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Updated: June 18, 2025
Two men were missing, Serapio the candymaker, and Antonio, who played the cymbals in the Juchipila band. "Maybe they'll join us further on," said Demetrio. The return journey proved moody. Anastasio Montanez alone preserved his equanimity, a kindly expression playing in his sleepy eyes and on his bearded face. Pancracio's harsh, gorillalike profile retained its repulsive immutability.
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.
"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...."
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."
"But, Doray," interrupted Don Filipo, "you know that Don Anastasio doesn't believe in purgatory." "I don't believe in purgatory!" protested the old man, partly rising from his seat. "Even when I know something of its history!" "The history of purgatory!" exclaimed the couple, full of surprise. "Come, relate it to us." "You don't know it and yet you order masses and talk about its torments?
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!"
He had been sleeping on the hard pavement, close to the trunk of a fruit tree. Anastasio, Pancracio and Quail slept nearby, breathing heavily. His lips were swollen, his nose dry and cold. There were bloodstains on his hands and shirt. At once he recalled what had taken place. Soon he rose to his feet and made for one of the bedrooms.
"It's Pancracio," Quail cried joyfully. Relieved, he rested the butt of his rifle on the ground. Pancracio appeared, holding a young man by the arms; the newcomer was covered with dust from his felt hat to his coarse shoes. A fresh bloodstain lay on his trousers close to the heel. "Who's this tenderfoot?" Anastasio demanded. "You know I'm on guard around here.
Quail, who had no faith in Venancio, requested the man to pull a tooth out. Blondie purchased a black seed from a certain fruit which protected the possessor from lightning or any other catastrophe. Anastasio Montanez purchased a prayer to Christ Our Lord upon the Cross, and, folding it carefully, stuck it into his shirt with a pious gesture.
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."
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