Demetrio's wound had already healed. They began to discuss various
projects to go northward where, according to rumor, the rebels had
beaten the Federal troops all along the line.
A certain incident came to precipitate their action. Seated on a crag
of the sierra in the cool of the afternoon breeze, Luis Cervantes gazed
away in the distance, dreaming and killing time. Below the narrow rock
Pancracio and Manteca, lying like lizards between the jarales along one
of the river margins, were playing cards. Anastasio Montanez, looking
on indifferently, turned his black hairy face toward Luis Cervantes
and, leveling his kindly gaze upon him, asked:
"Why so sad, you from the city? What are you daydreaming about? Come on
over here and let's have a chat!"
Luis Cervantes did not move; Anastasio went over to him and sat down
beside him like a friend.
"What you need is the excitement of the city. I wager you shine your
shoes every day and wear a necktie. Now, I may look dirty and my
clothes may be torn to shreds, but I'm not really what I seem to be.
I'm not here because I've got to be and don't you think so. Why, I own
twenty oxen. Certainly I do; ask my friend Demetrio. I cleared ten
bushels last harvest time. You see, if there's one thing I love, that's
riling these Government fellows and making them furious. The last
scrape I had--it'll be eight months gone now, ever since I've joined
these men--I stuck my knife into some captain. He was just a nobody, a
little Government squirt. I pinked him here, see, right under the
navel. And that's why I'm here: that and because I wanted to give my
mate Demetrio a hand." "Christ! The bloody little darling of my life!"
Manteca shouted, waxing enthusiastic over a winning hand. He placed a
twenty-cent silver coin on the jack of spades.
"If you want my opinion, I'm not much on gambling. Do you want to bet?
Well, come on then, I'm game. How do you like the sound of this leather
snake jingling, eh?"
Anastasio shook his belt; the silver coins rang as he shook them
together.
Meanwhile, Pancracio dealt the cards, the jack of spades turned up out
of the deck and a quarrel ensued. Altercation, noise, then shouts, and,
at last, insults. Pancracio brought his stony face close to Manteca,
who looked at him with snake's eyes, convulsive, foaming at the mouth.
Another moment and they would have been exchanging blows. Having
completely exhausted their stock of direct insults, they now resorted
to the most flowery and ornate insulting of each other's ancestors,
male and female, paternal or maternal. Yet nothing untoward occurred.
After their supply of words was exhausted, they gave over gambling and,
their arms about each other's shoulders, marched off in search of a
drink of alcohol.
"I don't like to fight with my tongue either, it's not decent. I'm
right, too, eh? I tell you no man living has ever breathed a word to me
against my mother. I want to be respected, see? That's why you've never
seen me fooling with anyone." There was a pause. Then, suddenly, "Look
there, Tenderfoot," Anastasio said, changing his tone and standing up
with one hand spread over his eyes. "What's that dust over there behind
the hillock. By God, what if it's those damned Federals and we sitting
here doing nothing. Come on, let's go and warn the rest of the boys."
The news met with cries of joy.
"Ah, we're going to meet them!" cried Pancracio jubilantly, first among
them to rejoice.
"Of course, we're going to meet them! We'll strip them clean of
everything they brought with them."
A few moments later, amid cries of joy and a bustle of arms, they began
saddling their horses. But the enemy turned out to be a few burros and
two Indians, driving them forward.
"Stop them, anyhow. They must have come from somewhere and they've
probably news for us," Demetrio said.
Indeed, their news proved sensational. The Federal troops had fortified
the hills in Zacatecas; this was said to be Huerta's last stronghold,
but everybody predicted the fall of the city. Many families had hastily
fled southward. Trains were overloaded with people; there was a
scarcity of trucks and coaches; hundreds of people, panic-stricken,
walked along the highroad with their belongings in a pack slung over
their shoulders. General Panfilo Natera was assembling his men at
Fresnillo; the Federals already felt it was all up with them.
"The fall of Zacatecas will be Huerta's requiescat in pace," Luis
Cervantes cried with unusual excitement. "We've got to be there before
the fight starts so that we can join Natera's army."
Then, suddenly, he noted the surprise with which Demetrio and his men
greeted his suggestion. Crestfallen, he realized they still considered
him of no account.
On the morrow, as the men set off in search of good mounts before
taking to the road again, Demetrio called Luis Cervantes:
"Do you really want to come with us? Of course you're cut from another
timber, we all know that; God knows why you should like this sort of
life. Do you imagine we're in this game because we like it? Now, I like
the excitement all right, but that's not all. Sit down here; that's
right. Do you want to know why I'm a rebel? Well, I'll tell you.
"Before the revolution, I had my land all plowed, see, and just right
for sowing and if it hadn't been for a little quarrel with Don Monico,
the boss of my town, Moyahua, I'd be there in a jiffy getting the oxen
ready for the sowing, see?
"Here, there, Pancracio, pull down two bottles of beer for me and this
tenderfoot.... By the Holy Cross ... drinking won't hurt me, now, will
it?"