"But, general, do not the regulars already know of your presence in this part of the country?" asked Jack.
General Madero smiled.
"The heads of bone which command them know little beyond dancing and how to flirt correctly," he said. "My flying column has, in the past two days, passed from one end of the province to the other without their being aware of it. The main part of my army is in eastern Chihuahua, blowing up bridges and otherwise diverting their attention, while I have come into, what you Americans call, Tom Tiddler's ground, where I mean to pick up all the gold and silver I can. Why not?" he demanded, with a sudden access of fury. "Is it not ours? What right have these interlopers of Americanos here? Mexico for the Mexicans and death to the robber foreigners!"
He brought his lean, shriveled hand down on the table with a thump that made the lamp shake. His Latin temperament had, for the moment, carried him away; for a flash the blaze of fanaticism shone in his eyes, only to die out as swiftly as he regained command of himself.
"When shall we depart on this duty, sir?" asked Bob Harding, after a brief pause.
"To-morrow. The hour I will inform you of later. Not a word of this in the camp, remember. I can trust to you absolutely?"
"Absolutely," rejoined Bob Harding, with, apparently, not a single qualm of conscience.
The general's eyes were bent upon the boys who had not rejoined to his question.
"Absolutely," declared Jack, saving his conscience by adding a mental "Not."
Bob Harding, who was sharp enough in some things, was quick to detect a change in the manner of the three supposed soldiers of fortune as they left the general's tent.