The Underdogs — Part 2, chapters 6-9
VI
They established themselves in a large gloomy house, which likewise belonged to the cacique of Moyahua.
The previous occupants had already left strong evidences in the patio, which had been converted into a manure pile.
The walls, once whitewashed, were now faded and cracked, revealing the bare unbaked adobe; the floor had been torn up by the hoofs of animals; the orchard was littered with rotted branches and dead leaves.
From the entrance one stumbled over broken bits of chairs and other furniture covered with dirt.
By ten o'clock, Luis Cervantes yawned with boredom, said good night to Blondie and War Paint, who were downing endless drinks on a bench in the square, and made for the barracks.
The drawing room was alone furnished.
As he entered, Demetrio, lying on the floor with his eyes wide open, trying to count the beams, gazed at him.
"It's you, eh?
What's new?
Come on, sit down."
Luis Cervantes first went over to trim the candle, then drew up a chair without a back, a coarse rag doing the duty of a wicker bottom.
The legs of the chair squeaked.
War Paint's black horse snorted and whirled its crupper in wide circles.
Luis Cervantes sank into his seat.
"General, I wish to make my report.
Here you have ..."
"Look here, man, I didn't really want this done, you know.
Moyahua is almost like my native town.
They'll say this is why we've been fighting!"
Demetrio said, looking at the bulging sack of silver Cervantes was passing to him.
Cervantes left his seat to squat down by Demetrio's side.
He stretched a blanket over the floor and into it poured the ten-peso pieces, shining, burning gold.
"First of all, General, only you and I know about this....
Secondly, you know well enough that if the sun shines, you should open the window.
It's shining in our faces now but what about tomorrow?
You should always look ahead.
A bullet, a bolting horse, even a wretched cold in the head, and then there are a widow and orphans left in absolute want!
...
The Government?
Ha!
Ha!
...
Just go see Carranza or Villa or any of the big chiefs and try and tell them about your family....
If they answer with a kick you know where, they'll say they're giving you a handful of jewels.
And they're right; we did not rise up in arms to make some Carranza or Villa President of our Republic.
No--we fought to defend the sacred rights of the people against the tyranny of some vile cacique.
And so, just as Villa or Carranza aren't going to ask our consent to the payment they're getting for the services they're rendering the country, we for our part don't have to ask anybody's permission about anything either."
Demetrio half stood up, grasped a bottle that stood nearby, drained it, then spat out the liquor, swelling out his cheeks.
"By God, my boy, you've certainly got the gift of gab!"
Luis felt dizzy, faint.
The spattered beer seemed to intensify the stench of the refuse on which they sat; a carpet of orange and banana peels, fleshlike slices of watermelon, moldy masses of mangoes and sugarcane, all mixed up with cornhusks from tamales and human offal.
Demetrio's calloused hands shuffled through the brilliant coins, counting and counting.
Recovering from his nausea, Luis Cervantes pulled out a small box of Fallieres phosphate and poured forth rings, brooches, pendants, and countless valuable jewels.
"Look here, General, if this mess doesn't blow over (and it doesn't look as though it would), if the revolution keeps on, there's enough here already for us to live on abroad quite comfortably."
Demetrio shook his bead.
"You wouldn't do that!"
"Why not?
What are we staying on for?
...
What cause are we defending now?"
"That's something I can't explain, Tenderfoot.
But I'm thinking it wouldn't show much guts."
"Take your choice, General," said Luis Cervantes, pointing to the jewels which he had set in a row.
"Oh, you keep it all....
Certainly!
...
You know, I don't really care for money at all.
I'll tell you the truth!
I'm the happiest man in the world, so long as there's always something to drink and a nice little wench that catches my eye...."
"Ha!
Ha!
You make the funniest jokes, General.
Why do you stand for that snake of a War Paint, then?"
"I'll tell you, Tenderfoot, I'm fed up with her.
But I'm like that: I just can't tell her so.
I'm not brave enough to tell her to go plumb to hell.
That's the way I am, see?
When I like a woman, I get plain silly;
and if she doesn't start something, I've not got the courage to do anything myself."
He sighed.
"There's Camilla at the ranch for instance....
Now, she's not much on looks, I know, but there's a woman I'd like to have......."
"Well, General, we'll go and get her any day you like."
Demetrio winked maliciously.
"I promise you I'll do it."
"Are you sure?
Do you really mean it?
