The men with bronze faces, ivory teeth, and burning eyes brandished their rifles or slung them across the front of their saddles. Bringing up the rearguard, trotting along, were Demetrio and Camila. She was still trembling, her lips dry and pale; he, in a bad mood because of how inane their move had been. There had been no Orozquistas, nor any battle even. Just a few dispersed Federales and a poor devil of a priest with about a hundred believers, all gathered under the archaic banner of “Religion and Order.” The priest was left dangling from a mesquite tree, while the surrounding field was littered with the dead, all with a small red insignia sewn to their chests that read: “Stop! The Sacred Heart of Jesus is with me!” “Truth is, I’ve already more than paid myself all my back pay,” Quail said, showing off the gold watches and rings he had taken from the parish house. “This kind of fightin’ is really worth it,” Lard exclaimed, intermingling obscenities after each sentence.
