Explore "The Underdogs" by Mariano Azuela on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
It was a truly glorious morning. After raining all night long, the sky had dawned covered with white clouds. Along the top ridge of the Sierra trotted wild colts, their manes standing on end and their tails sticking straight back, as proud as the peaks of the mountains raising their heads to kiss the clouds.
The soldiers marching along the steep, rocky terrain have caught the joy of the morning. No one thinks about the artful bullet that might be waiting for them further on. The great joy of setting out lies entirely in the unforeseen. And for this reason the soldiers are carefree, singing, laughing, talking. Their souls brim over with the soul of ancient nomadic tribes. Where they are going and whence they come matters not at all. Their only desire is to walk, to keep walking, and to never stop; to be the masters of the valley, of the plains, of the Sierra, of everything as far as the eye can see.