When they got under way with a good deal of rattle and banging, Marty, jouncing against his cousin as the car went over a stone in the road, sniffed.
"'Tin Lizzie!' He said it!" the boy growled. "This jitney's about one-candle power, isn't it? D'you s'pose there're any springs—ugh—on the contraption at all?"
"Let's not fuss," said Janice. "Think how much worse it would be if we had to ride horses—or mules. All of those I have seen have been half wild."
"Hi tunket! this flivver's wild enough, I should think," Marty declared, as the car skidded around a corner.
La Guarda was not a large town, and they were not long in getting to the edge of it. Under the shade of a low-roofed tavern a man was standing—quite a bulky man.
"There ees my other passenger," said Carlitos over his shoulder. "He of los Americanos, too. I theenk he go up country to buy horses. He horse trader. Sell beeg horse last night to Don Abreguardo."
Janice had seized Marty's hand and squeezed it hard. She was not listening to Carlitos, but staring at the man on the veranda of the tavern.
He wore one of the high-crowned, wide-brimmed hats of the country; but he was not otherwise dressed like the Mexicans. His waistcoat made a vivid splotch of color as he stood in the shade.
"Cricky!" gasped Marty. "Tom Hotchkiss! red vest, an' all!"
"Oh, it is, Marty!" agreed his cousin.