CHAPTER XXI
AT LA GUARDA
Janice and Marty, clinging together on the rough platform of Manuel's wagon for fear of falling off, saw very little of the country through which they traveled that evening. That the way was rough they knew, and that sparse trees bordered it on either hand was likewise apparent even in the dusk. But they saw no habitations and no light save the distant stars.
The mules rattled on at a jog-trot, while Manuel beguiled the way with untranslatable songs in the vernacular. If Marty asked him a question about the way or the distance or the time, all Manuel said was:
"We reech there preety soon, hombre—alla right!"
By and by they did espy lights ahead. It was then almost midnight. A group of horsemen arose suddenly like shadows out of the mesquite and hailed the driver.
"Viva Méjico!" squalled Manuel before he could pull his mules to a standstill.
A sharp demand in Spanish made Janice cower in her place on the reach and cling more tightly to Marty's hand. They listened to Manuel chattering a reply in which was included Don José's name. In a moment they were driving on, undisturbed.
"That chief, huh! he know the good Don José," Manuel said to his passengers.
"Suppose he had not known him?" drawled Marty in the semi-gloom.
They could see that Manuel shrugged his shoulders; but he made no other reply.