slowly, mute, somber.

Blondie's shrill, guttural voice broke the silent stupor:

"Thank God! At last I'm rid of that damned louse!"

XIII

Someone plunged a knife
Deep in my side.
Did he know why?
I don't know why.
Maybe he knew,
I never knew.
The blood flowed out
Of that mortal wound.
Did he know why?
I don't know why.
Maybe he knew,
I never knew.

His head lowered, his hands crossed over the pommel of his saddle,
Demetrio in melancholy accents sang the strains of the intriguing song.
Then he fell silent; for quite a while he continued to feel oppressed
and sad.

"You'll see, as soon as we reach Lagos you'll come out of it, General.
There's plenty of pretty girls to give us a good time," Blondie said.

"Right now I feel like getting damn drunk," Demetrio answered, spurring
his horse forward and leaving them as if he wished to abandon himself
entirely to his sadness.

After many hours of riding he called Cervantes.

"Listen, Tenderfoot, why in hell do we have to go to Aguascalientes?"

"You have to vote for the Provisional President of the Republic,
General!"

"President, what? Who in the devil, then, is this man Carranza? I'll be
damned if I know what it's all about."

At last they reached Lagos. Blondie bet that he would make Demetrio
laugh that evening.

Trailing his spurs noisily over the pavement, Demetrio entered "El
Cosmopolita" with Luis Cervantes, Blondie, and his assistants.

The civilians, surprised in their attempt to escape, remained where
they were. Some feigned to return to their tables to continue drinking
and talking; others hesitantly stepped up to present their respects to
the commander.

"General, so pleased! ... Major! Delighted to meet you!"

"That's right! I love refined and educated friends," Blondie said.
"Come on, boys," he added, jovially drawing his gun, "I'm going to play
a tune that'll make you all dance."

A bullet ricocheted on the cement floor passing between the legs of the
tables, and the smartly dressed young men-about-town began to jump much
as a woman jumps when frightened by a mouse under her skirt. Pale as
ghosts, they conjured up wan smiles of obsequious approval. Demetrio
barely parted his lips, but his followers doubled over with laughter.

"Look, Blondie," Quail shouted, "look at that man going out there.
Look, he's limping."

"I guess the bee stung him all right."

Blondie, without turning to look at the wounde