ever, shouted with glee,
including Luis Cervantes' girl. She had spilled all her wine on a
handkerchief and looked all about her with blue wondering eyes.

"Boys," Blondie suddenly screamed, his shrill, guttural voice
dominating the mall, "I'm tired of living; I feel like killing myself
right now. I'm sick and tired of War Paint and this other little angel
from heaven won't even look at me!"

Luis Cervantes saw that the last remark was addressed to his bride;
with great surprise he realized that it was not Demetrio's foot he had
noticed close to the girl's, but Blondie's. He was boiling with
indignation.

"Keep your eye on me, boys," Blondie went on, gun in hand. "I'm going
to shoot myself right in the forehead!"

He aimed at the large mirror on the opposite wall which gave back his
whole body in reflection. He took careful aim....

"Don't move, War Paint."

The bullet whizzed by, grazing War Paint's hair. The mirror broke into
large jagged fragments. She did not even so much as blink.

IV

Late in the afternoon Luis Cervantes rubbed his eyes and sat up. He had
been sleeping on the hard pavement, close to the trunk of a fruit tree.
Anastasio, Pancracio and Quail slept nearby, breathing heavily.

His lips were swollen, his nose dry and cold. There were bloodstains on
his hands and shirt. At once he recalled what had taken place. Soon he
rose to his feet and made for one of the bedrooms. He pushed at the
door several times without being able to force it open. For a few
minutes he stood there, hesitating.

No--he had not dreamed it. Everything had really occurred just as he
recalled it. He had left the table with his bride and taken her to the
bedroom, but just as he was closing the door, Demetrio staggered after
them and made one leap toward them. Then War Paint dashed in after
Demetrio and began to struggle with him. Demetrio, his eyes white-hot,
his lips covered with long blond hairs, looked for the bride, in
despair. But War Paint pushed him back vigorously.

"What the hell is the matter with you? What the hell are you trying to
do?" he demanded, furious.

War Paint put her leg between his, twisted it suddenly, and Demetrio
fell to the ground outside of the bedroom. He rose, raging.

"Help! Help! He's going to kill me!" she cried, seizing Demetrio's
wrist and turning the gun aside. The bullet hit the floor. War Paint
continued to shriek. Anastasio disarmed Demetrio from behind.

Demetrio, standing