Look here, if you pull that off for me, I'll give you the watch and chain you're hankering after."
Luis Cervantes' eyes shone.
He took the phosphate box, heavy with its contents, and stood up smiling.
"I'll see you tomorrow," he said.
"Good night, General!
Sleep well."
VII
"I don't know any more about it than you do.
The General told me, 'Quail, saddle your horse and my black mare and follow Cervantes; he's going on an errand for me.'
Well, that's what happened.
We left here at noon, and reached the ranch early that evening.
One-eyed Maria Antonia took us in....
She asked after you, Pancracio.
Next morning Luis Cervantes wakes me up.
'Quail, Quail, saddle the horses.
Leave me mine but take the General's mare back to Moyahua.
I'll catch up after a bit.'
The sun was high when he arrived with Camilla.
She got off and we stuck her on the General's mare."
"Well, and her?
What sort of a face did she make coming back?"
one of the men inquired.
"Hum!
She was so damned happy she was gabbing all the way."
"And the tenderfoot?"
"Just as quiet as he always is, you know him."
"I think," Venancio expressed his opinion with great seriousness, "that if Camilla woke up in the General's bed, it was just a mistake.
We drank a lot, remember!
That alcohol went to our heads; we must have lost our senses."
"What the hell do you mean: alcohol!
It was all cooked up between Cervantes and the General."
"Certainly!
That city dude's nothing but a ..."
"I don't like to talk about friends behind their backs," said Blondie, "but I can tell you this: one of the two sweethearts he had, one was mine, and the other was for the General."
They burst into guffaws of laughter.
When War Paint realized what had happened, she sought out Camilla and spoke with great affection: "Poor little child!
Tell me how all this happened."
Camilla's eyes were red from weeping.
"He lied to me!
He lied!
He came to the ranch and he told me, 'Camilla, I came just to get you.
Do you want to go away with me?'
You can be sure I wanted to go with him; when it comes to loving, I adore him.
Yes, I adore him.
Look how thin I've grown just pining away for him.
Mornings I used to loathe to grind corn, Mamma would call me to eat, and anything I put in my mouth had no taste at all."
Once more she burst into tears, stuffing the corner of her apron into her mouth to drown her sobs.
"Look here, I'll help you out of this mess.
Don't be silly, child, don't cry.
Don't think about the dude any more!
Honest to God, he's not worth it.
You surely know his game, dear?
...
That's the only reason why the General stands for him.
What a goose!
...
All right, you want to go back home?"
"The Holy Virgin protect me.
My mother would beat me to death!"
"She'll do nothing of the sort.
You and I can fix things.
Listen!
The soldiers are leaving any moment now.
When Demetrio tells you to get ready, you tell him you feel pains all over your body as though someone had hit you; then you lie down and start yawning and shivering.
Then put your hand on your forehead and say, 'I'm burning up with fever.'
I'll tell Demetrio to leave us both here, that I'll stay to take care of you, that as soon as you're feeling all right again, we'll catch up with them.
But instead of that, I'll see that you get home safe and sound."
VIII
The sun had set, the town was lost in the drab melancholy of its ancient streets amid the frightened silence of its inhabitants, who had retired very early, when Luis Cervantes reached Primitivo's general store, his arrival interrupting a party that promised great doings.
Demetrio was engaged in getting drunk with his old comrades.
The entire space before the bar was occupied.
War Paint and Blondie had tied up their horses outside; but the other officers had stormed in brutally, horses and all.
Embroidered hats with enormous and concave brims bobbed up and down everywhere.
The horses wheeled about, prancing; tossing their restive heads; their fine breed showing in their black eyes, their small ears and dilating nostrils.
Over the infernal din of the drunkards, the heavy breathing of the horses, the stamp of their hoofs on the tiled floor, and occasionally a quick, nervous whinny rang out.
A trivial episode was being commented upon when Luis Cervantes came in.
A man, dressed in civilian clothes, with a round, black, bloody hole in his forehead, lay stretched out in the middle of the street, his mouth gaping.
Opinion was at first divided but finally all concurred with Blondie's sound reasoning.
The poor dead devil lying out there was the church sexton....
But what an idiot!
His own fault, of course!
Who in the name of hell could be so foolish as to dress like a city dude, with trousers, coat, cap, and all?
Pancracio simply could not bear the sight of a city man in front of him!
And that was that!
