“Any of them. Mostly, they say, from San Pablo or from Ahuajijic.”
“Quite near!” she cried.
“Or from Sayula,” he added. “Any of the ordinary men in big hats you see around the plaza, may possibly be bandits, when banditry pays, as a profession, and isn’t punished with any particular severity.”
“It is hard to believe!” she said.
“It is so obvious!” he said, dropping into one of the rocking-chairs opposite her, and smiling across the onyx table.
“I suppose it is!” she said.
He clapped his hands, and his mozo Martin came up. Ramón ordered something, in a low, subdued tone. The man replied in an even lower, more subdued tone. Then the master and man nodded at one another, and the man departed, his huaraches swishing a little on the terrace.
Ramón had fallen into the