The Underdogs by Mariano Azuela — Read

"I'm from Limón, a place very close to Moyahua, right in the middle of the Juchipila canyon. I had my house, my cows, and a small piece of land to sow. In other words, I had everythin' I needed. Well, señor, us rancheros we have this custom where we go into town once a week. Ya hear mass, ya listen to the sermon, then ya go to the plaza, buy your onions, your tomatoes, and everything else ya might need. Then you go to Primitivo López's tavern to take a break from things. Ya have a little drink, sometimes more than one, sometimes ya have a bit too much, and then the drink goes to your head, and ya have ya a good ol' time, and ya laugh, and ya shout and sing even, if ya bloody well feel like it. Everything's good and no one's doin' no one any harm.

"But then they start to bother ya, the policeman keeps comin' by, walkin' to and fro, peekin' in through the door, and the chief of police or the deputies decide to ruin your day. Needless to say, compadre, ya don't have ice water in your veins, ya're made outta flesh and bones, and ya have a soul, after all, ya start to get angry, ya stand up for yourself and say your piece! If they get what ya're sayin', all's well and good, they let ya be, and that's the end of it. But sometimes they go and talk all tough and start hittin', and ya're pretty hotheaded as it is, and ya don't appreciate it none when someone tries to show ya up. And, yes señor, before ya know it, the knife comes out, or ya draw your gun. And then ya're off and running all through the Sierra till they forget all about that poor li'l corpse of theirs!