The young army flyer laughed.
“I’m afraid I’ll be a poor chaperone,” he said. “But I’ll do my best.” And he rose.
The others pushed back their chairs and rose, too. As they moved toward the door, a voice hailed Captain Cornell from a side table, and he spun about to find a huge sun-burned and grizzled man in flannel shirt and cowboy boots rising to greet him, showing two big revolvers at his hips as he stood up. They talked a moment or two, the big man’s voice booming and Captain Cornell’s lower-pitched, the words of both indistinguishable.
After a good look at the flyer’s companion, the party moved on toward the lobby where presently they were rejoined by Captain Cornell.
“That was Jack Hannaford of the Rangers,” he said. “We fellows of the Border Patrol work together with them a good deal. Jack has been famous along this Border for forty years. Said he understood that after tonight Uncle Sam is going to close the International Bridge at 9 o’clock at night, after which hour any Americans in Nueva Laredo will have to stay there until the next day. So this will be your last chance to see what Mex town is like at night, because you’d be hardly likely to care to spend the night there.”
“Why is that?” asked Mr. Temple.
Mr. Hampton was about to answer but Captain Cornell forestalled him.
“To cut down this business of Americans going across the Line and making a wild night of it,” he said.
Mr. Hampton nodded. It was the answer he himself had been about to propose.
“Come on, then,” said Jack. “Let’s hurry. If the word is generally known, it’s likely to be a big night at Nueva Laredo, isn’t it?”