The sun had set, the town was lost in the drab melancholy of its
ancient streets amid the frightened silence of its inhabitants, who had
retired very early, when Luis Cervantes reached Primitivo's general
store, his arrival interrupting a party that promised great doings.
Demetrio was engaged in getting drunk with his old comrades. The entire
space before the bar was occupied. War Paint and Blondie had tied up
their horses outside; but the other officers had stormed in brutally,
horses and all. Embroidered hats with enormous and concave brims bobbed
up and down everywhere. The horses wheeled about, prancing; tossing
their restive heads; their fine breed showing in their black eyes,
their small ears and dilating nostrils. Over the infernal din of the
drunkards, the heavy breathing of the horses, the stamp of their hoofs
on the tiled floor, and occasionally a quick, nervous whinny rang out.
A trivial episode was being commented upon when Luis Cervantes came in.
A man, dressed in civilian clothes, with a round, black, bloody hole in
his forehead, lay stretched out in the middle of the street, his mouth
gaping. Opinion was at first divided but finally all concurred with
Blondie's sound reasoning. The poor dead devil lying out there was the
church sexton.... But what an idiot! His own fault, of course! Who in
the name of hell could be so foolish as to dress like a city dude, with
trousers, coat, cap, and all? Pancracio simply could not bear the sight
of a city man in front of him! And that was that!
Eight musicians, playing wind instruments, interrupted their labors at
Cervantes' command. Their faces were round and red as suns, their eyes
popping, for they had been blowing on their brass instruments since
dawn.
"General," Luis said pushing his way through the men on horseback, "a
messenger has arrived with orders to proceed immediately to the pursuit
and capture of Orozco and his men."
Faces that had been dark and gloomy were now illumined with joy.
"To Jalisco, boys!" cried Blondie, pounding on the counter.
"Make ready, all you darling Jalisco girls of my heart, for I'm coming
along too!" Quail shouted, twisting back the brim of his hat.
The enthusiasm and rejoicing were general. Demetrio's friends, in the
excitement of drunkenness, offered their services. Demetrio was so
happy that he could scarcely speak. They were going to fight Orozco and
his men! At last, they would pit themselves against real men! At last
they would stop shooting down the Federals like so many rabbits or wild
turkeys.
"If I could get hold of Orozco alive," Blondie said, "I'd rip off the
soles of his feet and make him walk twenty-four hours over the sierra!"
"Was that the guy who killed Madero?" asked Meco.
"No," Blondie replied solemnly, "but once when I was a waiter at 'El
Monico,' up in Chihuahua, he hit me in the face!"
"Give Camilla the roan mare," Demetrio ordered Pancracio, who was
already saddling the horses.
"Camilla can't go!" said War Paint promptly.
"Who in hell asked for your opinion?" Demetrio retorted angrily.
"It's true, isn't it, Camilla? You were sore all over, weren't you? And
you've got a fever right now?"
"Well--anything Demetrio says."
"Don't be a fool! say 'No,' come on, say 'No,"' War Paint whispered
nervously into Camilla's ear.
"I'll tell you, War Paint.... It's funny, but I'm beginning to fall for
him.... Would you believe it!" Camilla whispered back.
War Paint turned purple, her cheeks swelled. Without a word she went
out to get her horse that Blondie was saddling.