"Now, what?" asked Hazelton.
"Luncheon, if I had my choice," muttered Tom. "But that's out of the question, I fear."
"Unless we can catch a rabbit, or something, with our hands."
"Harry, I wonder if we can find the trail all the way back to the railroad. These mountain paths are crooked affairs at best."
"We know the general direction, and our pocket compasses will serve us," Hazelton nodded.
"Don Luis seems to think that he can stop us from getting through to the railroad."
"I'm not so sure that he can't, either, Tom. Hang these little Mexicans. With our hands either one of us could thrash an armful of these people, but a Mexican with a gun is almost the size of an American with a gun. Tom, if we only had a brace of revolvers I believe we could go through to civilization without mishap."
"We haven't any pistols, so there's no use in talking about them,"
Reade retorted.
"But we would have had revolvers, at least in our baggage, if you hadn't always been so dead set against carrying them," Harry complained.
"I'm just as much set against firearms as ever," Tom answered, dryly. "Revolvers are made for killing people. Now, why any sane man should desire to kill any one goes beyond me."