complete-guide

"Because they had no time to be bad!" an ex-Federal
officer interjected as he rode.
Interrupting his prayer, Valderrama frowned, burst into
stentorian laughter, reechoed by the rocks, and ran toward
the officer begging for a swallow of tequila.
Soldiers minus an arm or leg, cripples, rheumatics,
and consumptives spoke bitterly of Demetrio. Young
whippersnappers were given officers' commissions and
wore stripes on their hats without a day's service, even
before they knew how to handle a rifle, while the veterans,
exhausted in a hundred battles, now incapacitated
for work, the veterans who had set out as simple privates,
were still simple privates. The few remaining officers
among Demetrio's friends also grumbled, because
his staff was made up of wealthy, dapper young men who
oiled their hair and used perfume.
"The worst part of it," Venancio said, "is that we're
gettin' overcrowded with Federals!"
Anastasio himself, who invariably found only praise
for Demetrio's conduct, now seemed to share the general
discontent.
"See here, brothers," he said, "I spits out the truth
when I sees something. I always tell the boss that if
these people stick to us very long we'll be in a hell of a
fix. Certainly! How can anyone think otherwise I've no
hair on my tongue; and by the mother that bore me, I'm
going to tell Demetrio so myself."
Demetrio listened benevolently, and, when Anastasio
had finished, he replied:
"You're right, there's no gettin' around it, we're in a
bad way. The soldiers grumble about the officers, the
officers grumble about us, see And we're damn well
ready now to send both Villa and Carranza to hell to
have a good time all by themselves. . . . I guess we're in
the same fix as that peon from Tepatitlan who complained
about his boss all day long but worked on just
the same. That's us. We kick and kick, but we keep on