"No use, boys. All under the false bottom, at the hind end of the wagon. No time to go for 'em. Had to take what was handiest."
They made an astonishingly long day's march, and did not meet with the slightest sign of danger. Nor did they come across any better token of civilized life than two deserted "ranches," or farm-houses, made of "abode" or sunburnt brick.
That night they slept soundly on their blankets in the open air, and perhaps some of them dreamed that in a few nights more they would have roofs over their heads, and wake up in the morning to find hot coffee on the breakfast-table. No bell rung for them, however, when breakfast time came, and they had nearly completed their simple meal of broiled beef and cold water when their ears were saluted by a very different sound from that of a bell.
"Horses! Rifles! Mount, boys!" shouted the little Captain. "That's a cavalry bugle!"
Cavalry.
They sprung for their arms, and they mounted in hot haste, but before the last man was in the saddle the music of that bugle was close upon them. It was a good bugle, with a sweet, clear voice, and it was well played by the tall German who had somehow drifted away from the Rhine-land into that gayly dressed and glittering regiment of Mexican lancers.
"No use to fight, boys, even if they were enemies. There's more'n three hundred of 'em. Regulars, too. What on earth brings 'em away up here? Can't be there's any revolution going on."
Captain Skinner was not a man to be easily puzzled, but the appearance of such a force there and then was a remarkable circumstance—altogether unaccountable. So was the action taken by the Mexican colonel in command. No message of inquiry was sent forward. No greeting was offered. The only sound to be heard was that of the bugle as it repeated the signals called for by the few brief, sternly uttered orders that rung out from the head of the column.
"It isn't too late for us to run, Cap," suggested Bill.
"Yes, it is. They'd catch us in no time. Besides, we haven't done anything to run for."