One of the sentries turned to stare at Pete. The Mexican shook his
head.
"You're a liar by the watch--and your father was a pig and the son of a
pig, wasn't he?" asked Pete, smiling pleasantly.
"Si!" said the Mexican, grinning as though Pete had made a friendly
joke.
"And the other fella there, with ears like the barndoor in a wind, he's
jest nacherally a horn-toad that likes whiskey and would jest as soon
knife his mother as he would eat a rattlesnake for supper, eh?" And
Pete smiled engagingly.
"Si. It is to laugh."
"You sabe whiskey?"
The Mexican shook his head.
"You sabe dam' fool?" Pete's manner was serious as though seeking
information.
Again the Mexican shook his head.
"He sure don't," said Pete, turning to Brevoort--"or he'd 'a' jest
nacherally plugged me. If a Chola don't know what whiskey or dam' fool
means, he don't know American."
Meanwhile the two guards had turned to the natural expedient of
gambling for Pete's belt and gun. The elaborately carved holster had
taken their fancy. Pete and his companion watched them for a while.
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