Delcazar was shorter than Crawford, and he had to turn his head up to meet the younger man's eyes. "Listen, Glenn," he said soberly, "I don't know what you're in this for. I've heard a lot of reasons. Quartel thinks you got a badge tacked on you somewhere. That might be. A man can get a new job in the time you been away from the brush. Bueno Bailey said something about trying to clear yourself of Rockland's murder. That may be, too. If you didn't kill Rockland, maybe the man who did is at the Big O spread. Personally, I no care whether you killed Rockland or not or why you're here. I just no want to see you messed up in it, that's all. I know you before, and I no want to see you messed up in it. Take my advice as an amigo. Forget Mogotes Serpientes. Forget the whole thing. Get out of it. Get out of it right now."
Crawford scratched his beard, squinting into the old man's eyes thoughtfully. "You know, Del, it just strikes me. Two men can be friends for a long time, and not really know each other very well."
"Ah, carajo," growled Delcazar, shuffling back to hunker over the fire.
Crawford watched him stir the steaming beans. "Is there a way into Snake Thickets, Del?"
"Nada," grumbled the old man. "I don't know. I don't know nothing."
There was a muffled sound from outside, and then Merida was standing silhouetted in the doorway, staring at Crawford. All his weight lay in his chest and shoulders, and below the line of dark sunburn that covered his face and neck, the skin was pale and white and so thin as to gleam almost translucently over the musculature lying quilted across his upper back. He became aware of how long Merida had gazed at him like that, without speaking, and turned farther toward her. The myriad striations that formed the heavy roll of muscle capping his shoulders were clearly defined, and the abrupt movement caused a faint ripple beneath the skin, like the stir of a sleepy snake. Merida smiled strangely as she entered with a big clay jug of water.
"Cimarrón," she said.
"What?" he asked.
"Cimarrón," she said. "Ladino. I never could quite think of what you reminded me of. Now I know. One of those wild outlaw cattle Quartel brings in from the brush. Sullen, like them. Bitter. Even built like them. Their weight all up in their shoulders, running the brush so constantly they melt the beef off till—"
She stopped short, a strange, indulgent smile catching at her mouth as she saw the puzzled expression in his face. He turned to pull his shirt off the estufa. Merida moved after him, till she stood close behind. Delcazar was across the room, pulling a twist of chili from where he had hung it on a viga. Merida spoke in a low tone that the old man would not hear.