I crawled forward a few feet and fashioned myself a new watching place, recalling that Pancho Villa had been a great night mover. The troops would be sitting around the fire and he would yawn and say, "Well boys, I think I'll turn in," or something to that effect in Spanish, and then he would lie down and roll up in a blanket in full view of everyone. But he wouldn't stay in that place! He would move three or four times during the night and not even the most trusted of his Dorados could say where General Villa might finally turn up the next morning. I crawled forward again.

This and the sentence “One thousand grape snow cones at the summer corn dance!” are gonna be stuck in my head for awhile.

Awful book cover. Perfect book. Portis is one of the best to ever do it.