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Updated: June 16, 2025
They wore wide silk bandannas around their necks, large diamond rings on their fingers, large heavy gold watch chains across their breasts. "Here, waiter," Blondie cried, "I ordered ice water. And I'm not begging for it either, see? Look at this bunch of bills. I'll buy you, your wife, and all you possess, see? Don't tell me there's none left I don't care a damn about that!
"Look, Blondie," Quail shouted, "look at that man going out there. Look, he's limping." "I guess the bee stung him all right." Blondie, without turning to look at the wounded man, announced with enthusiasm that he could shoot off the top of a tequila bottle at thirty paces without aiming. "Come on, friend, stand up," he said to the waiter.
Blondie pulled his gun out, pressed the muzzle against the prisoner's chest and brought his finger against the trigger slowly ... slowly.... The prisoner turned pale as a corpse; his face lengthened; his eyelids were fixed in a glassy stare. He breathed in agony, his whole body shook as with ague. Blondie kept his gun in the same position for a moment long as all eternity. His eyes shone queerly.
They had almost reached Cuquio, when Anastasio Montanez rode up to Demetrio: "Listen, Compadre, I almost forgot to tell you.... You ought to have seen the wonderful joke that man Blondie played. You know what he did with the old man who came to complain about the corn we'd taken away for horses? Well, the old man took the paper and went to the barracks.
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.
That alcohol went to our heads; we must have lost our senses." "What the hell do you mean: alcohol! It was all cooked up between Cervantes and the General." "Certainly! That city dude's nothing but a ..." "I don't like to talk about friends behind their backs," said Blondie, "but I can tell you this: one of the two sweethearts he had, one was mine, and the other was for the General."
They made room for her between Luis Cervantes and Blondie, opposite Demetrio. Bottles of tequila, dishes of cut glass, bowls, porcelains and vases lay scattered over the table indiscriminately. Meco, carrying a box of beer upon his shoulders, came in cursing and sweating.
By ten o'clock, Luis Cervantes yawned with boredom, said good night to Blondie and War Paint, who were downing endless drinks on a bench in the square, and made for the barracks. The drawing room was alone furnished. As he entered, Demetrio, lying on the floor with his eyes wide open, trying to count the beams, gazed at him. "It's you, eh? What's new? Come on, sit down."
Without paying the slightest attention, she said: "General Natera is going to hand you out a little general's eagle. Put it here and shake on it, boy!" She stuck out her hand at Demetrio and shook it with the strength of a man. Demetrio, melting to the congratulations raining down upon him, ordered champagne. "I don't want no more to drink," Blondie said to the waiter, "I'm feeling sick.
The soldiers roared with joy. "What fine tripe, General; I swear I haven't tasted the like of it in all my life," Blondie said, as he began to reminisce about "El Monico" at Chihuahua. "You really like it, Blondie?" responded Demetrio. "Go ahead, call for more, eat your bellyful." "It's just the way I like it," Anastasio chimed in. "Yes, I like good food!
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