another. Looking up at the walls I saw set in the timber a number of
holes cleanly bored. And in one of the last of these holes was a peg.
Again my eyes shifted. From a nail in one corner of the room hung a red
and white zarape, a bridle, one of those graceless bits which would
wrench the mouth of the wildest horse to agony, and a sombrero.
Something in these things fascinated me. I got up and examined them,
while the blind man was in the other room. Turning them over I saw that
the zarape was pierced with holes-bullet holes. I saw also that it was
stained a deeper red than its own. I turned away, questioning Sherry.
He came and looked, but said nothing, lifting a hand in deprecation. As
we stood so, Becodar appeared again in the doorway, bearing an olla of
pulque and some tortilla sandwiches, made of salad and shreds of meat,
flavoured with garlic. He paused, his face turned towards us, with an
understanding look. His instinct was remarkable. He did not speak, but
came and placed the things he carried near the chairs where we had sat.

Presently I saw some writing on the adobe wall. The look of it showed
the hand of youth, its bold carelessness, a boy. Some of it I set down
soon afterwards, and it ran in this fashion: "The most good old compadre!
But I'd like another real." Again: "One media for a banderilla, two
reals for the bull-fight, five centavos for the sweet oranges, and
nothing for dulces. I threw a cigar at the toreador. It was no good,
but the toreador was a king. Good-night, compadre the blind, who begs."
Again: "If I knew where it was I'd take a real. Carambo! No, I
wouldn't. I'll ask him. I'll give him the new sword-stick that my
cousin the Rurales gave me. He doesn't need it now he's not a bandit.
I'm stuffed, and my head swims. It's the pulque. Sabe Dios!" Again:
"Compadre, the most miraculous, that goes tapping your stick along the
wall, and jingles the silver in your pocket, whither do you wander? Have
you forgotten that I am going to the cock-fight, and want a real? What