the earth. What man among them now remembered the
stern chief of police, the growling policeman, or the con-
ceited cacique? What man remembered his pitiful hut
where he slaved away, always under the eyes of the
owner or the ruthless and sullen foreman, always forced
to rise before dawn, and to take up his shovel, basket,
or goad, wearing himself out to earn a mere pitcher of
atole and a handful of beans?

They laughed, they sang, they whistled, drunk with the
sunlight, the air of the open spaces, the wine of life.

Meco, prancing forward on his horse, bared his white
glistening teeth, joking and kicking up like a clown.

"Hey, Pancracio," he asked with utmost seriousness,
"my wife writes me I've got another kid. How in hell is
that? I ain't seen her since Madero was President."

"That's nothing," the other replied. "You just left her
a lot of eggs to hatch for you!"

They all laughed uproariously. Only Meco, grave and
aloof, sang in a voice horribly shrill:


"I gave her a penny
That wasn't enough.
I gave her a nickel
The wench wanted more.