“Did you ever?” murmured Don.
“It’s true, boys,” came from Stovall. “We ain’t got enough customs officers or other authorities to keep an eye on things; but let me tell ye—it may be kind o’ easy for ’em a-gettin’ in; but when it comes to stayin’ that ain’t the same.”
“How?” asked Dick.
“Well, ye see, the custom officials know every chink in the border towns, an’ just as soon as a new face is spotted they get busy. If the feller can’t give a straight account of himself an’ show proper certificates, it’s good-bye to the States for that particular chap.”
“An’ maybe they ain’t a wily lot,” grunted Raulings. “Most of ’em know enough to beat it for the interior to onct. They’ve ketched ’em many a time in trains an’ on the brake beams o’ freight cars.”
“Yes, for a fact they have,” asserted another Ranger named Roy Cooper, “an’, say—didn’t I even hear tell of a case where they nabbed a lot who had smuggled themselves into barrels. The officers found ’em aboard a freight wagon bound for the interior.”
“There’s always somethin’ doin’ in this old world,” said Cranny.
For another half hour the boys talked with the Rangers, then after that began a tour of exploration around the immediate vicinity. To roam about on foot proved to be such an interesting experience that it was almost supper time before they returned hungry and tired to camp.
“I say,” remarked Cranny, as after a good meal he lolled indolently by the side of the cheerful blaze, “too much of this life isn’t enough, eh?”
“No,” admitted Don, “though I’d like it better if some of the mosquitoes would nose into the next state.”