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iron fate which it would be impossible to resist or evade. For a long time profound silence reigned among these thousands and tens of thousands--a silence broken only by an occasional indistinct murmur or sigh, which found, however, neither reply nor echo. A group that had stationed itself on a projection of the hillock over which winds the road from Mexico to Ajotla, at last had its attention attracted by a party of horsemen approaching from the direction of Buen Vista. This sight, although by no means unusual on that frequented road, appeared to interest the Leperos. They raised their heads, gazed a while at the riders, gave a kind of growl, like dogs who perceive something strange or suspicious, and then for the most part stretched themselves out again. Some, however, continued to mutter and grumble, and at last began to utter audible curses. "Ahuitzote!" exclaimed one of the Guachinangos, rising to his feet, and fixing the oblique gaze of his eyes, which were set wide apart, upon the distant horsemen. "Ahuitzote!" repeated his companions--the last syllable of the word seeming to stick in their throats. "I was lying yesterday under the _portales_," murmured an Indian, "when Agostino Iturbide came by"---- He was too indolent to finish what he would have said; but a glance at his legs and shoulders, which were bloody and scarred with sabre cuts, completed his meaning. "The earth belongs to Tonantzin,[8] the heavens to the Virgin of Guadalupe, and the _portales_ to the red men," said another Indian. "The day will come when no Gachupin shall drive us out of them." "And when the sons of Tenochtitlan shall have pulque for their drink," muttered a third. "And tortillas with fat chili for their food," chimed in a fourth. "_Maldito Don Agostino!_ He is more the Ahuitzote of the children of Tenochtitlan than the Gachupins themselves." During this dialogue, an old Indian of powerful frame had ascended the hillock, and squatted himself down on one of the blocks of lava with which the ground was strewed. The other Leperos seemed to regard him with a certain degree of respect and attention, and, after muttering the name of Tatli Ixtla,[9] they remained silent, as if expecting him to speak. As this, however, did not immediately follow, they let their heads sink again, and relapsed into their previous state of brooding apathy. The Indian gazed mysteriously around him, lit a cigar, and, after a few puffs, broke
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