I'd never seen a smarter fellow in all my life!"

The following morning, War Paint watched for the moment when Blondie
left the bedroom to feed his horses....

"Come on, Angel Face. Run home quick!"

The blue-eyed girl, with a face like a Madonna, stood naked save for
her chemise and stockings. War Paint covered her with Manteca's lousy
blanket, took her by the hand and led her to the street.

"God, I'm happy," War Paint cried. "I'm crazy ... about Blondie ...
now."

V

Like neighing colts, playful when the rainy season begins, Demetrio's
men galloped through the sierra.

"To Moyahua, boys. Let's go to Demetrio Macias' country!"

"To the country of Monico the cacique!"

The landscape grew clearer; the sun margined the diaphanous sky with a
fringe of crimson. Like the bony shoulders of immense sleeping
monsters, the chains of mountains rose in the distance. Crags there
were like heads of colossal native idols; others like giants' faces,
their grimaces awe-inspiring or grotesque, calling forth a smile or a
shudder at a presentment of mystery.

Demetrio Macias rode at the head of his men; behind him the members of
his staff: Colonel Anastasio Montanez, Lieutenant-Colonel Pancracio,
Majors Luis Cervantes and Blondie. Still further behind came War Paint
with Venancio, who paid her many compliments and recited the despairing
verses of Antonio Plaza. As the sun's rays began to slip from the
housetops, they made their entrance into Moyahua, four abreast, to the
sound of the bugle. The roosters' chorus was deafening, dogs barked
their alarm, but not a living soul stirred on the streets.

War Paint spurred her black horse and with one jump was abreast with
Demetrio. They rode forward, elbow to elbow. She wore a silk dress and
heavy gold earrings. Proudly her pale blue gown deepened her olive skin
and the coppery spots on her face and arms. Riding astride, she had
pulled her skirts up to her knees; her stockings showed, filthy and
full of runs. She wore a gun at her side, a cartridge belt hung over
the pommel of her saddle.

Demetrio was also dressed in his best clothes. His broad-brimmed hat
was richly embroidered; his leather trousers were tight-fitting and
adorned with silver buttons; his coat was embroidered with gold thread.

There was a sound of doors being beaten down and forced open. The
soldiers had already scattered through the town, to gather together
ammunition and saddles from everywhere.

"We'r