“By George, I’d clean forgotten about him!” declared the newspaper man, hurriedly. “He struck me as being a helpless sort of chap, too. Yes; that’s our first duty—come on, fellows!”
As the party dashed down-stairs and out on the veranda, they saw the big square filled with a panic-stricken mob of men, women and children, hurrying in all directions, some burdened down with bundles and bags.
It was almost impossible to associate the place with the calm of those moonlit evenings when the strains of soft music floated over the air, and laughing, black-eyed señoritas promenaded to and fro beneath the shadows of the mulberry trees. The boys gathered the sense of the scene without seeing many of its details. They could think only of the young pianist, who, as he listened to the firing and the commotion in the streets, must be experiencing feelings of dreadful fear.
“Poor Jimmy!” muttered Dick. “We must get him out of this mighty soon!”
To their great relief they found the stableman and the hotel proprietor in the building at the rear.
A rapid volley of Spanish came from both men when they dashed pell-mell inside. But only Edmunds understood the meaning of their words.
“What do they say?” panted Cranny.
“That the other side of the Rio Grande is the safest place for us all,” responded the newspaper man, rapidly. “Of course,” he shrugged his shoulders, “I’m too accustomed to the smell of powder and smoke and the rattle of guns to let a thing like this make me want to cut and run. But,” he paused to let the import of his words sink deeply into their minds, “remember; any one who stays in this town is taking his life in his hands.”
“I should rather say so!” said Parry, cheerfully.
It was still dark in the stable, but by the pale, weak rays of a couple of ill-smelling oil lanterns they managed to saddle the horses. The little burro was not disturbed.