A tallow candle illumined the small room. In one corner stood a plow, a yoke, a goad, and other agricultural implements. Ropes hung from the roof, securing an old adobe mold, used as a bed; on it a child slept, covered with gray rags. Demetrio buckled his cartridge belt about his waist and picked up his rifle. He was tall and well built, with a sanguine face and beardless chin; he wore shirt and trousers of white cloth, a broad Mexican hat and leather sandals. With slow, measured step, he left the room, vanishing into the impenetrable darkness of the night. The dog, excited to the point of madness, had jumped over the corral fence. Suddenly a shot rang out. The dog moaned, then barked no more. Some men on horseback rode up, shouting and sweating; two of them dismounted, while the other hung back to watch the horses. "Hey, there, woman: we want food! Give us eggs, milk, beans, anything you've got! We're starving!" "Curse the sierra! It would take the Devil himself not to lose his way!" "Guess again, Sergeant! Even the Devil would go astray if he were as drunk as you are." The first speaker wore chevrons on his arm, the other red stripes on his shoulders. "Whose place is this, old woman? Or is it an empty house? God's truth, which is it?" "Of course it's not empty. How about the light and that child there? Look here, confound it, we want to eat, and damn quick tool Are you coming out or are we going to make you?" "You swine! Both of you! You've gone and killed my dog, that's what you've done! What harm did he ever do you? What did you have against him?" The woman reentered the house, dragging the dog behind her, very white and fat, with lifeless eyes and flabby body. "Look at those cheeks, Sergeant! Don't get riled, light of my life: I swear I'll turn your home into a dovecot, see?" "By God!" he said, breaking off into song: "Don't look so haughty, dear, Banish all fears, Kiss me and melt to me, I'll drink up your tears!" His alcoholic tenor trailed off into the night. "Tell me what they call this ranch, woman?" the sergeant asked. "Limon," the woman replied curtly, carrying wood to the fire and fanning the coals. "So we're in Limon, eh, the famous Demetrio Macias' country, eh? Do you hear that, Lieutenant? We're in Limon." "Limon? What the hell do I care? If I'm bound for hell, Sergeant, I might as well go there now. I don't mind, now that I've found as good a remount as this! Look at the cheeks on the darling, look at them! There's a pair of ripe red apples for a fellow to bite into!" "I'll wager you know Macias the bandit, lady? I was in the pen with him at Escobedo, once."