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Updated: June 9, 2025
Keeping their eyes open and ever on the alert, they wandered about the streets and into many public places, but up to eleven o'clock had made no discovery. Then they entered a cantina for breakfast, purposely choosing one that was little frequented by Americans.
The cantina was strangely silent. In the doorway stood the collector, smoking and toying with his watch-charm. Presently the assistant collector appeared, glanced in, and grinned. "The kid is asleep in the office," he whispered to the collector. Waring knew that the flicker of an eyelid, an intonation, a gesture, might precipitate trouble. He also knew that diplomacy was out of the question.
Topham had come to the door of the cantina, his hand outstretched. "Welcome back, Hunt!" "Paugh!" The Mexican spat. "Where is there one Indio who is able to face Don Cazar on his own ground? The folly of that they learned long ago." Don Cazar smiled. That mask of aloofness was wiped away as if he were ten years younger and twenty years less responsible than he had been only seconds earlier.
Bayliss’ high color was fading. "You want it left that way, Topham?" he asked icily. "This only confirms my contention that matters in Tubacca are completely out of control, that the Rebel element has the backing of the citizens. I shall so report it." "That is your privilege." Topham nodded. "But this is still Tubacca and not your camp, Captain. And my cantina.
I came over to say that them rurales got their hoss. But one of 'em let it slip, in Mexican, that they weren't through yet." "So?" said Pat. "Well, you go ahead and feed the stock. We'll be over to the house poco tiempo." Waring and the collector entered the cantina. For a long time they sat in silence, gazing at the peculiar half-lights as the sun drew down.
The storekeeper named a price, and Drew bargained. When he left, the three books reposed on the top of his armload of clothing, and a half hour later he dropped them down on a cantina table. Anse came from the bathhouse and sat down in the opposite chair. His booted foot moved, but now rowel points flashed in the sun.
"Then I shall go back for the cantina and the food." "I'll go right along with you. I'll wait at the other corral." Pete followed her and sat a nervous horse until she reappeared, with the canteen and package of food. The hot wind purred and whispered round them. Above, the stars struggled dimly through the haze. Pete reached down and took her hand.
"Walk him up and down here by the corral." The Kentuckian handed the reins to Callie. "Got something I have to do." Drew went directly to the Four Jacks. This time the cantina was filled, with a double row of the thirsty demanding attention at the bar. But Topham was seated at a table with Don Lorenzo and Zack Cahill of the stage line. The Kentuckian went over to them.
"Trot over to the cantina, and beg, borrow, buy, or steal, a bottle of the best Paso." "Sall I try steal 'im, Monsieur Saint Vrain?" inquired Gode, with a knowing grin. "No, you old Canadian thief! Pay for it. There's the money. Best Paso, do you hear? cool and sparkling. Now, voya! Bon jour, my bold rider of buffalo bulls I still abed, I see." "My head aches as if it would split."
Jean glanced desperately that way. It was very close. She could see the features of the Mexican soldiers lounging before the cantina over there; through the lighted window of the customhouse she could see a dark-faced officer bending over a littered desk. The guard over there spoke to a friend, and she could hear the words he said. Jean thought swiftly.
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