“If you do not cross to-night you will not be able to make the passage until the end of the week,” was the answer.
“Then let’s start to-night,” spoke Jerry. “We went over the Rio Grande after dark once before.”
“Yes, and a pretty mess we made of it,” said Ned, referring to the collision they had with the house-boat, as told of in “The Motor Boys in Mexico.”
“But I thought they said the ferry-master was away to a dance,” put in Bob.
“He is, Senor,” replied their host, who managed to understand the boy’s poor Spanish. “However, if he knew the Americanos wanted him, and would go for him in their big marvelous—fire-spitting wagon, and—er—that is if they offered him a small sum, he might be prevailed upon to leave the dance.”
“Let’s try it, at all events,” suggested Jerry. “I’m anxious to get over the line and into the United States. A stay of several days may mean one of a week. When these Mexicans get feasting they don’t know when to stop.”
He spoke in English, so as not to offend their kind friend.
It was arranged that Jerry and Senor Gerardo should go in the auto for the ferry-master, and summon him to the river with his men, who could come on their fast ponies.
This was done, and, though the master of the boat demurred at leaving the pleasures of the dance, he consented when Jerry casually showed a gold-piece. He and his men were soon mounted and galloped along, Jerry running the auto slowly to keep pace with them. The five miles were quickly covered and, while half the population of the village came out to see the strange machine ferried over, the boys and the professor bade farewell to the country where they had gone through so many strange adventures.
It was nearly ten o’clock when the big flat-bottomed boat grounded on the opposite shore of the Rio Grande.