"You mean you're going to make money enough to close the account with the old man?"
"Not money," and Carlitos smiled his wolf-like smile again. "I hope to help hang Señor Baldasso at the door of his own hacienda—by goodness, yes!"
Marty exploded a mighty "Cricky!" Then he asked: "Is that why you Mexicans are fighting all the time?"
"To get back our land—our own. To govern ourselves. Sí, señor," Carlitos declared eagerly. "We long for a deliverer—a devoted leader who will free us from taskmasters both native and foreign. But we desire no foreign intervention—by goodness, no! Hands off, gringos. I weesh that Rio Grande," he concluded, pointing into the northeastern distance, "were ten thousand miles wide."
"Heh!" ejaculated Tom Hotchkiss, peering in the direction Carlitos pointed. "Is that the river—just over there?"
"It is five miles away, señor."
"But I thought you were taking me away from the river all this time?" sputtered the other. "Why! that's the Border, isn't it?"
"But yes, señor. We have to follow the road. I cannot drive the tin Leezie through the chaparral."
"I don't like it," muttered the man. "I thought we were already a long way from the States."
Marty nudged his cousin. "Scart as he can be, Janice," he whispered. "'By goodness, yes!' I believe if we had the time, we could march old Red Vest back over the Border and clap him into jail!"