Demetrio buckled his cartridge belt about his waist and picked up his rifle. He was tall and well built, with a sanguine face and beardless chin; he wore shirt and trousers of white cloth, a broad Mexican hat and leather sandals.
With slow, measured step, he left the room, vanishing into the impenetrable darkness of the night.
The dog, excited to the point of madness, had jumped over the corral fence.
Suddenly a shot rang out. The dog moaned, then barked no more. Some men on horseback rode up, shouting and sweating; two of them dismounted, while the other hung back to watch the horses.
"Hey, there, woman: we want food! Give us eggs, milk, beans, anything you've got! We're starving!"
"Curse the sierra! It would take the Devil himself not to lose his way!"
"Guess again, Sergeant! Even the Devil would go astray if he were as drunk as you are."
The first speaker wore chevrons on his arm, the other red stripes on his shoulders.
"Whose place is this, old woman? Or is it an empty house? God's truth, which is it?"
"Of course it's not empty. How about the light and that child there? Look here, confound it, we want to eat, and damn quick tool Are you coming out or are we going to make you?"