"It is true, all that you say," replied Middleton tranquilly. "I am Captain George Middleton of the American regular troops, and, at the request of our War Department, I undertook the hazardous mission of which you speak."
"You will go no farther with it," said de Armijo.
"How can you keep me from it?"
"I cannot--perhaps, but events can--events have. You do not know, but I do, Captain Middleton, that there is war between your country and mine."
"Ah!" exclaimed Middleton, and, despite the darkness, Phil saw a sudden flush spring into his face.
"It is not only war," continued de Armijo, "but there has been a heavy battle, two of them, in fact. Your troops met ours at Palo Alto on May eighth, and again on the following day at Resaca de la Palma."
"Ah!" exclaimed Middleton again, the exclamation being drawn up from the very depths of his being, while the flush on his face deepened. "And you know, I suppose, which won?"
It was a peculiar coincidence that the moon's rays made their way at that moment through clouds, and a bright beam fell on the face of Pedro de Armijo. Phil saw the Mexican's face fall a little, despite all his efforts at self-control. De Armijo himself felt this change in his countenance, and, knowing what it indicated to the man who asked the question, he replied without evasion:
"I regret to say that the fortunes of war were against the deserving. Our brave general, Ampudia, and our gallant troops were compelled to retire before your general, Taylor. At least, so say my hasty advices; perhaps they are wrong."
But Phil could see that de Armijo had no such hope. The news was correct, and the boy's heart thrilled with joy because the first victories had fallen to his own people.