"Yes?" said Crawford. "Make it a better job than that first time,
Bueno."
Bueno stood there a moment longer, his breath hot and fetid against
Crawford's face. Then his weight settled back onto his heels. He turned
around and set the stool upright and lowered himself onto it once more.
He began twirling the cylinder again with his forefinger. Crawford saw
it tremble against the blued steel.
"When the time comes, Crawford," said Bueno, not looking up, "I will
make it a better job, you can depend on that. I'll finish the job."
The harsh laugh from the doorway caused Crawford to turn back that way.
He wondered how long Quartel had stood there. The man moved on into the
room, a pawky smile on his sensuous lips. The pores of his cheeks and
nostrils were large enough to be clearly discernible, and they exuded
a heavy sweat, lending a greasy look to the thick brown flesh of his
face. He stuck his thumbs in the waistband of his dirty _chivarras_,
leaning back slightly.
"It seems that you haven't got one friend left on the Rockland
_estancia_, doesn't it, _Señor_ Crawford?" he said.
"_En la cárcel y en la cama se conocen los amigos_," said the man who
had come in with Quartel.
"Did I ask for any of your stupid proverbs, Aforismo?" said Quartel.
"It is just a saying they have in Durango," said Aforismo. "In jail and
in bed we know our friends."
He was a thin, stooped man, Aforismo, his white cotton shirt soiled
with dirt and horse-droppings, his eyebrows slanting upward toward the
middle of his forehead to give him a habitual expression of mournful
complaint.
"Maybe you got a proverb that tells how to find out where a man pins
his badge," said Quartel, looking at Crawford.
"I know one about a stitch in time--"
"Knew a Texas Ranger once who pinned it to his undershirt," said
Quartel.