"That's so," said Phil, his cheerfulness coming back at once.
Late in the spring they began the passage of the ranges, and although it was a long, hard, and sometimes dangerous task, they got safely across with all their horses, coming again into a plains country, which merged farther west into a desert. Here they were about to make a great loop northward, around the Mexican settlements, when they met an American soldier carrying dispatches. They hailed him, and, when he stopped, they rode forward, all eagerness. It was deputed to Bill Breakstone to ask the momentous question, and he asked it:
"How is the war going on?"
The soldier looked at them, amused little crinkles at the corners of his mouth. He knew by their appearance that these were people who had been long in the wilderness.
"It isn't getting on at all," he replied.
"What!" cried Bill Breakstone appalled.
"It isn't going on, because it's all over. General Scott marched straight to the City of Mexico. He fought a half dozen terrible battles, but he won every one of them, and then took the City of Mexico itself. A treaty of peace was signed February 2 last. You are riding now on American soil. New Mexico, Arizona, California, and vast regions to the north of us have been ceded to the United States."
"Hurrah!" they cried together, Billy joining in with as much enthusiasm as the others.
"What about Santa Fé?" asked Bill Breakstone.
"It's occupied by an American garrison, and there is complete peace everywhere. The only danger is from wandering Indians."