“Ask the Mexicans,” grinned Dick.
“They are authorities on the subject of trouble,” said Sam. “Large chunks of it come their way every day.”
In order to obtain better views of the surroundings the lads at times climbed the steep, rugged hills, on the heights of which they nearly always paused to rest, and the historian continually discovering some new beauty in the landscape let the others share his pleasure.
Finally the walking became more difficult, the hills much higher. Panting with exertion they struggled to the top of one, immediately to seat themselves by the side of a mass of cactus.
“I guess this is far enough, boys,” panted Dave. His eyes wandered over the forms on the slopes, which in the moonlight suggested miniature gorges or beetling cliffs. Then, lastly, he looked with sleepy eyes at the earth’s satellite, showing with wonderful brilliancy from a field of greenish blue. Directly beneath, its shimmering reflection appeared in the water of the Rio. And then—everything faded from the stout historian’s sight; reality no longer confronted him, the vague fancies of the dreamer taking its place.
Aroused by a touch on his arm, he sat bolt upright.
“Gracious!” he exclaimed. He had expected to see the moon in a certain position in the heavens, and instead of that discovered it to be in altogether another. “How long——?”
“Is it possible you didn’t hear, Dave?” queried Sam in earnest tones.
“Hear what?”
No reply was necessary.