They are not disheartened by their pitiful wages, truly exiguous when compared with the mountain of sacks of silver pesos that the factory must be worth. It would take a lifetime, both their lifetimes, the lifetimes of their whole village working and economizing incessantly, to amass a sum sufficient to try to buy that cruel and insatiable monster, the devourer of workers who are attracted to it from a young age, used up, and thrown away injured or old, when not actually dead, and forgotten, just as the factory jettisons its industrial detritus and the waste water from the steam engines that power its machinery. Not disheartened, Fabián and Esteban resolve to continue like tame beasts of burden, slaves who virtuously deny themselves in the impossible hope of getting ahead, and turning their minds away from temptation, they huddle close to Agustina and Santa. Alerted by the angelus recently dissipated among stars and clouds and compelled, too, by inveterate custom, Agustina has begun to say her rosary automatically. Coyote, tongue hanging out and tail swinging low, trots along, senses something from time to time and stops and growls, sniffing the shadows. Santa sighs, waits, and wishes for … what? What all girls wait and wish for, of course, when they are fifteen years old. Lovers with golden swords and capes of moonbeams, a chaste caress, an infinite passion, kisses that are not a sin, fairies and wizards …

It is a moment for melancholy.

NO ONE IN CHIMALISTAC concerned themselves much about the change of the military detachment in San Angel. People merely shrugged upon learning that the mounted municipal police would replace the rural mounted police who preceded them. At most, the villagers would miss seeing the chaps and leather jackets of the rurales, clothing more familiar to them than the European-style gear of the municipal police. Other than that, if the wind was blowing from the right direction, the bugle calls sounded just the same, and the washer women down by the river still watched the detachment bathe by the smaller mill dam twice a week, and storeowners like don Samuel and don Próspero still sold drinks of tequila and pulque to the valiant defenders of the peace, supposedly on credit, but with little chance of ever seeing the debt paid, as they well knew.

Only Santa, two years older by the time that the new gendarmes arrived, expressed a different opinion. The municipales were not at all like the old rurales, not even close, particularly the second lieutenant! The second lieutenant truly was a dashing fellow, with his wide back and out-thrust chest, his twinkling eye and easy chuckle in which his shaven brown cheeks parted to reveal white, even teeth that shone as if made of enamel. He was young and strong, tall when afoot, and graceful when mounted on his fiery spotted horse. He always wore his uniform, and it was always spotless, with his kepi tipped slightly back on his head, giving him the air of a swashbuckling lady's man.