“I’ll tell you what,” suddenly exclaimed Donald, “we’ll all go to El Paso. We’ll ride there. It isn’t so many days out of our way, and we’ll see something of the country. We might even get a look at President Madero, of Mexico.”
Donald’s suggestion met with immediate approval by the others, and so, instead of going southwest from Albuquerque, they headed south. Because of the lay of the land, they had traveled farther south than was really necessary, but had figured it out that it would be better riding in the valley of the Rio Grande than to climb over the range of mountains that forms the watershed of the Pecos River. Striking the Rio Grande near Langtry, they had slowly ridden up stream toward El Paso, first on one side of the river and then on the other, until this afternoon found them approaching the mouth of the Concho river, which empties into the Rio Grande from the Mexican side.
Two hours previous they had halted in the chaparral for a bite to eat and a short siesta. While they were lounging about, Donald had announced his intention of going to a little hamlet, the adobe houses of which could be seen a couple of miles
away, to see if he could not buy a riata, as a rope for leading horses is called.
“Why not wait until we reach Presidio?” queried Adrian. “We should reach there by dark.”
“We may not, and we need it to tether the pack mules. The one on Bray is worn out, and first thing we know he’ll wander away and we’ll waste a whole day looking for him.”
“Well, hurry up, then,” said Billie. “We don’t want to be waiting around here all the afternoon.”
Without more words Donald had mounted Wireless, for so his mount was named, and ridden away in the direction of the houses, while Billie and Adrian had strolled up the bank of the river, killing time. It was during this stroll that Billie had offered to show his skill with a six-shooter by hitting a silver dollar thrown into the air.
They had hardly been out of sight of the halting place during their stroll, but, upon their return, instead of finding Donald, they found old Bray, one of the pack mules, missing, just as Donald had predicted.
“He cannot have gone far,” declared Adrian. “He hasn’t had time.”