_"Exiled I wandered through the world—_ _Exiled by the government._ _I came back at the end of the year,_ _Drawn by the fondness of love._ _I went away with the purpose_ _Of staying away forever._ _And the love of a woman was the only thing_ _That made me come back."_
_"I am of the children of the night_ _Who wander aimlessly in the darkness._ _The beautiful moon with its golden rays_ _Is the companion of my sorrows._
_"I am going to lose myself from thee,_ _Exhausted with weeping;_ _I am going sailing, sailing,_ _By the shores of the sea._
_"You will see at the time of our parting_ _I will not allow you to love another._ _For if so it should be, I would ruin your face._ _And many blows we would give one another._
_"So I am going to become an American._ _Go with God, Antonia._ _Say farewell to my friends._ _O may the Americans allow me to pass_ _And open a saloon_ _On the other side of the River!"_
The Hacienda of El Centro turned out to give us lunch. And there Fidencio offered me his horse to ride for the afternoon.
The Tropa had already ridden on ahead, and I could see them, strung out for half a mile in the black mesquite brush, the tiny red-white-and-green flag bobbing at their head. The mountains had withdrawn somewhere beyond the horizon, and we rode in the midst of a great bowl of desert, rolling up at the edges to meet the furnace-blue of the Mexican sky. Now that I was out of the coach, a great silence, and a peace beyond anything I ever felt, wrapped me around. It is almost impossible to get objective about the desert; you sink into it,—become a part of it. Galloping along, I soon caught up with the Tropa.
"Aye, meester!" they shouted. "Here comes meester on a horse! _Que tal_, meester? How goes it? Are you going to fight with us?"
But Captain Fernando at the head of the column turned and roared: "Come here, meester!" The big man was grinning with delight. "You shall ride with me," he shouted, clapping me on the back. "Drink, now," and he produced a bottle of _sotol_ about half full. "Drink it all. Show you’re a man." "It’s too much," I laughed. "Drink it," yelled the chorus as the Tropa crowded up to see. I drank it. A howl of laughter and applause went up. Fernando leaned over and gripped my hand. "Good for you, _compañero_!" he bellowed, rolling with mirth. The men crowded around, amused and interested. Was I going to fight with them? Where did I come from? What was I doing? Most of them had never heard of reporters, and one hazarded the opinion darkly that I was a Gringo and a Porfirista, and ought to be shot.