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Updated: August 9, 2024
Now, up Las Cruces way " "Let's go back to the cantina and talk it out. There goes Mexico leading a horse with an empty saddle. I guess the boy will be all right in the office." "Was the kid mixed up in your getaway?" "Yes. And he's a good boy." "Well, he's in dam' bad company. Now, Jack says you got to plant 'em in hills and irrigate. I aim to just drill 'em in and let the A'mighty do the rest.
He entered the cantina and called for a drink. The lithe, dark riders of the south, grouped round a table in one corner of the room, glanced up, answered his general nod of salutation indifferently, and turned to talk among themselves. Catering to authority, the Mexican proprietor proffered a second drink to the Americano.
He seemed submerged in a lassitude which he neither invited nor struggled against. A group of riders appeared down the road. The lean man brushed a cloud of smoke away and gazed at them with indifference. They drew nearer. He saw that they were Mexicans rurales. Without turning his head, he called to an invisible somebody in the next room. "Jack, drift over to the cantina and get a drink."
I entered unobtrusively, and took a quiet survey of the scene. The room was the cantina, and all were indulging in potations, more or less deep, of El Paso whiskey. The atmosphere was redolent of the fumes of tobacco, and commingled with the shouts and coarse language of the men, was the shrill treble of the women, who darted here and there, through the throng, like sunbeams.
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