The moment of fastening the horses at the hitching-rack in the sleepy sandy street, before the little cantina in Cienaga, was memorable from all others in life. There was a dust cloud in the low dobe doorway. Such was the stillness and deep ease in the air, that each grain of dust hung in enticing suspense, a meaning and purpose Elbert was sure of, and needn’t try to think out. ‘Tequila,’ said Slim, as they entered the shadows. ‘Same here,’ said Cal. It was like the hold of a ship in a way; the smell of dried orange-peel; a range of barrels with Spanish writing on them, a breath of coolness; shelves of canned and bottled goods, wines and catsup and pickles resting together in dusty composure. ‘I will, too,’ Elbert said. The little fat man of the place had been trimming his oil lamp, pouring in coal oil from a large glass jar. He drew out a second piece of glassware from under the counter, slightly smaller, but of similar shape to the first. The contents of the two jars were of identical color. ‘Here goes,’ said Slim, and the three small glasses were raised. For a second Elbert thought he had been shot in the neck. Out of the pandemonium of his faculties then formed the suspicion that either they burned tequila in the lamps, or else that was the Mexican name for kerosene. ‘The first one always hits me where I ain’t lookin’,’ Cal remarked. ‘Suppose we go through the formalities of three more.’ Elbert braced to do it again. He felt himself standing very straight, only there was a curious illusion that his spine extended clear through to the top of his head. The reverberations of the second shot having died away, Elbert was conscious of a faint aroma, as if all the dried fruits and tubers and woodwork had blent in enticing fragrance. A horse nickered from afar down the street and their three ponies at the hitching-rail raised their heads--Mamie’s instant answer being ramified by Chester’s dignified head-tones, and a shrill broken pipe from the ‘Indian.’ A kind of union and interplay in all things--glint of drift and daring in Cal Monroid’s eyes. The little fat man was shaking his match box. It really wouldn’t do for the lamp to be lighted just yet. Elbert spoke up: ‘We might risk one more,’ he said with slow care. Now Cal and Slim took his invitation in a queer way. They pawed each other and kept saying: ‘I told you so.’ Could they mean they weren’t regretting they had let him come? ‘I like it here,’ said Slim. ‘I feel like stayin’,’ said Cal. ‘I could eat some of these here dried herrin’ and pickles standin’ up, but I suggests we saunter to a table somewhere and feed on somethin’ firm. I could stay all night--’