So Antonio decided on a desperate step—he would emigrate to America.
But Riego's mother objected to removing to America. Mexico was rife with hatred and distrust of the "gringos," and many and dark were the stories told of the country north of the Great North River. Besides, Riego's elder brother, Pascual, an unruly lad of fifteen, was very bitterly opposed to the change.
So it was at length decided that Antonio should dare alone the dangers and hardships of America. If all was as the revolutionists said, he could escape back to Chihuahua. If, by happy chance, he should prosper in the new country, he would send for wife and children.
A year passed. The father's letters—few and short, for he had had little schooling—were chiefly concerned with begging them to come and see for themselves.
Then, one never-to-be-forgotten day, the mother and children packed into a hired wagon the tragic little which the bandits had left them, and set their faces toward the Rio Grande. They, too, were bound for that distrusted country which lay north of the northern edge of their world. The mother and the two girls were hopeful, but Pascual was silent and Riego afraid.
Not till the night came down did they reach the dark river which was to flow forever between the old life and the new. To little ten-year-old Riego this all-pervading darkness meant "America," for to his drowsy brain and anxious heart the black clouds above and the darkly rolling waters below seemed to typify the spirit of the land into which he was crossing.
Another moment, however, and he had given up the struggle to think it all out and fallen asleep with his head on his mother's lap.
The next morning Riego waked up in a better land.
He sat up on his cot and blinked his black eyes and stared about him at the cosey little room. A flood of light poured in at the one tiny window—Then the sun did shine in this land of the gringos!
This was very interesting. Riego hurried into his clothes and started out to see America.