His walk was the swagger of a young Mexican gallant, and in the dimness they would not notice his Northern fairness.

Several pairs of eyes observed him, but not with disapproval.
They considered him a trim Mexican lad.

Some of the men in the doorways took up the air that he was whistling and continued it.
He saw soon the place for which he was looking, a tiny shop in which an old Indian sold serapes.

He stopped in the doorway, which he filled, took down one of the best and heaviest and held out the number of dollars which he considered an adequate price.

The Indian shook his head and asked for nearly twice as much.