They jumped to the ground, hearing expressions of injury and protest from those within. Around at the front of the car the man and boy were quite alone.
“She’s fixed now, I think.” Don’s manner appeared stern.
“She is. We’d better attend to that rod and bolt, as you——”
“Plenty of time. Say, this is getting results. It’ll even things up with me and the coin—— Say, where did you say you’re from?”
“I didn’t say yet. Want to know? I’m Mexican born; folks came from Bavaria. Foreign colony at home; talk English mostly. My old man and his crowd lost all their money——”
“Where do we go from here, Betsy; where do we go from here?” sang one of the sappers within.
“We don’t go; we stay awhile, blast your boots!” yelled Don.
“—through an English oil syndicate; he was tryin’ to do them and they were tryin’ to do him and did it. Reckon there’s some way of getting square. I enlisted from El Paso. What’s your trouble?”
“Mebbe you’d be surprised if I tell you I was born in Germany and learned to talk English on a visit to America, where they got me for this scrap. Who do you take your orders from? I get mine from——”
Don paused, as though listening; then added: “That slow shooting is German machine-guns. Give it to ’em, Fritz, me boy!”