The sun glittered on lances and rifles, and brightened the bronze barrels of cannon.

The triumphant notes of a bugle came across the intervening space, and when the bugle ceased a Mexican band began to play.
It was fine music.

The Mexicans had the Latin ear, the gift for melody, and the air they played was martial and inspiring.

One could march readily to its beat.

Bowie frowned.
"They think it nothing more than a parade," he said.