With fingers that trembled ever so slightly, Johnny tore this open and read:
To Johnny Thompson.
Sir:
It would give me the greatest of pleasure to have your most entertaining and entirely fascinating presence at a dinner to be served at my camp a few miles above your own, at six this evening. We have had the great good fortune to secure two wild turkeys and your assistance in eating them would be both a service and a pleasure to me.
Your Most Humble Servant and, I trust, Friend,
El Vincia Daego.
For a moment Johnny stared at the note. He wanted to laugh, but did not quite dare. He was tempted to use some very strong language, but refrained from that, too.
“So he came up here ahead of me and is now at his camp,” he thought to himself. “He invites me to a feed of wild turkey. I wonder why?”
A half hour later he was showing the note to Pant.
“You won’t go, of course,” said Pant.
“I shall go. Why not?”
“Why should you? He might get rough—or something.”
“That’s a good reason for going. Can’t afford to show a white feather, can I? If I excuse myself, it’s equivalent to saying: ‘No, I won’t come. I’m afraid.’”
“You’re going into a strange country, Mexico, without a passport,” Pant protested.