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Updated: June 9, 2025
"I’m interested, too." The cantina owner’s drawl was as slow as ever, but it held a note of a whiplash. "Them soldiers...." Fowler appeared, the bar-side shotgun across his arm—"they jumped th’ boys. I saw it, myself." "Yeah, told yuh these town buzzards’re all th’ same. Stick together an’ have it in for th’ army!"
I've got every one of their names, and they're invited to listen to the phonograph to-night, compliments of H. P. M. That's the way I'll get them in a bunch, and things are on the programme to happen to them. "We three were sitting at table in the cantina of the Purified Saints. Mellinger poured out wine, and was looking some worried; I was thinking.
They were Tony, Benito, and the new bookkeeper of El Orobo Rancho. The Mexicans, after eating, repaired at once to the joys of the cantina; while Bridge sought a room in the building to which his escort directed him. As chance would have it, it was the same building in which Billy labored and the room lay upon the rear side of it overlooking the same yard.
He and Anse certainly hadn’t been trying to wipe away the bitter taste of Gainesville by jumping some blue coats in a cantina hundreds of miles and more than a year away from where they had been forced to admit, at last, that bulletless carbines and bare feet could not keep on shooting and marching. "Must have been mistaken about you, Kirby." Now Rennie looked at Drew.
Topham’s quizzical eyebrows lifted in greeting to the waitress’s loaded tray. "I’d say, young man, that you are facing a full-time job now, getting all that inside of you." Drew ate steadily, consuming eggs and beans, tortillas, and fruit. Topham joined three men at the next table, substantial town citizens, Drew judged. The owner of the cantina raised his glass.
Just beyond the Mexican boundary, the door of a long, adobe cantina was flung open, and a group of men came out and paused as if they were wondering what they should do next, and where they should go. Jean looked them over curiously. Mexicans they were not, though they had some of the dress which belonged on that side of the boundary.
The American wives, the flowers of Utica and Ohio, went by in light afternoon dresses, one propelling a baby in a cart. The Field Superintendent, lank and sun-dark under a green palmetto hat, wearing a grotesquely large revolver, saluted Daniel from the open. "Trouble at the cantina barracon," he called cheerfully.
Gibney, too, away off under the tropic stars, leading the care-free life of a real sailor at last, and of Bartholomew McGuffey, imbibing "pulque" in the "cantina" of some disreputable café. Captain Scraggs never knew how badly he was going to miss them both until they were gone, and he had nobody to fight with except Mrs. Scraggs; and when Mrs.
He gathered that up, too, and tucked it back in the proper place. "It would seem, Sergeant," he remarked, "that there was a book involved. And if your men didn’t bring it in here, then Kirby or his friend must have. This is certainly not a cantina fixture. Hmm, History of the Conquest of Mexico," he read the title on the cracked spine. "There are more books, I see."
Making ourselves at home in a coffeehouse conducted by a Mexican, Deweese ordered a few bottles of wine to celebrate properly our drive and to entertain Cruze and our vaqueros. Before the horses arrived, those of us who had any money left spent it in the cantina, not wishing to carry it home, where it would be useless.
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