“Don Samuel” did not see it in this light. With the bandit emissary in our power, and the dollars of Don Eusebio at our disposal, he did not apprehend any difficulty. If there were a salteador in all Mexico proof against gold, Sam Brown did not believe it.
I was satisfied with his reasoning; and consented to act under his guidance.
But little time was required for preparation. The commander-in-chief—not so ungenerous after all, and always liberal in the cause of humanity—had given me carte, blanche. I only drew a score of my own men—Mounted Rifles—with a small supplementary force of the dare-devils already alluded to.
Chapter Thirty.
A Yankee Jehu.
Along the lone causeway, three hundred years ago traversed by Cortez—and now, instead of open water, with a zanca on each side of it—we journeyed in solemn silence.
I had waited for that hour of the night when wayfarers, who might turn informers, were not likely to be encountered on the road.
We passed the isolated hill of El Peñon without meeting any one; and commenced skirting the saline shores of Tezcoco.