The Underdogs​ by Mariano Azuela​

Tonight or tomorrow at the latest we'll meet the soldiers. What do you say, boys, shall we let them find their way about these trails?" Demetrio asked​
The ragged crew jumped to their feet, uttering shrill cries of joy; then their jubilation turned angry again and they gave vent to more insults and threats.​
"Of course, we can't tell how strong they are," said Demetrio as his glance traveled over their faces in scrutiny.​
"Do you remember Medina? Out there at Hostotipaquillo, he only had a half a dozen men. Well, he held back the soldiers, didn't he? And he defeated them, too."​
"We're every bit as good as Medina's crowd!" said a tall, broad-shouldered man with a black beard and bushy eyebrows.​
"Viva Demetrio Macias," they all shouted.​
They gathered dry brush and wood, built a fire and placed chunks of fresh meat upon the burning coals. As the blaze rose, they collected about the fire, sat down cross-legged and inhaled the odor of the meat as it twisted on the crackling fire. Then, they dangled the meat from a cord fastened to a huizache tree, to dry in the sun and wind.​
"Well, men," Demetrio said, "There are only a few of us, but we know this land better than anyone."​
He undid a rag belt about his waist, loosened a knot in it and offered the contents to his companions. Salt. A murmur of appreciation rose among them as each took a few grains between the tips of his fingers.​
They ate voraciously; then, glutted, lay down on the ground, facing the sky. They sang monotonous, sad songs, uttering a forceful shout after each stanza.

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