up, each party marching with its proportion of wagons back to its village.
"Now, Signor Capitano," Father Ignacio said, "I trust that you will come home with me.

My village is six miles away, and I will do my best to make you comfortable.

Hitherto you have seen me only as a man of war.