Eight musicians, playing wind instruments, interrupted their labors at Cervantes' command.
Their faces were round and red as suns, their eyes popping, for they had been blowing on their brass instruments since dawn.
"General," Luis said pushing his way through the men on horseback, "a messenger has arrived with orders to proceed immediately to the pursuit and capture of Orozco and his men."
Faces that had been dark and gloomy were now illumined with joy.
"To Jalisco, boys!"
cried Blondie, pounding on the counter.
"Make ready, all you darling Jalisco girls of my heart, for I'm coming along too!"
Quail shouted, twisting back the brim of his hat.
The enthusiasm and rejoicing were general.
Demetrio's friends, in the excitement of drunkenness, offered their services.
Demetrio was so happy that he could scarcely speak.
They were going to fight Orozco and his men!
At last, they would pit themselves against real men!
At last they would stop shooting down the Federals like so many rabbits or wild turkeys.
"If I could get hold of Orozco alive," Blondie said, "I'd rip off the soles of his feet and make him walk twenty-four hours over the sierra!"
"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.
"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.
War Paint turned purple, her cheeks swelled.
Without a word she went out to get her horse that Blondie was saddling.
IX
A whirlwind of dust, scorching down the road, suddenly broke into violent diffuse masses; and Demetrio's army emerged, a chaos of horses, broad chests, tangled manes, dilated nostrils, oval, wide eyes, hoofs flying in the air, legs stiffened from endless galloping; and of men with bronze faces, ivory teeth, and flashing eyes, their rifles in their hands or slung across the saddles.
Demetrio and Camilla brought up the rear.
She was still nervous, white-lipped and parched; he was angry at their futile maneuver.
For there had been battles, no followers of Orozco's to be seen.
A handful of Federals, routed.
A poor devil of a priest left dangling from a mesquite; a few dead, scattered over the field, who had once been united under the archaic slogan, RIGHTS AND RELIGION, with, on their breasts, the red cloth insignia: Halt!
The Sacred Heart of Jesus is with me!
"One good thing about it is that I've collected all my back pay," Quail said, exhibiting some gold watches and rings stolen from the priest's house.
"It's fun fighting this way," Manteca cried, spicing every other word with an oath.
"You know why the hell you're risking your hide."
In the same hand with which he held the reins, he clutched a shining ornament that he had torn from one of the holy statues.
After Quail, an expert in such matters, had examined Manteca's treasure covetously, he uttered a solemn guffaw.
"Hell, Your ornament is nothing but tin!"
"Why in hell are you hanging on to that poison?"
Pancracio asked Blondie who appeared dragging a prisoner.
"Do you want to know why?
Because it's a long time since I've had a good look at a man's face when a rope tightens around his neck!"
The fat prisoner breathed with difficulty as he followed Blondie on foot; his face was sunburnt, his eyes red; his forehead beaded with sweat, his wrists tightly bound together.
"Here, Anastasio, lend me your lasso.
Mine's not strong enough; this bird will bust it.
No, by God, I've changed my mind, friend Federal: think I'll kill you on the spot, because you are pulling too hard.
Look, all the mesquites are still a long way off and there are no telegraph poles to hang you to!"
Blondie pulled his gun out, pressed the muzzle against the prisoner's chest and brought his finger against the trigger slowly ...
slowly....
The prisoner turned pale as a corpse; his face lengthened; his eyelids were fixed in a glassy stare.
He breathed in agony, his whole body shook as with ague.
Blondie kept his gun in the same position for a moment long as all eternity.
His eyes shone queerly.
An expression of supreme pleasure lit up his fat puffy face.
"No, friend Federal," he drawled, putting back his gun into the holster; "I'm not going to kill you just yet....
I'll make you my orderly.
You'll see that I'm not so hardhearted!"
Slyly he winked at his companions.
The prisoner had turned into an animal; he gulped, panting, dry-mouthed.
Camilla, who had witnessed the scene, spurred her horse and caught up with Demetrio.
"What a brute that Blondie is: you ought to see what he did to a wretched prisoner," she said.
Then she told Demetrio what had occurred.
The latter wrinkled his brow but made no answer.
War Paint called Camilla aside.
"Hey you ...
what are you gobbling about?
Blondie's my man, understand?
From now on, you know how things are: whatever you've got against him you've got against me too!
I'm warning you."
Camilla, frightened, hurried back to Demetrio's side.
