et, uttering shrill cries of joy;
then their jubilation turned sinister and they gave vent to threats,
oaths and imprecations.

"Of course, we can't tell how strong they are," said Demetrio as his
glance traveled over their faces in scrutiny.

"Do you remember Medina? Out there at Hostotipaquillo, he only had a
half a dozen men with knives that they sharpened on a grindstone. Well,
he held back the soldiers and the police, didn't he? And he beat them,
too."

"We're every bit as good as Medina's crowd!" said a tall,
broad-shouldered man with a black beard and bushy eyebrows.

"By God, if I don't own a Mauser and a lot of cartridges, if I can't
get a pair of trousers and shoes, then my name's not Anastasio
Montanez! Look here, Quail, you don't believe it, do you? You ask my
partner Demetrio if I haven't half a dozen bullets in me already.
Christ! Bullets are marbles to me! And I dare you to contradict me!"

"Viva Anastasio Montanez," shouted Manteca.

"All right, all right!" said Montanez. "Viva Demetrio Macias, our
chief, and long life to God in His heaven and to the Virgin Mary."

"Viva Demetrio Macias," they all shouted.

They gathered dry brush and wood, built a fire and placed chunks of
fresh meat upon the burning coals. As the blaze rose, they collected
about the fire, sat down Indian-fashion and inhaled the odor of the
meat as it twisted on the crackling fire. The rays of the sun, falling
about them, cast a golden radiance over the bloody hide of a calf,
lying on the ground nearby. The meat dangled from a rope fastened to a
huizache tree, to dry in the sun and wind.

"Well, men," Demetrio said, "you know we've only twenty rifles, besides
my thirty-thirty. If there are just a few of them, we'll shoot until
there's not a live man left. If there's a lot of 'em, we can give 'em a
good scare, anyhow."

He undid a rag belt about his waist, loosened a knot in it and offered
the contents to his companions. Salt. A murmur of approbation rose
among them as each took a few grains between the tips of his fingers.

They ate voraciously; then, glutted, lay down on the ground, facing the
sky. They sang monotonous, sad songs, uttering a strident shout after
each stanza.

III

In the brush and foliage of the sierra, Demetrio Macias and his
threescore men slept until the halloo of the horn, blown by Pancracio
from the crest of a peak, awakened them.

"Time, boys! Look around and see what's what!" Anastasio Mont