"Undoubtedly that would take more men than we have ashore," Trent replied. "There would be no sense in occupying the whole city until we have driven out every hostile Mexican ahead of us. We might drive the Mexican soldiers much further, but the trouble is that hundreds of them have joined in the sport of sniping at the hated Americanos. If we pushed our way through the town, at once we would then have Mexican firing ahead of us and also at the rear. No fighting men behave well under such circumstances."
An hour later it became plain that Trent's detachment had some new work cut out for it, for a commissary officer now directed that the men be marched down the street to receive rations.
"We're going to have night work all right, then, and perhaps plenty of it," Darrin declared to his chum. "If we were going to remain here rations wouldn't be furnished us."
Trent was inside, personally seeing to matters, when a sentry halted a man in civilian clothes.
"A friend," replied the man in answer to the challenge.
"Advance and give your name," persisted the sentry.
"Lieutenant Cantor of the 'Long Island.'"
At hearing that name, from one in civilian dress, Dave stepped forward.
"You've been halted by a man from your own ship, sir," nodded
Darrin, on getting close enough to see that the man really was
Cantor.
"Hullo," was Trent's greeting, as he stepped outside. "On duty,
Cantor?"