‘Lord, does Latin run in your family, Elbert?’
‘I speak Mexican,’ Slim reminded, in the tone of one wronged.
Cal squinted at the fire. ‘Sure, I forgot. Slim eats her.’
Elbert looked up at the stars. They had suddenly blazed out friendly, and over the cattle came a warm wind and folded him in.
‘Excuse me,’ Cal added. ‘I’ve got some very close work to do right now—threadin’ a needle to tack my war-sack together.’
IX
INITIATION
They crossed the Border at Nogales, Cal riding old Chester, Slim on his ‘Indian’ and Elbert astride.
‘Yes, Elbert,’ said Cal that first afternoon in Mexico, ‘she’s shore an indulgence for the eyes.’
A few minutes before sundown they entered the small pueblo of Cienaga. Six hours in the saddle; Elbert was tired, athirst; the early May sunlight had been burning, but except for the occasional oppressive doubt as to his power to carry on without his two friends finding out his real mission, and the fear that his tenderfoot ways might slow up their adventuring, Elbert was possessed by an extraordinary elation; as if part of his lungs that had never known air before, had quietly opened, alive at last.
The moment of fastening the horses at the hitching-rack in the sleepy sandy street, before the little cantina in Cienaga, was memorable from all others in life. There was a dust cloud in the low dobe doorway. Such was the stillness and deep ease in the air, that each grain of dust hung in enticing suspense, a meaning and purpose Elbert was sure of, and needn’t try to think out.