Slim allowed that, and Elbert’s face turned away to the dark, so his exultation might not be seen. He felt on the eve of a mysterious graduation ceremony....
Toward mid-afternoon two days later they entered the pueblo of Nacimiento, and two thin dogs skulked across the road ahead of their horses. An old man, beyond human speech, was sitting in the sun against a wall, and a little farther on, another. That seemed the end of life, as they paused before a fonda marked ‘El Cajon.’ The sandy road at this point was beaten with many pony tracks.
‘Looks as if a troop of cavalry had halted here,’ Slim said in a hushed tone.
A moment of rich promise to Elbert, except that he wished he didn’t feel so played out. They entered the deserted wine-room. Slim drew a finger over the bar-board and left his mark in the dust. A scared lame boy finally came out from the shadows behind. No mistake about his gestures; they were urged to move on.
‘What do you think we’re up against?’ Cal inquired. ‘Yellow fever or just war?’
‘Can’t say,’ said Slim, ‘only far from home—far from home.’
‘We might keep on going to Burton’s oil wells at San Pasquali. Can’t be more than eighteen miles from here, but it would take the edge off the horses; also what little nape of Elbert’s, as ain’t wore off already.’
‘Oh, I’m all right,’ Elbert hastened to say, ‘whatever you think best.’
At the end of town they heard a phonograph, the twisty piping tones of ‘El Chocolo.’ In a doorway presently appeared a barefooted old woman with a broom in one hand and a pair of castanets in the other. Slim uncorked his Spanish. It sounded to Elbert as if he were asking for rooms with bath. The Señora’s mouth opened, but no sound came. She raised one foot and clucked the castanets, finally coördinating: