CHAPTER XVIII.
AT THE BURNING BRIDGE.
It was really only the bad marksmanship of the men among the rocks some distance away, and the fact that the boys were now strung out in a disorganized line as they drew near the stalled train that saved the scouts from disaster, just as they saw a haven of refuge at hand.
The bullets continued to whine around them in a most disagreeable manner; while some, falling short, tore up the ground, causing little patches of dust to leap upward where they struck.
Tubby must have lived hours during those few but exciting minutes. Then, to his great satisfaction he found himself riding behind the cars of the train, where there were scores of people hiding, men, women and children, fugitives from the city that had fallen into Villa's hands once more. Some may have fled for fear that the rebel leader would confiscate all their possessions, because they had been on friendly terms with the troops of Huerta when the Government forces held the capital of Chihuahua State.
No one could say with what relief Tubby checked the onward rush of his charger; Rob did not have to come to his assistance this time, for the exhausted boy actually fell from the saddle, being caught by several grim rebels, who had come crowding around to find out who these parties were, and how it came that American soldiers dared invade the sacred soil of Mexico,—which, had it been an actual fact, would have served to unite both hostile factions against Uncle Sam's boys in khaki.
But Lopez had unlimbered his tongue by now, and was rattling off the greatest lot of jargon in Spanish the boys had ever listened to. They could only understand a word here and there; but that did not matter, for as he talked the guide made many gestures, and it was possible to tell what he was saying from these alone.
Many of the rebels crowded close around them, forming a circle, ten deep. Others had hurried to exchange shots with the late pursuers of the boys, and opened such a warm fire that the Regulars quickly turned and fled, doubtless to join later on with their comrades among the rocks, and plot to overwhelm the defenders of the stalled train.
When the name of General Villa was mentioned several times, and always with a grand sweep of the arm in the direction of the four scouts, Rob knew that Lopez was surely "spreading it on pretty thick." He must be telling the crowd that these gringo lads were great friends of the commanding general, and that they had come all the way down here, hundreds, yes, thousands of miles, just to see him, and tell him what a great patriot he was. And if this were so, then they must be looked on as comrades by every man who fought under Villa the Great; who would be very angry with any wretch so unlucky as to raise a finger to offend those whose friendship he valued so highly.