There was a long bar, against which
were lounging half-a-dozen typical Mexican cowpunchers. There was a small
space cleared for dancing, at the further end of which two performers were
making weird but vehement music. Three girls were dancing with cowboys,
not ungracefully considering the state of the floor and the frequent
discords in the music. One of them--the prettiest--stopped abruptly and
pushed her partner away from her.
"You have drunk too much, Jose!" she exclaimed. "You cannot dance. You
tread on my feet and you lean against me. I do not like it. I will dance
with you another night when you are sober. Go away, please."
Her cavalier swayed for a moment on his feet. Then he looked down upon her
with an evil glitter in his eyes. He was tall and thin, with a black
moustache and yellow, unpleasant-looking teeth.
"So you will not dance any longer with Jose?" he muttered. "Very well, you
shall drink with him, then. We will sit together at one of those little
tables. Listen, you shall drink wine."
"I do not want to drink wine with you. All that I wish is to be left
alone," the girl insisted curtly. "Go and play cards, if you want to.
There is Pietro over there, and Diego. Perhaps you may win some money.
They say that drunkards have all the luck."
Jose leered at her.
"Presently I will play cards," he said. "Presently I will win all their
money and I will buy jewelry for you, Marta--stones that look like
diamonds and will sparkle in your neck and in your hair.
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