Jack forced his voice out of his parched throat.
“That is my assistant driver, Mr. Reeves,” he said. “We have had a good deal of talk as we came along and he tells me that he has a great longing to go back to his own country and stay there. He knows what it means if he comes back across the Border again, don’t you, Alvarez?”
“Si, Señor Merrill,” stammered the Mexican while Bud glowered at him.
“There’s something behind all this, Jack, that I can partly guess at,” declared Mr. Reeves, “but if you really want him to go, let him go.”
“You hear?” croaked Jack in Spanish.
“Si, señor.”
“Then go.”
The Mexican wheeled his horse, doffed his peaked hat in a graceful wave and in a loud, clear voice shouted:
“Adios, señors!”
He struck his spurs home and brought down his quirt. His horse sprang forward. Straight for the Rio Grande he rode and vanished over its northern bank. Five minutes later he was off American soil. On the opposite bank he paused once more, wheeled his horse and waved his sombrero in token of farewell. Then he vanished, so far as the boys were concerned, forever.