A few minutes later, when the boys were leaving the house, he said: “You may tell Santiago that he can depend upon me to do the right thing. I am working for Mexico—not for Pancho Villa.”
“We are sure you are,” was Adrian’s reply, and the others echoed his words.
Tossing a peso to the peon who had been guarding their horses, the boys mounted and slowly rode back the way they had come. They had almost reached the plaza when there was a pistol shot in their rear, followed by a cry of pain.
Without stopping to consider what their action might lead to, the boys with one accord wheeled about and dashed back down the street. The street was as deserted as when they passed up it a moment before. When they reached Villa’s house they drew rein and called loudly, but there was no response.
“That’s mighty strange,” said Donald, after they had called a couple of times with like result. “What do you suppose has happened?”
“Can’t imagine,” replied Billie. “Maybe he doesn’t hear us. I’ll knock.”
He dismounted and gave the door, which was still ajar, a vigorous thump, but no one replied. Then suddenly, while they were wondering what they had better do, there was a sound of voices at the head of the street, and a moment later a crowd of people, headed by several policemen, came hastily down to where they were standing.
“There they are! There they are!” cried out a voice. “They are the men who were with him!” And the speaker pointed at the three boys.
“What’s the matter?” asked Adrian, as the policemen stopped at his side.
“This man says you have been plotting with Pancho Villa to start a new revolution.”