The Underdogs Read Free

sound of hoofs against stony ground was heard nearby, and Palomo started barking with more anger.
    â€œEither way, it’d be good for you to hide, Demetrio.”
    Indifferent, the man finished eating. Then he grabbed a pitcher, raised it with two hands, and guzzled down the water. Finally he stood up.
    â€œYour rifle is under the bedding,” the woman said in a very soft voice.
    The small room was lit by a tallow candle. A yoke, a plow, a goad, and other tilling gear were resting in a corner. Ropes holding up an old adobe molding, serving as a bed, hung from the ceiling. A child lay on faded, torn blankets, sleeping.
    Demetrio grabbed his cartridge belt, strapped it around his waist, and picked up his rifle. Tall, robust, with a bright, beardless red face, he wore a coarse cotton shirt and trousers, a wide-brimmed straw sombrero, and leather sandals.
    He stepped out slowly, deliberately, disappearing into the impenetrable darkness of the night.
    Palomo, enraged, had jumped over the fence of the corral. All of a sudden a shot was heard, and the dog let out a muffled moan and stopped barking altogether.
    A few men on horseback appeared, shouting and cursing. Two dismounted while another stayed with the animals.
    â€œWomen, come on out here. Bring us somethin’ for dinner! Eggs, milk, frijoles, whatever you have, we’re starvin’.”
    â€œDamned Sierra! The devil’s the only one who wouldn’t get lost out there!”
    â€œHe would get lost, Sergeant, if he was as drunk as you.”
    One of the men wore galloons on his shoulders, the other red stripes on his sleeves.
    â€œWhere are we, little lady? Well, in here all by herself! Is there anyone else in this here house?”
    â€œSo what about that light? And that little kid? Little lady, we want to eat, real quicklike! Are ya comin’ out or do we make ya come out?”
    â€œYou vile men, you’ve killed my dog! What harm in the world did my poor little Palomo do to you?”
    The woman came back dragging her very white, heavy dog behind her, its eyes already glossed over, its body limp.
    â€œOh my, look at those plump, rosy cheeks, Sergeant! My dear, don’t be angry, I swear I’ll turn your house into a dovecote as a namesake to your dog. 3 But for God’s sake:
    Don’t look at me all irate . . .
Don’t be angry no more . . .
Look at me sweetly,
Oh, light of my eyes . . .
    the officer finished singing in a harsh voice.
    â€œWhat is this ranchito called, señora?” the sergeant asked.
    â€œLimón,” the woman answered hoarsely, without any fear in her voice, and turned to fan the coals of the fire and to reach for more wood.
    â€œSo this is Limón? Land of the famous Demetrio Macías! Didya hear that, Lieutenant? We’re in Limón.”
    â€œIn Limón, huh? Oh well, what do I care! You know, Sergeant, if I’m headin’ to hell, may as well go now, since I got me a good horse anyway. But wouldya look at those little rosy cheeks on that brunette! Tha’s the most perfect pair of ripe red apples to bite right into I’ve ever seen . . .”
    â€œYou must know that bandit Macías, señora. I was in the penitentiary with ’im in Escobedo.” 4
    â€œSergeant, bring me a bottle of tequila. I’ve decided to spend the night in the kind company of this little brunette here. The colonel? What, why in the world are you speakin’ to me about the colonel at these hours? He can go straight to hell as far as I’m concerned! And if he gets upset, as far as I care . . . pop! Go on, Sergeant, tell the corporal to unsaddle the horses and prepare dinner. I’m stayin’ right here. Listen, little darlin’, you let my sergeant fry up the eggs and warm up the tortillas, and you come ’ere with me. Look, this little wallet of mine is stuffed with bills just for you. It’ll be my pleasure. Just imagine! I’m just a little bit drunk