lice, the growling policeman, or the conceited cacique? What
man remembered his pitiful hut where he slaved away, always under the
eyes of the owner or the ruthless and sullen foreman, always forced to
rise before dawn, and to take up his shovel, basket, or goad, wearing
himself out to earn a mere pitcher of atole and a handful of beans?

They laughed, they sang, they whistled, drunk with the sunlight, the
air of the open spaces, the wine of life.

Meco, prancing forward on his horse, bared his white glistening teeth,
joking and kicking up like a clown.

"Hey, Pancracio," he asked with utmost seriousness, "my wife writes me
I've got another kid. How in hell is that? I ain't seen her since
Madero was President."

"That's nothing," the other replied. "You just left her a lot of eggs
to hatch for you!"

They all laughed uproariously. Only Meco, grave and aloof, sang in a
voice horribly shrill:

"I gave her a penny
That wasn't enough.
I gave her a nickel
The wench wanted more.
We bargained. I asked
If a dime was enough
But she wanted a quarter.
By God! That was tough!
All wenches are fickle
And trumpery stuff!"

The sun, beating down upon them, dulled their minds and bodies and
presently they were silent. All day long they rode through the canyon,
up and down the steep, round hills, dirty and bald as a man's head,
hill after hill in endless succession. At last, late in the afternoon,
they descried several stone church towers in the heart of a bluish
ridge, and, beyond, the white road with its curling spirals of dust and
its gray telegraph poles.

They advanced toward the main road; in the distance they spied a figure
of an Indian sitting on the embankment. They drew up to him. He proved
to be an unfriendly looking old man, clad in rags; he was laboriously
attempting to mend his leather sandals with the help of a dull knife. A
burro loaded with fresh green grass stood by. Demetrio accosted him.

"What are you doing, Grandpa?"

"Gathering alfalfa for my cow."

"How many Federals are there around here?"

"Just a few: not more than a dozen, I reckon."

The old man grew communicative. He told them of many important rumors:
Obregon was besieging Guadalajara, Torres was in complete control of
the Potosi region, Natera ruled over Fresnillo.

"All right," said Demetrio, "you can go where you're headed for, see,
but you be damn careful not to tell anyone you saw us, because if you
do, I'l