Middleton smiled. He was appealing deftly to the pride of these men, and he had known the response before it came.
"Then if we can neither go on to Santa Fé nor turn back to New Orleans," he said, "we must either start to the north or to the south."
He was speaking now with the greatest fervor. His face flushed deeply, and they hung upon his words.
"To the north lies the wilderness," he said, "stretching away for thousands of miles to the Arctic Ocean. To the south there are plains reaching down to a river, broad, shallow, and yellow, and somewhere along that river armies are fighting, armies of our own people and armies of the Mexicans with whom we are now at war. Which way shall we go, north or south?"
"South!" was roared forth in one tremendous voice. Again Middleton smiled. Again he had known before it came the response that would be spoken.
"Then south it is," he said, "and we make for Taylor's army on the Rio Grande. You will find there a better market for what you carry in your wagons than you would have found at Santa Fé, and you're likely to find something else, also, that I know you won't shirk."
"Fighting!" roared forth that tremendous voice once more.
"Yes, fighting," said Middleton, as he sprang down from the pole and rejoined Woodfall.
"That was clever talk," said Bill Breakstone, "but he knew his ground before he sowed the seed. These are just the sort of lads who will be glad to go south to Taylor, breaking their way through any Mexicans or Indians who may get across their path.
"He said north
He said south,
What's the choice?
We spoke forth,
It was south,
With one voice.