to spend the night with this charming lady. . . . What's
that? The colonel? . . . Why in God's name talk about
the colonel now? He can go straight to hell, for all I
care. And if he doesn't like it, it's all right with me. Come
on, Sergeant, tell the corporal outside to unsaddle the
horses and feed them. I'll stay here all night. Here, my
girl, you let the sergeant fry the eggs and warm up the
tortillas; you come here to me. See this wallet full of nice
new bills? They're all for you, darling. Sure, I want you
to have them. Figure it out for yourself. I'm drunk, see:
I've a bit of a load on and that's why I'm kind of hoarse,
you might call it. I left half my gullet down Guadalajara
way, and I've been spitting the other half out all the way
up here. Oh well, who cares? But I want you to have that
money, see, dearie? Hey, Sergeant, where's my bottle?
Now, little girl, come here and pour yourself a drink.
You won't, eh? Aw, come on! Afraid of your--er--hus-
band . . . or whatever he is, huh? Well, if he's skulking in
some hole, you tell him to come out. What the hell do I
care? I'm not scared of rats, see!"
Suddenly a white shadow loomed on the threshold.

"Demetrio Macias!" the sergeant cried as he stepped
back in terror.

The lieutenant stood up, silent, cold and motionless
as a statue.

"Shoot them!" the woman croaked.