Raul described a cartoon, in the Guadalajara newspaper, to Manuel, as they rode out of Colima, for Petaca.
"It showed a butterfly of death hovering above an hacienda," said Raul.
"How does the song go about the butterfly of death?" asked Manuel, hitching his gun belt, kicking his horse with his spurs.
"I don't remember," said Raul.
"I should remember," Manuel laughed. "I used to sing it to you."
Raul chuckled. "That was quite a time ago."
"It's a Chiapan song about a loco butterfly that went after men, poisoning them on the trail ... 'A touch of the wing, just a touch of the wing,'" Manuel sang.
Outside Colima, children played ball in the yard of a Jesuit school; a priest—robe flung open—drowsed on a swing. Workers trudged along one side of the yard, toward town, bunches of green bananas suspended between them. White oxen wandered by.
Raul's cowboys came up behind them, riding at a leisurely pace, some of them singing, one playing a harmonica.
Raul and Manuel trotted down a long hill and began to climb. Suddenly, Chico drew close to Manuel's mare. He reared, throwing himself on his hind legs and hurled Raul to the road. The blow knocked the wind out of him and pain wired his shoulder to the ground. He thought of his bullet wound. For a few seconds he lay motionless but by the time Manuel reached his side, he was able to stagger to his feet. Chico was standing calmly under a tree.