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Updated: June 24, 2025
Tears of rage and pain rise to Demetrio's eyes as Anastasio slowly slides from his horse without a sound, and lies outstretched, motionless. Venancio falls close beside him, his chest riddled with bullets. Meco hurtles over the precipice, bounding from rock to rock. Suddenly, Demetrio finds himself alone. Bullets whiz past his ears like hail.
Demetrio's horse reared, staggered on its hind legs, bent its forelegs, and fell to the ground, kicking. The Owl uttered a piercing cry and fell from his horse which rushed madly to the center of the square. Another volley: the guide threw up his arms and fell on his back without a sound.
Don Monico, in consternation, throws himself at Demetrio's feet, clasps his knees, kisses his shoes: "My wife! ... My children! ... Please, Senor Don Demetrio, my friend!" Demetrio with taut hand puts his gun back in the holster. A painful silhouette crosses his mind. He sees a woman with a child in her arms walking over the rocks of the sierra in the moonlight. A house in flames.... "Clear out.
Seated on the bar, she swung her legs; at every swing, the toes of her shoes touched Demetrio's back. "Yes: I'm Demetrio Macias!" he said, scarcely turning toward her. Indifferently, she continued to swing her legs, displaying her blue stockings with ostentation. "Hey, War Paint, what are you doing here? Step down and have a drink!" said the man called Blondie.
"In the name of Jesus, Mary, and Joseph," Remigia said, blessing the room and making the sign of the cross; next, with infinite dexterity, she placed the warm bleeding portions of the pigeon upon Demetrio's abdomen. "You'll see: you'll feel much better now." Obeying Remigia's instructions, Demetrio lay motionless, crumpled up on one side. Then Fortunata gave vent to her sorrows.
From now on, you know how things are: whatever you've got against him you've got against me too! I'm warning you." Camilla, frightened, hurried back to Demetrio's side. The men camped in a meadow, near three small lone houses standing in a row, their white walls cutting the purple fringe of the horizon. Demetrio and Camilla rode toward them.
Demetrio's wound had already healed. They began to discuss various projects to go northward where, according to rumor, the rebels had beaten the Federal troops all along the line. A certain incident came to precipitate their action. Seated on a crag of the sierra in the cool of the afternoon breeze, Luis Cervantes gazed away in the distance, dreaming and killing time.
Moyahua is almost like my native town. They'll say this is why we've been fighting!" Demetrio said, looking at the bulging sack of silver Cervantes was passing to him. Cervantes left his seat to squat down by Demetrio's side. He stretched a blanket over the floor and into it poured the ten-peso pieces, shining, burning gold.
As they strained their eyes, they could distinguish others behind him, ten, twenty, a hundred. ... Then, suddenly, darkness swallowed them up. Only when the sun rose, Demetrio's band realized that the canyon was alive with men, midgets seated on miniature horses. "Look at 'em, will you?" said Pancracio. "Pretty, ain't they? Come on, boys, let's go and roll marbles with 'em."
Valderrama, the tramp, who had enlisted in Demetrio's army one day without anyone remembering the time or the place, overheard some of Demetrio's words. Fools do not eat fire. That very day Valderrama disappeared mysteriously as he had come. They entered the streets of Juchipila as the church bells rang, loud and joyfully, with that peculiar tone that thrills every mountaineer.
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