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"Ah, there's a lovely name! And the girl that bears it, lovelier still!" Camilla blushed. As he sought to seize her wrist, she grew frightened, and Picking up the empty pitcher, flew out the door. "No, Demetrio," Anastasio Montanez commented gravely, "you've got to break them in first. Hmm! It's a hell of a lot of scars the women have left on my body.
Suppose there are fifty soldiers instead of twenty. Who knows but he's a spy sent out by the Federals!" "Ha, Tenderfoot, frightened already, eh?" Anastasio Montanez mocked. "Sure! Handling a rifle and messing about with bandages are two different things," Pancracio observed. "Well, that's enough talk, I guess," said Meco. "All we have to do is fight a dozen frightened rats."
The pictures of Guido and Murillo, and the carved figures of Alonzo Cano, Montanez, and Hernandez, may be regarded as authorized effigies of "Our Lady of the most pure Conception;" in other words, as embodying, in the most attractive, decorous, and intelligible form, an abstract theological dogma, which is in itself one of the most curious, and, in its results, one of the most important of the religions phenomena connected with the artistic representations of the Virgin.
With all haste, Anastasio Montanez helped Demetrio up behind him on his horse; the others retreated, seeking shelter along the walls of the houses. "Hey, men," said a workman sticking his head out of a large door, "go for 'em through the back of the chapel. They're all in there. Cut back through this street, then turn to the left; you'll reach an alley.
Heavy, plated mirrors, brass candlesticks, fragile, delicate statues, Chinese vases, any object not readily convertible into cash fell by the wayside in fragments. Demetrio did not share the untoward exaltation. After all, they were retreating defeated. He called Montanez and Pancracio aside and said: "These fellows have no guts. It's not so hard to take a town. It's like this.
"Compadre," Anastasio Montanez said in a tremulous voice. "I ain't got much to tell you...." Whole minutes elapsed between his words; the cursed words would not come to Anastasio. His face, coated with filth, unwashed for days, turned crimson, shining with perspiration. Finally he decided to finish his toast at all costs. "Well, I ain't got much to tell you, except that we are pals...."
Pancracio, Anastasio Montanez, and Quail lay down beside the stretcher like faithful dogs, watchful of their master's wishes. The rest scattered about in search of food. Remigia offered them all she had, chili and tortillas. "Imagine! I had eggs, chickens, even a goat and her kid, but those damn soldiers wiped me out clean."
"Kill the soldiers, kill them all!" Pancracio and Manteca surpassed the others in the savagery of their slaughter, and finished up with the wounded. Montanez, exhausted, let his arm fall; it hung limp to his side. A gentle expression still filled his glance; his eyes shone; he was naive as a child, unmoral as a hyena. "Here's one who's not dead yet," Quail shouted. Pancracio ran up.
An old prostitute was found with a bullet through her stomach; two of Colonel Macias' new men lay in the gutter, slit from ear to ear. Anastasio Montanez carried an account of the events to his chief. Demetrio shrugged his shoulders. "Bury them!" he said. "They're coming back!"
"What I can't get into my head," observed Anastasio Montanez, "is why we keep on fighting. Didn't we finish off this man Huerta and his Federation?" Neither the General nor Venancio answered; but the same thought kept beating down on their dull brains like a hammer on an anvil. They ascended the steep hill, their heads bowed, pensive, their horses walking at a slow gait.
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