"All right, you can serve with me now. I'll make you
major. How's that?"

Blondie was a round little fellow, with waxed mus-
tache. When he laughed, his blue eyes disappeared mis-
chievously between his forehead and his fat cheeks. He
had been a waiter at "El Monico," in Chihuahua; now
he proudly wore three small brass bars, the insignia of
his rank in the Northern Division.

Blondie showered eulogy after eulogy on Demetrio and
his men; this proved sufficient reason for bringing out a
fresh case of beer, which was finished in short order.

Suddenly War Paint reappeared in the middle of the
room, wearing a beautiful silk dress covered with ex-
quisite lace.

"You forgot the stockings," Blondie shouted, shaking
with laughter. Quail's girl also burst out laughing. But
War Paint did not care. She shrugged her shoulders in-
differently, sat down on the floor, kicked off her white
satin slippers, and wiggled her toes happily, giving their
muscles a freedom welcome after their tight confinement
in the slippers. She said:

"Hey, you, Pancracio, go and get me my blue stock-
ings . . . they're with the rest of my plunder."