The wind was wailing now, and from a distance came the jarring of thunder, like roll of a mighty drum. It was not good to hear. Then the candles paled in the flash of the lightning.
Mendez drained his mug and thrust it back at Felipe.
“More!” he panted. “Madre de Dios, what a night—for a sober man!”
He but echoed our sentiments. A drift of rain pattered upon the cantina. Then, like the roar of a stampeded herd, the storm was upon us. We sat in awe, as the cantina seemed to fairly writhe in the grasp of that mighty wind and the thunder beat a devil’s tattoo on our very roof.
Flash after flash, so close together that they seemed one great light, the lightning seemed to hiss through that whirling, howling tempest. And the swirling candle flame danced the shadows on the wall, whenever the lightning ceased for a moment.
Felipe was praying on his knees, with his forehead against a beer cask. I think I laughed, but it was not with mirth. I could see Mendez, his eyes shut tight and lips moving. Perhaps I might have prayed, but I knew no prayer at that time. My thoughts were jumbled.
The door crashed open, letting in a mighty swirl of wind and rain, which extinguished the candles.
I sprang across the room and forced the door shut.
I thought there was some one near the door, but could not see. Ramon was lighting the candles, bringing the room back to a half-light again. The wind roared against the door, rattling the bar, as if angry at being cheated.
I was looking at Mendez and he was no longer praying. His eyes were wide open now and he was staring toward the door.