Demetrio was also dressed in his best clothes. His broad-brimmed hat was richly embroidered; his leather trousers were tight-fitting and adorned with silver buttons; his coat was embroidered with gold thread.
There was a sound of doors being beaten down and forced open. The soldiers had already scattered through the town, to gather together ammunition and saddles from everywhere.
"We're going to bid Monico good morning," Demetrio said gravely, dismounting and tossing his bridle to one of his men. "We're going to have breakfast with Don Monico, who's a particular friend of mine ...."
The general's staff smiled ... a sinister, malign smile....
Making their spurs ring against the pavement, they walked toward a large pretentious house, obviously that of a cacique.
"It's closed airtight," Anastasio Montanez said, pushing the door with all his might.
"That's all right. I'll open it," Pancracio answered, lowering his rifle and pointing it at the lock.
"No, no," Demetrio said, "knock first."
Three blows with the butt of the rifle. Three more. No answer. Pancracio disobeys orders. He fires, smashing the lock. The door opens. Behind, a confusion of skirts and children's bare legs rushing to and fro, pell-mell.
"I want wine. Hey, there: wine!" Demetrio cries in an imperious voice, pounding heavily on a table.