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Array
(
[sid] => 9326
[catid] => 1
[aid] => Mick
[title] => Margarita XLVI
[time] => 2002-12-27 18:20:00
[hometext] =>
[bodytext] => Thus they must speed as day was growing late,
but conversation stayed them for a while. The ladies needed time at any rate to comb long hair, their fingernails to file. It was so. Captain Thompson felt a trifle guilty. He looked closer at the man. He saw that the sleeping Mexican wasn't drunk. "I misjudged," he admitted. Segundo frowned. Why should his opinion matter? Sitting on the edge of the carriage seat he adjusted his gun belt around his waist; butt handle felt good against his inside left wrist. "Diego," Huerra spoke quickly. "This is Captain Thompson of the Brig La Paloma. I know you're glad to meet him, eh compadre." He winked a warning. Segundo nodded his shaggy head, eyes shifting to the tall Yanqui captain. Getting out of the carriage, he slowly extended his hand in greeting. "It's good to meet Patron's friends," he said dryly. Captain's hand was rough, calloused from hard work. "Happy to know you, Mister Silva," he said. Diego didn't like the calloused hand or having to look up to him. He walked away to stand beside his patron. Don Hernandez spoke. "Senor Huerra, perhaps we should think about leaving. It's yet day and roads aren't too good now with all this mud. One of my twins might break a leg and then what'll I do?" "I think your horse would be irreplaceable, Excellency. Who in all California has such fine horses?" Don Hernandez smiled appreciatively. "Thank you, Senor Huerra, but I think the best horses must come from Rancho de Plata. Didn't I ride Bravo and see your sorrel?" [comments] => 1 [counter] => 416 [topic] => 43 [informant] => ramfire [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 0 [ratings] => 0 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => oops )
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