No, I ain't comin' in. But you can sell me some
tortillas, if you got any."
"It will be night soon. If the senor--"
"Go ask the Senora if she has got any tortillas to sell. I wouldn't
bush in there on a bet. Don't you worry about my health."
"We are poor, senor! We have this place, and the things--but of the
money I know nothing. My wife she has hidden it."
"She ain't so crazy as you think, if that's so. Do you run this
place--or are you jest starvin' to death here?"
"There is still a little wine--and we buy what we may need of
Mescalero. If you will come in--"
"So they missed old Mescalero! Well, he's lucky. No, I don't come in.
I tried boardin' at your house onct."
"Then I will get the tortillas." And Flores shuffled into the saloon.
Presently he returned with a half-dozen tortillas wrapped up in an old
newspaper. Pete tossed him a dollar, and packing the tortillas in his
saddle-pockets, gazed round at the town, the silent and deserted
houses, the empty street, and finally at The Spider's place.
Old Flores stood in the doorway staring at Pete with drink-blurred
eyes.
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