“On you.”
“Good, then let’s go over.”
“El Rano is always making bets,” said Cornejo.
“Is his name El Rano?”
“Haven’t you noticed his face?”
The little man turned around, and Springer was forced to suppress a smile. Sure enough, he looked exactly like a frog, with his protruding, bulgy, stupid-looking eyes, his broad face, bottle-shaped nose, and mouth that spread from ear to ear.
“Where is El Garroso?” asked Quentin.
“At that table over there.”
A man arose, smiling; he was round shouldered, with bow legs and arms, a square head, a bull neck, and a swelling something like a coxcomb in the middle of his forehead.
El Rano, El Garibaldino, and El Animero placed a table and two chairs in the middle of the tavern. El Garroso sat down, followed directly by Quentin.