Talk flew from lip to lip, each soldier vying with his fellow, snatching the words from the other's mouth. As they declaimed passionately, women with olive, swarthy skins, bright eyes, and teeth of ivory, with revolvers at their waists, cartridge-belts across their breasts, and broad Mexican hats on their heads, wove their way like stray street curs in and out among groups. A vulgar wench, with rouged cheeks and dark brown arms and neck, gave a great leap and landed on the bar near Demetrio's table. He turned his head toward her and literally collided with a pair of lubric eyes under a narrow forehead and thick, straight hair, parted in the middle. The door opened wide. Anastasio, Pancracio, Quail, and Meco filed in, dazed. Anastasio uttered a cry of surprise and stepped forward to shake hands with the little fat man wearing a charro suit and a lavender bandanna. A pair of old friends, met again. So warm was their embrace, so tightly they clutched each other that the blood rushed to their heads, they turned purple. "Look here, Demetrio, I want the honor of introducing you to Blondie. He's a real friend, you know. I love him like a brother. You must get to know him, Chief, he's a man! Do you remember that damn jail at Escobedo, where we stayed together for over a year?" Without removing his cigar from his lips, Demetrio, buried in a sullen silence amid the bustle and uproar, offered his hand and said: "I'm delighted to meet you!" "So your name is Demetrio Macias?" the girl asked suddenly. Seated on the bar, she swung her legs; at every swing, the toes of her shoes touched Demetrio's back. "Yes: I'm Demetrio Macias!" he said, scarcely turning toward her. Indifferently, she continued to swing her legs, displaying her blue stockings with ostentation. "Hey, War Paint, what are you doing here? Step down and have a drink!" said the man called Blondie. The girl accepted readily and boldly thrust her way through the crowd to a chair facing Demetrio. "So you're the famous Demetrio Macias, the hero of Zacatecas?" the girl asked. Demetrio bowed assent, while Blondie, laughing, said: "You're a wise one, War Paint. You want to sport a general!" Without understanding Blondie's words, Demetrio raised his eyes to hers; they gazed at each other like two dogs sniffing one another with distrust. Demetrio could not resist her furiously provocative glances; he was forced to lower his eyes. From their seats, some of Natera's officers began to hurl obscenities at War Paint. Without paying the slightest attention, she said: "General Natera is going to hand you out a little general's eagle. Put it here and shake on it, boy!" She stuck out her hand at Demetrio and shook it with the strength of a man. Demetrio, melting to the congratulations raining down upon him, ordered champagne. "I don't want no more to drink," Blondie said to the waiter, "I'm feeling sick. Just bring me some ice water."