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Without understanding Blondie's words, Demetrio raised his eyes to hers; they gazed at each other like two dogs sniffing one another with distrust. Demetrio could not resist her furiously provocative glances; he was forced to lower his eyes. From their seats, some of Natera's officers began to hurl obscenities at War Paint.
I'm sick and tired of War Paint and this other little angel from heaven won't even look at me!" Luis Cervantes saw that the last remark was addressed to his bride; with great surprise he realized that it was not Demetrio's foot he had noticed close to the girl's, but Blondie's. He was boiling with indignation. "Keep your eye on me, boys," Blondie went on, gun in hand.
Camilla, who had witnessed the scene, spurred her horse and caught up with Demetrio. "What a brute that Blondie is: you ought to see what he did to a wretched prisoner," she said. Then she told Demetrio what had occurred. The latter wrinkled his brow but made no answer. War Paint called Camilla aside. "Hey you ... what are you gobbling about? Blondie's my man, understand?
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!
Then, with a heavy hoarse voice he growled, enraged: "Get out of here! Quick!" No one dared stop her. She moved off slowly, mute, somber. Blondie's shrill, guttural voice broke the silent stupor: "Thank God! At last I'm rid of that damned louse!" Someone plunged a knife Deep in my side. Did he know why? I don't know why. Maybe he knew, I never knew. The blood flowed out Of that mortal wound.
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