“That means one meal, anyhow,” he thought.
A gaudy sign attracted his attention: “Chinese-American Restaurant”—“All you can eat for two bits.”
“I think that they do not lose much on their sign,” he reflected when, a few minutes later, seated at a counter, he gnawed at some bread and stew, and drank bitter coffee. “Any man who ate more than a quarter’s worth would die.”
Having eaten, he sauntered over to the cashier’s window and nonchalantly slid his quarter across the counter. Then no longer a capitalist, but also no longer hungry, he stepped out into the street again. He looked to right and left wondering in what direction to turn his footsteps. The sight of a crowd in front of the post-office determined him. He questioned a man on the outskirts of the group, and found that the excitement was caused by a telegram, the contents of which was posted in the window. Working his way through the crowd, Loring reached a position whence he could make out the notice. The telegram was from the governor of Sonora, the Mexican province which lay just across the line from Dominion.
“Outbreak of Yaquis. No troops near. Would deeply appreciate help from Dominion.”
The crowd was laughing and cheering.
“Me for Old Mexico!” called one.
“Perhaps we’ll all be generals,” shouted another.
The news had spread like wild-fire, and from every direction appeared groups of men, armed with Winchesters, shotguns, or Colts. All were rushing toward the Southern Pacific station. Stephen hurried up the street to a gun store, and by dint of hard persuasion obtained from the proprietor an old Spencer forty-five calibre, single shot carbine.
“It will at least make a noise,” thought Loring. He joined a group of men who were on their way to the train.