"You're some fighter, kid," the other said approvingly to Bob. "But I reckon I'da got you at that if it hadn't been for that arm."
"Maybe so," Bob modestly agreed. "You put up a stiff fight."
"You're an American, aren't you?" asked Frank. "What's your name? And how do you happen to be with these fellows?"
"Why not?" said the other, answering the last question first. "I'm a rolling stone and joined up with this outfit because it looked like something doing. And that's what I want. As for my name, it's Roy Stone. And you guessed right. I am an American. Born an' raised in Wooster, out in Ohio."
He paused and looked curiously from one to the other of the boys. Tom Bodine was examining the two other prisoners for possible injuries needing attention. Stone nodded toward him.
"I can place a fellow like that, all right," he said. "Know this kind down here on the border. But who are you? You're only kids. What's your game? Are you with Obregon?"
"No, indeed," said Bob. Turning to Jack, he whispered:
"Is it safe to tell him who we are? He's an American. And, somehow, I have an idea he might help us."
"Well, it won't hurt, I guess," said Jack, doubtfully. "He might escape and betray us to rebel headquarters, but I suspect we can guard against that. Besides, he's bound to find out our identities, because those other two chaps will recognize you."
"Hardly in this rig," said Bob, referring to his clothing. "We talked all that over, you remember."