Half a dozen cowboys cantered up the main street of Los Portales in a cloud of dust. One of them, older than the rest, let out the wild yell. . . . A second flung into the blue sky three rapid revolver shots. Plainly they were advertising the fact that they had come to paint the town red and did not care who knew it.
It was the sailors' first night ashore; they painted the town red.
It was the sailors' first night ashore; they painted the town red.