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Don Ricardo was not a Mexican. No, he was a good American citizen. It was something to make him sleep well in these war-times. "Just the same, I'll bet he'd sleep better if the Lewis outfit was cleaned up," Dave ventured, and Blaze agreed. Guzman caught his enemy's name and nodded. "Ah! That sin verguenza! He sells arms to the Candeleristas and horses to the Potosistas.
He honors my poor thirsty rancho with a visit and brings a glorious rain; then he destroys my enemies like a thunderbolt. No sooner is this done than I receive from the Federals an offer for fifty of my best horses. Caramba! Such a price, too. They are in a great hurry, which looks as if they expected an attack from the Candeleristas at Matamoras. I hope so. God grant these traitors are defeated.
"It would scarcely be safe for you to call; the country is full of Candeleristas " "Cattle!" said the officer, with a careless shrug. "Did not that great poet Byron swim an ocean to see a lovely lady? Well, I, too, am a poet. I have beautiful fancies; songs of love run through my mind. Those Englishmen know nothing of passion. Your American men are cold. Only a Mexican can love.
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