"Yes," Panchito replied, "let us drink and drown our cares. Besides, have we not Don Torribio Carvajal to help us if necessary?"
"That's another name that ought to stick in your throat, especially here," Corrocho exclaimed, striking the table angrily with his fist, "can't you hold your tongue, accursed dog?"
Panchito frowned, and looked askant at his comrade.
"Are you trying to bully me? Canario, you are beginning to stir my blood."
"Bully you? Why not, if you deserved it?" the other answered without the slightest excitement. "Caray, for the last two hours you have been drinking like a sponge; you are as full as a butt, and you chatter like a foolish old woman. Hold your tongue, do you hear, or go to sleep."
"¡Sangre de Cristo!" Panchito yelled, as he dug his knife vigorously into the bar, "You will give me satisfaction."
"On my word, bloodletting will do you good, and my hand itches to give you a navajada on your ugly chops."
"Ugly chops, did you say?"
And Panchito rushed upon Corrocho, who waited for him with a firm foot. The other gauchos rushed between to prevent them striking.
"Peace, peace, caballeros, in Heaven's name or the fiend's," the pulquero said, "no quarrelling in my house; if you wish to have it out, the street is free."