XIX


"They're coming back!"

It was with amazement that the inhabitants of Fresnillo
learned that the rebel attack on Zacatecas had failed com-
pletely.

"They're coming back!"

The rebels were a maddened mob, sunburnt, filthy,
naked. Their high wide-brimmed straw hats hid their
faces. The "high hats" came back as happily as they had
marched forth a few days before, pillaging every hamlet
along the road, every ranch, even the poorest hut.

"Who'll buy this thing?" one of them asked. He had
carried his spoils long: he was tired. The sheen of the
nickel on the typewriter, a new machine, attracted every
glance. Five times that morning the Oliver had changed
hands. The first sale netted the owner ten pesos; pres-
ently it had sold for eight; each time it changed hands, it
was two pesos cheaper. To be sure, it was a heavy bur-
den; nobody could carry it for more than a half-hour.

"I'll give you a quarter for it!" Quail said.