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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.
"It's closed airtight," Anastasio Montanez said, pushing the door with all his might. "That's all right. I'll open it," Pancracio answered, lowering his rifle and pointing it at the lock. "No, no," Demetrio said, "knock first." Three blows with the butt of the rifle. Three more. No answer. Pancracio disobeys orders. He fires, smashing the lock. The door opens.
Demetrio's men listened in silence, stupefied. Before resuming their march, they built a fire on which to roast some bull meat. Anastasio Montanez, searching for food among the huizache trees, descried the close-cropped neck of Valderrama's horse in the distance among the rocks. "Hey! Come here, you fool, after all there ain't been no gravy!" he shouted.
She liked these gentlemen of the revolution, all right, that she did for, three months ago, you know, the Government soldiers had run away with her only daughter. This had broken her heart, Yes, and driven her all but crazy. As she began, Anastasio Montanez and Quail lay on the floor near the stretcher, their mouths gaping, all ears to the story.
Suddenly, Quail stood up, naked, holding his trousers to windward as though he were a bullfighter flaunting a red cape, and the soldiers below the bull. A shower of shots peppered upon Demetrio's men. "God! That was like a hornet's nest buzzing overhead," said Anastasio Montanez, lying flat on the ground without daring to wink an eye.
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