The man spoke in English, though with a Spanish accent.
"What do you mean, Sergeant?" Tom queried, quickly.
"Why should you need to escape, if you are honest men, engaged in honest business?" demanded the sergeant, eyeing Reade keenly.
"Why, it isn't a felony to try to get out of Mexico, is it?" Tom counter-queried.
"That depends," said the sergeant. "It depends, for instance, on why you are leaving."
"We're leaving because we want to," Tom informed him.
"You are Senor Reade, are you not?" pressed the sergeant, after eyeing the telegram once more. "And your friend, who does not appear here in person, is Senor Hazelton? Unless I am wrong, then you are the two engineers whom Don Luis Montez engaged. How do I know that you have any right to leave Mexico? How do I know that you are not breaking a contract?"
"Breaking a contract?" Tom retorted, somewhat indignantly. "Sergeant, we are not contract laborers. We are civil engineers—professional men."
"Nevertheless," replied the sergeant, handing back the telegram into the hands of bewildered. Tom Reade, "I cannot undertake to send this message until it is endorsed with the written approval of Don Luis Montez, your employer."
"Does Don Luis own this side of Mexico, or this wing of the Mexican
Army?" Tom inquired, with biting sarcasm.