With the wine, old Flores's
manner changed from surly indifference to a superficial politeness
which in no way deceived Pete. And Malvey, whose intent was plainly to
get drunk, boasted of his doings on either side of the line. He hinted
that he had put more than one Mexican out of the way--and he slapped
Flores on the back--and Flores laughed. He spoke of raids on the
horse-herds of white men, and through some queer perversity inspired in
his drink, openly asserted that he was the "slickest hoss-thief in
Arizona," turning to Pete as he spoke.
"I'll take your word for it," said Pete.
"But what's the use of settin' out here like a couple of dam' buzzards
when the ladies are waitin' for us in there?" queried Malvey, and be
leered at Flores.
The old Mexican grunted and rose stiffly. They entered the 'dobe,
Malvey insisting that Pete come in and hear Boca sing.
"I can listen out here." Pete was beginning to hate Malvey, with the
cold, deliberate hatred born of instinct. As for old Flores, Pete
despised him heartily. A man that could hear his countrymen called "a
dirty bunch of Greasers," and have nothing to say, was a pretty poor
sort of a man.
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