Guadalupe crossed himself piously and grinned at Torres.
“Nor have I ever paid for many candles,” grinned Torres. “I have never felt the need. But this is different.”
“Fool!” grunted Guadalupe. “You have the girl. Marriage is only for those who are too weak to steal and keep a girl. You have stolen her. Are you afraid to hold her?”
“I fear nothing. To steal a girl is nothing. I have done it before, my friend. But”—Torres poured out a fresh drink—“I want to stand up before a priest and laugh. Ha, ha, ha, ha! I want this girl for my wife, do you understand? I want it known that she is the wife of Torres.”
“Revenge, eh?” smiled Guadalupe. “To laugh at someone, you are willing to marry what you might have without marriage. Is that it, Torres?”
“That is for me to know. I am willing to pay one hundred dollars in gold, Guadalupe. Bring me a priest. Somewhere we will find someone to play the guitar, the mandolin. We will open a cask of wine, while Lopez roasts us much meat, and we will hold a marriage fiesta at the Rancho Sierra.”
Torres staggered to his feet and slapped Guadalupe on the back.
“The first marriage in the Rancho Sierra, eh, old one? What care we for the blabbing tongues of the priests? What harm could they do to us? Send Felipe to Santa Isabella and have him bring back a mumbling priest to say his words over Torres and his bride.”
“It will not take him more than a night and a day. Drink one more cup of mescal, old wolf. Warm up your cold bones. Where is Felipe, the half-wit? Call him. We waste time, and the bridegroom waits.”
They drank another cup of the mescal, holding their cups high above their heads in a leering toast. Torres was getting drunk. Guadalupe flung his cup aside, upset the bottle to see if it contained any more liquor, and started toward the door to call Felipe.