His five feet eleven inches and one hundred and
eighty pounds were more noticeable there, and it was part of his
plan to attract attention to himself. No one, however, appeared
to notice him. The pool-players were noisily intent on their game,
the same crowd of motley-robed Mexicans hung over the reeking bar.
Gale's roving glance soon fixed upon the man he took to be Rojas.
He recognized the huge, high-peaked, black sombrero with its
ornamented band. The Mexican's face was turned aside. He was in
earnest, excited colloquy with a dozen or more comrades, most of
whom were sitting round a table. They were listening, talking,
drinking. The fact that they wore cartridge belts crossed over
their breasts satisfied that these were the rebels. He had noted
the belts of the Mexicans outside, who were apparently guards. A waiter
brought more drinks to this group at the table, and this caused
the leader to turn so Gale could see his face. It was indeed
the sinister, sneering face of the bandit Rojas. Gale gazed at
the man with curiosity. He was under medium height, and striking
in appearance only because of his dandified dress and evil visage.
He wore a lace scarf, a tight, bright-buttoned jacket, a buckskin
vest embroidered in red, a sash and belt joined by an enormous
silver clasp. Gale saw again the pearl-handled gun swinging at
the bandit's hip. Jewels flashed in his scarf. There were gold
rings in his ears and diamonds on his fingers.
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