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Bizco stared closely at Manuel, and seeing that Manuel, on his side, was observing him calmly, averted his gaze. Bizco's face possessed the interest of a queer animal or of a pathological specimen. His narrow forehead, his flat nose, his thick lips, his freckled skin and his red, wiry hair lent him the appearance of a huge, red baboon.
Bizco painted crosses, stars and names upon his chest; Vidal, who didn't like to prick himself, stippled his own name on one arm and his sweetheart's on the other; Manuel didn't care to inscribe anything upon his person, first because he was afraid of blood, and then because the idea had been Bizco's. Each harboured a mute hostility against the other.
"Where are you now?" "In a house ... working." "There's a brave fool for you! Come on, join us." "No. I can't.... Listen, how about Vidal? Didn't you ever see him again?" El Bizco's face turned grimmer than ever. "I'll get even with that scoundrel. He won't escape before I carve a nice scar on his face.... But are you coming along with us or not?" "No."
He knew almost everybody in the district. Manuel did not care for Bizco's company; Bizco sought only to hobnob with thieves. He was forever taking Manuel and Vidal to haunts frequented by bandits and low types, but since Vidal seemed to think it all right, Manuel never objected.
Now, if they would consent to act as bait to induce the inquisitive onlookers to play, he'd give them a share of the profits. "Ask him how much?" said El Bizco to Vidal. "Don't be an idiot." Pastiri explained the matter for El Bizco's benefit; the confederates were to place bets and then proclaim in a loud voice that they had won. Then he'd see to making the spectators eager to play. "All right.
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