He was somewhat of a pessimist. He liked Mexico but he always carried a gun. A gray-haired man, walking with a slight limp, he claimed to have been present at every earthquake, revolution, and dog-fight that had ever transpired in Mexico or Central America, and when once started on a recital, each murder suggested another.
“Best thing I ever did see was the duel Cash Bradley fought. Cash didn’t know nothing about swords, so when this geezer challenged him, he went up to ask General Agramonte for advice. Great old war-horse was Agramonte! Says he, ‘You don’t need to know nothing about swords—except one little trick of swordsmanship I’m going to teach you. When you first start, the seconds will count three, and at each count you bring down your sword and clash it politely with the other guy’s sword by way of salute. Well, on the count of three, you just accidentally miss the other fellow’s sword and salute him politely in the neck.’ And believe me, boys, that little feat of swordsmanship just saved Cash Bradley’s life.”
Then he would puff at his pipe, and muse a while.
“Great old war-horse, Agramonte! I remember when he had a run-in with President Huerta, the bird Carranza chased out. Huerta invited him up to the Palace for tea, and when Agramonte was about to leave, he says to him, ‘I’ve got forty soldiers on the staircase, waiting to shoot you on your way home.’ Agramonte didn’t blink an eyelash. He just shoved his own gun into Huerta’s ribs, and answers, ‘Then you’ll come with me, and if one soldier raises a gun, you’ll die first.’ They walked down the staircase, arm in arm, and kissed each other good-by at the door, and not a soldier fired a shot.”
Then he would muse again, rapturously, as though recalling pleasant memories.
“Huerta was some war-horse himself. He used to be a general in Madero’s army, until he suddenly walked into the Palace, with his army behind him, and told Madero to quit. Huerta was always a great stickler for constitutionality, so he wanted Madero to sign a proper resignation. And Madero wouldn’t resign. Huerta heated the poker and started to tickle him with it. You could see the blood running out of Madero’s eyes, but he was stubborn as a mule, and he just kept saying, ‘I’m the rightful president of Mexico!’ Finally Huerta had to shoot him. But he was a great stickler for constitutionality, so he put Madero’s body in a coach, and took it out for a ride and had his troops fire a volley on the coach; then he told the world that Madero was shot by his own men while fleeing the country. Some one had to take the presidency then, so Huerta took it. Great stickler for constitutionality was Huerta!”
Another puff at his pipe.
“Carranza don’t do his own shooting, but he’s got plenty of generals to do it for him. If I was you boys, and had written some nasty things about the Old Gent, like you say you have, I wouldn’t wait for no interview. I’d take the next train to Vera Cruz, and catch a boat.”
VI
We waited for the interview. The chances were that nothing we had written would ever be published. If it were, Carranza would never know it. And there was more of Mexico City to be seen.