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His assistant picked up a hat and strolled out. A few doors down the street stood several excellent saddle animals tied to the hitching-rail in front of the cantina. He didn't need to be told that they were the picked horses of the rurales, and that for some strange reason his superior had sent him to find out just why these same rurales were in town.
Ah, well, he would ride back to Stacey. The señora at the cantina was a pleasant woman. She would not shut the door in his face, for she knew who he was. He would ask for a room for the night. In the morning he would search for Señor Jim. He must find him. Mrs. Adams answered his knock at the hotel door by coming down and letting him in. Ramon saw by the office clock that it was past three.
A seesaw to make a man dizzy, or maybe the vertigo he felt was the product of too much sun, dust, and riding. There was someone at a far table in the cantina, but otherwise the dusky room was empty. Drew went directly to the bar. "Got any coffee, Fowler?" "Sure thing. Nye was in here ’bout five minutes ago. Said for you to wait here for him. You hear ’bout Kitchell holdin’ up th’ stage?"
This latter building still exists as the "cantina" of the bishop's palace a true basilica, with a nave almost square, and with a double-walled apse on the north, and corridors east and west, approached on the south side by a portico. In front was an oblong court. The walls are all of Roman work, and the outer apse has an arcade on pilasters, with large arched windows.
He was his own man, not Rennie’s son, unless he chose.... Two more lamps had been lighted in the cantina. Drew sat down at a table. There was a swish of full skirts, and he looked up at a girl. She smiled as if she liked what she saw of this brown-faced stranger with quiet, disciplined features and eyes older than his years. "You like, señor ... tequila ... whiskee ... food?" "Food, señorita.
His hand met table top in a sharp slap. The Mexican jerked fully awake and looked around. From the back of the cantina emerged a middle-aged Negro. "Yes, Mistuh Reese, suh?" "Customer for you, Hamilcar. I would judge he wants the full treatment. This, Mister Kirby, is the best barber, valet, and general aid to comfort in town, the sultan of our bath.
"Down the street and coming," said Waring, as the rurales boiled from the cantina. "We'll meet 'em halfway," said the collector. And midway between the custom-house and the cantina the two cool-eyed, deliberate men of the North faced the hot-blooded Southern haste that demanded Waring as prisoner. The collector, addressing the leader of the rurales, suggested that they talk it over in the cantina.
What do you think?" "I think you're getting worse as you grow older, Pat. Say, did you ever get track of that roan mare you lost up at Las Cruces?" "Yes, I got her back." "Speaking of horses, I saw a pinto down in Sonora " Just then the assistant joined them, and they sauntered to the cantina. Dex, tied at the rail, turned and gazed at them.
"You see one who has done his own trail cooking too long." "Ah—el pobrete—poor man! Surely there will be an egg!" She was gone and Drew began covertly to study the other men in the room. In any western town the cantina, or saloon, was the meeting place for masculine society.
Reese Topham, the Spaniard Don Lorenzo who had been in the cantina last night, the stout Mexican Bartolomé, and Don Cazar himself were all there before him. "Here he is now." Reese Topham waved a hand at Drew. "This is Mister Kirby, from Texas." "You have a fine horse there, Kirby—the mare, too. Eastern stock, I would judge, perhaps Kentucky breeding?" Rennie asked. Drew was taut inside.
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