“Captain Welch has turned up again—like the bad penny. He’s in Lower California—that’s a province of Mexico, you know. There isn’t supposed to be any more revolution in Mexico, now, but believe me when I say that there’s always more or less revolution in Lower California. That part of Mexico is more or less shut off from the rest, with some pretty savage islands on the west. I believe there’s a real tribe of cannibal Indians, near Tiburon Isle.
“Well, Captain Welch has turned up there as a Colonel commanding a tough regiment of Mexicans, Indians, and rascally Americans. They are simply robbing and plundering, and calling it ‘revolution.’ The authorities in that part of the state can’t do a thing with them. Well, they are heading for my rancho, at Aguas Grandes—which means there’s a two-by-four creek running through the desert, and they call it ‘Aguas Grandes,’—big waters.
“My foreman has telegraphed me that he knows Welch is going to attack, though Welch is taking his time getting there, plundering on the way. If we get there by midnight, to-morrow night, we’ll probably be in time.
“We’ll just have to fight. Welch has got the authorities so scared that they’re more likely to help him than to protect the rancheros. Martin Priest is coming with a tetrahedral—with the Hustle—and you and I will take that—it ought to be here by four this afternoon—and cart a machine-gun down to my rancho, and be ready for Welch. Is it a go?”
“Sure. Four this afternoon? I’ll rush out to Santa Benicia for clothes and a revolver, and be back here before then. Oh, say, is Poodle in on this? Aw, please, please take him. He’ll be all broke up if he doesn’t get taken.”
“I’m sorry—I wish we could; but it’s impossible. He’s a corking boy, but scarcely enough of a fighter for this—though, of course, he’s got plenty of courage.”
Hike believed the Lieutenant wrong. He remembered how Poodle had stood up to Left Ear, showing enough courage in this schoolboy-fight to take him into a real battle, even with insurrectos. But the Lieutenant was his commander, and he merely saluted.
“By the way, Hike, don’t even mention this. Just let the Headmaster and Poodle know where you’re going. They’ll keep still. I had to confide in the Headmaster myself. Be sure about this, for remember that if this got into the newspapers, it might mean big international trouble between the United States and Mexico—an American army officer fighting on Mexican territory. I’m going as a private citizen, a ranchero, and I don’t want any one to know I’m anything else.”
“Right O!” promised Hike, and hurried out for the next train to Santa Benicia, wild with the joy of going, and feeling (it must be confessed) rather important, thus entrusted with a secret which could make trouble between two nations.