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Updated: June 7, 2025
War Paint put her leg between his, twisted it suddenly, and Demetrio fell to the ground outside of the bedroom. He rose, raging. "Help! Help! He's going to kill me!" she cried, seizing Demetrio's wrist and turning the gun aside. The bullet hit the floor. War Paint continued to shriek. Anastasio disarmed Demetrio from behind.
As the sun's rays began to slip from the housetops, they made their entrance into Moyahua, four abreast, to the sound of the bugle. The roosters' chorus was deafening, dogs barked their alarm, but not a living soul stirred on the streets. War Paint spurred her black horse and with one jump was abreast with Demetrio. They rode forward, elbow to elbow. She wore a silk dress and heavy gold earrings.
Demetrio smiles and without further delay calls to his men to come in. Like hungry dogs who have sniffed their meat, the mob bursts in, trampling down the women who sought to bar the entrance with their bodies. Several faint, fall to the ground; others flee in panic. The children scream.
The soldiers had retreated; Demetrio began the search for the soldiers' horses which had been hidden in the sierra. Suddenly Quail, who had been walking ahead, shrieked. He had caught sight of his companions swinging from the branches of a mesquite. There could be no doubt of their identity; Serapio and Antonio they certainly were. Anastasio Montanez prayed brokenly.
"Don't kill me, Chief, please don't kill me," the old sergeant implored squirming at the feet of Demetrio, who stood over him, knife in hand. The victim raised his wrinkled Indian face; there was not a single gray hair in his head today. Demetrio recognized the spy who had lied to him the day before. Terrified, Luis Cervantes quickly averted his face.
"It's true, isn't it, Camilla? You were sore all over, weren't you? And you've got a fever right now?" "Well anything Demetrio says." "Don't be a fool! say 'No, come on, say 'No," War Paint whispered nervously into Camilla's ear. "I'll tell you, War Paint.... It's funny, but I'm beginning to fall for him.... Would you believe it!" Camilla whispered back.
Pancracio is about to break the lock of a huge wardrobe when suddenly the doors open and out comes a man with a rifle in his hands. "Senor Don Monico!" they all exclaim in surprise. "Demetrio, please, don't harm me! Please don't harm me! Please don't hurt me! You know, Senor Don Demetrio, I'm your friend!" Demetrio Macias smiles slyly. "Are friends," he asked, "usually welcomed gun in hand?"
"Glory be to God and by His Will," said Demetrio, "tonight or tomorrow at the latest we'll meet the Federals. What do you say, boys, shall we let them find their way about these trails?" The ragged crew jumped to their feet, uttering shrill cries of joy; then their jubilation turned sinister and they gave vent to threats, oaths and imprecations.
What if the enemy, instead of being two days away, was hiding somewhere among the underbrush on the terrible hill through whose gorge they now advanced? None dared show the slightest fear. Not one of Demetrio Macias' men dared say, "I shall not move another inch!" So, when firing began in the distance where the vanguard was marching, no one felt surprised.
"Was that the guy who killed Madero?" asked Meco. "No," Blondie replied solemnly, "but once when I was a waiter at 'El Monico, up in Chihuahua, he hit me in the face!" "Give Camilla the roan mare," Demetrio ordered Pancracio, who was already saddling the horses. "Camilla can't go!" said War Paint promptly. "Who in hell asked for your opinion?" Demetrio retorted angrily.
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