After that he lied down as comfortably as he could, sinking his elbows among the pine needles and resting the barrel of the machine gun on the trunk of the tree. Robert knew that if by following the tracks left by the horses the officer came galloping towards him, he and the officer would be separated by less than twenty meters. At that distance there would be no problem at all. The officer was lieutenant Berrendo. He had arrived at the farm because he had been told that he needed to come closer to the cliff. They told him this after they received news of the attack on the neighbouring detachment. Berrendo and his men had asked too much of their horses when they were coming to the cliff, and then they had had to turn around when they realised that the bridge had been blown up. They had had to cross the gorge at a higher altitude and then they had had to descend through the forest. The horses were sweaty and exhausted. They had to be forced to gallop. Now lieutenant Berrendo was climbing up the mountain, following the tracks of the horses. His face looked stern and grave. His machine gun was resting on his saddle. He had his left arm on it. Robert Jordan was hiding behind the tree, trying to keep his hands steady. He waited until the officer got to the place in which the first pines of the forest met the grass-covered slope of the mountain. Robert could feel the beating of his heart against the ground. The sound of his thumping heart seemed to him to be muffled by the pine needles.