Barajo is proceeding to yield obedience to this chapter of instructions, but with evident reluctance. He has, the night before, been in ill luck, having lost to El Coyote a large sum at the game of monté. He is desirous of having his revanche: for he well knows how his confrères will spend the time in his absence.
“Quick. Señor Vicente!” commands Diaz, observing his dislike to the duty imposed upon him; “if we fail in this business, you will lose more than you can gain at an albur of monté. Go, man!” continues El Coyote, in an encouraging way. “If he come not within the hour, some one will relieve you. Go!”
Barajo obeys, and, stepping out of the jacalé, proceeds to his post upon the top of the cliff.
The others seat themselves inside the hut—having already established a light.
Men of their class and calling generally go provided with the means of killing time, or, at all events, hindering it from hanging on their hands.
The slab table is between them, upon which is soon displayed, not their supper, but a pack of Spanish cards, which every Mexican vagabondo carries under his serapé.
Cavallo and soto (queen and knave) are laid face upward; a monté table is established; the cards are shuffled; and the play proceeds.
Absorbed in calculating the chances of the game, an hour passes without note being taken of the time.
El Coyote is banker, and also croupier.
The cries “Cavallo en la puerta!” “Soto mozo!” “The queen in the gate!” “The knave winner!”—at intervals announced in set phrase—echo from the skin-covered walls.