"We know how to fight them," said Bill Breakstone. "Boys, we ride for Santa Fé."
The soldier continued northward, and they turned the heads of their horses toward the New Mexico capital, reaching, in good time and without loss, the queer little old Spanish and Indian town from which the flags of Spain and then of Mexico had disappeared forever. They intended to remain only two or three days in order to obtain more horses and fresh supplies. Then they would slip quietly out of the town, because they wished their errand to be known to nobody. On the second day Bill Breakstone and Phil were walking together, when a man in sober civilian dress suddenly seized a hand of each in a firm grasp, and exclaimed in joy:
"Why, boys, when did you come here?"
"The Captain!" exclaimed Bill Breakstone. "How things do come around!"
It was Middleton, his very self, thinner and browner, but with the same fine open countenance and alert look. Bill and his comrade explained rapidly about the rescue of John Bedford, the recovery of little Billy Arenberg, and their passage through the mountains.
"And now," said Breakstone, "you tell us, Captain, how you happen to be up here in Santa Fé in civilian dress."
Middleton smiled a little sadly as he replied:
"The war is over. We won many brilliant victories. We were never beaten once. And I'm glad it's over, but there is nothing left for the majority of the younger officers. I should probably remain a captain all the rest of my life at some obscure frontier station, and so I've resigned from the army."
A light leaped up in Bill Breakstone's eyes, but he asked very quietly:
"And what are you meaning to do now, Captain?"