in
the town, and he had surrounded himself with a band of choice spirits who
were experts in keno, roulette and poker. These still remained on his
hands, some of them in the capacity of barkeepers, and others practically
as pensioners. They were all great sportsmen, heavy drinkers and
loyal-to-the-death friends. At short intervals they went on hunting trips
down the river, generally remaining over the week-end. It was of these
expeditions that Ramon now became a regular member. Sometimes the whole
party would get drunk and come back whooping and singing as the
automobiles bowled along, occasionally firing shotguns into the air. At
other times when luck was good everyone became interested in the sport and
forgot to drink. Ramon had a real respect for Cassi, and a certain amount
of contempt for most of the rest of them; yet he felt more at home with
these easy-going, pleasure-loving, loyal fellows than he did with those
thrifty, respectable citizens in whose esteem the dollar stood so
invariably first.

Cassi and his friends used most often to go to a Mexican village some
fifty miles down the river where the valley was low and flat, and speckled
with shallow alkaline ponds made by seepage from the river. Every evening
the wild ducks flew into these ponds from the river to feed, and the
shooting at this evening flight Ramon especially loved. The party would
scatter out, each man choosing his own place on the East side of one of
the little lakes, so that the red glare of the sunset was opposite him.
There he would lie flat on the ground, perhaps making a low blind of weeds
or rushes.

Seldom even in January was it cold enough to be uncomfortable. Ramon would
lie on an elbow, smoking a cigarette, watching the light fade, and the
lagoon before him turn into molten gold to match the sunset sky. It would
be very quiet save for such sounds as the faraway barking of dogs or the
lowing of cattle. When the sky overhead had faded to an obscure purple,
and the flare of the sunset had narrowed to a belt along the horizon, he
would hear the distant eerie whistle of wild wings. Nothing could be seen
yet, but the sound multiplied. He could distinguish now the roar of a
great flock of mallards, circling round and round high overhead, scouting
for danger. He could hear the sweet flute-notes of teal and pintails, and
the raucous, cautious quack of some old green-head. A teal would pitch
suddenly down to the water before him and rest there