“Major,” he cried, “I’m under Colonel Welch’s orders, and I’m bringing him a—a—bringing his despatches. I want to get my directions, and what you know about his present location.”
The “Major” seemed startled. “Welch? You with him?”
“I sure am,” declared Hike, wishing that he soon might be “with” him, at least.
The ruse worked. But before the “Major” answered Hike, he spoke with a Mexican who had quantities of gold lace over a shabby weather-worn old uniform-coat.
Just then Jack Adeler’s head bobbed up from behind the tarpaulin-covered gun and cartridges at the back. Hike, looking back, felt very anxious. What had he been doing back there? Could it be that Jack Adeler—Jack Adeler!—was afraid of a bunch of plundering bush-fighters? If the machine-gun were only loaded—what they could do—!
He heard the Lieutenant whispering sharply, “Find out where we are.”
“Where are we?” he blurted out to the “Major.”
“Ten miles southeast of Calientado—seventeen miles from the border.... But say, Ah don’t think we’d better let you-all go yet. Ah’ll have to see your despatches, first, and then, if they’re all right, Ah’ll have Captain Grendez here go—”
Suddenly Jack Adeler’s voice bellowed from the freight-platform, “Stand aside, there, all of you, or we’ll shoot you.” He was waving a revolver with one hand and jerking at the tarpaulin cover with the other.
The “Major” seemed only quietly amused. “Ah thought what you said was only a ruse,” he laughed. “You, back there, you better put up that pop-gun or you might hurt yourself, ’cause when we—”