im.

"And I'm telling you the truth," Blondie declares. "Don't think it's
wrong to kill, because when you kill, it's always out of anger. But
stealing--Bah!"

This profound piece of reasoning meets with unanimous assent. After a
short silence while he meditates, a colonel ventures his opinion:

"Everything is all right according to something, see? That is,
everything has its circumstances, see? God's own truth is this: I have
stolen, and if I say that everyone here has done the trick, I'm not
telling a lie, I reckon!"

"Hell, I stole a lot of them sewing machines in Mexico," exclaims a
major. "I made more'n five hundred pesos even though I sold them at
fifty cents apiece!"

A toothless captain, with hair prematurely white, announces:

"I stole some horses in Zacatecas, all damn fine horses they was, and
then I says to myself, 'This is your own little lottery, Pascual Mata,'
I says. 'You won't have a worry in all your life after this.' And the
damned thing about it was that General Limon took a fancy to the horses
too, and he stole them from me!"

"Of course--there's no use denying it, I've stolen too," Blondie
confesses. "But ask any one of my partners how much profit I've got.
I'm a big spender and my Purse is my friends' to have a good time on! I
have a better time if I drink myself senseless than I would have
sending money back home to the old woman!"

The subject of "I stole," though apparently inexhaustible, ceases to
hold the men's attention. Decks of cards gradually appear on the seats,
drawing generals and officers as the light draws mosquitoes.

The excitement of gambling soon absorbs every interest, the heat grows
more and more intense. To breathe is to inhale the air of barracks,
prison, brothel, and pigsty all in one.

And rising above the babble, from the car ahead ever the shrill voice,
"Gentlemen, a well-dressed young man stole ..."

The streets in Aguascalientes were so many refuse piles. Men in khaki
moved to and fro like bees before their hive, overrunning the
restaurants, the crapulous lunch houses, the parlous hotels, and the
stands of the street vendors on which rotten pork lay alongside grimy
cheese.

The smell of these viands whetted the appetites of Demetrio and his
men. They forced their way into a small inn, where a disheveled old hag
served, on earthenware plates, some pork with bones swimming in a clear
chili stew and three tough burnt tortillas. They paid two pesos apiece;