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Updated: June 19, 2025
Her eyes shone; she chatted volubly of the inconsequent happenings of her small world since the Kid's last visit; it was as all his other home-comings had been. Then outside Tonia swung in a grass hammock with her guitar and sang sad /canciones de amor/. "Do you love me just the same, old girl?" asked the Kid, hunting for his cigarette papers.
"Oh, I might stay two or three days this trip," said the Kid, yawning. "I've been on the dodge for a month, and I'd like to rest up." He was gone half an hour for his tobacco. When he returned Tonia was still lying in the hammock. "It's funny," said the Kid, "how I feel. I feel like there was somebody lying behind every bush and tree waiting to shoot me. I never had mullygrubs like them before.
"Ah, Dios! it is Señor Sandridge," mumbled the old man, approaching. "Pues , señor, that letter was written by 'El Chivato, as he is called by the man of Tonia. They say he is a bad man; I do not know. While Tonia slept he wrote the letter and sent it by this old hand of mine to Domingo Sales to be brought to you. Is there anything wrong in the letter? I am very old; and I did not know.
A gun- scabbard will make that sound when one grasps the handle of a six- shooter suddenly. But the sound was not repeated; and Tonia's fingers needed close attention. And then, in the shadow of death, they began to talk of their love; and in the still July afternoon every word they uttered reached the ears of the Kid. "Remember, then," said Tonia, "you must not come again until I send for you.
At the end of the short twilight they gathered around a supper of frijoles, goat steaks, canned peaches, and coffee, by the light of a lantern in the jacal. Afterward, the ancestor, his flock corralled, smoked a cigarette and became a mummy in a grey blanket. Tonia washed the few dishes while the Kid dried them with the flour-sacking towel.
A trestle burned down on the International Railroad. The south-bound from San Antonio was cut off for the next forty-eight hours. On that train was Tonia Weaver's Easter hat. Espirition, the Mexican, who had been sent forty miles in a buckboard from the Espinosa Ranch to fetch it, returned with a shrugging shoulder and hands empty except for a cigarette.
"We mustn't wait any longer. We've saved a seat in the buckboard for you. Never mind the hat. That lovely muslin you've got on looks sweet enough with any old hat." Pearson was slowly untying the queer thing on his saddle. Tonia looked at him with a sudden hope. Pearson was a man who created hope. He got the thing loose and handed it to her. Her quick fingers tore at the strings.
Tonia Perez, the girl who loved the Cisco Kid, was half Carmen, half Madonna, and the rest oh, yes, a woman who is half Carmen and half Madonna can always be something more the rest, let us say, was humming-bird. She lived in a grass-roofed /jacal/ near a little Mexican settlement at the Lone Wolf Crossing of the Frio.
"I'm a pretty looking old rhinoceros to be gettin' stuck on a kid, ain't I, 'Tonia?" said he. "Not verree good thing," agreed Antonia, sagely, "for too much old man to likee muchacha ." "You bet it ain't," said Dry Valley, grimly. "It's dum foolishness; and, besides, it hurts."
That's what I like red roses." "There's no color more becoming to your complexion and hair," said Burrows, admiringly. "It's what I like," said Tonia. "And of all the flowers, give me red roses. Keep all the pinks and blues for yourself. But what's the use, when trestles burn and leave you without anything? It'll be a dry old Easter for me!"
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