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He paused to help himself to a cigar from the box on the table and to light it with a steady and defiant hand.

“Hell!–I guess this neck of the woods knows Anthony Habert, and you can bank on it that it’s never located his yellow streak. Sure, in the pinch, I’d spit on Old Glory. What the hell d’ye think I’m going on the streets for a night like this? Didn’t I skin out of the Southern Hotel half an hour ago, where there are forty buck Americans, not counting their women, and all armed? That was safety. What d’ye think I came here for?–to rescue you?”

His indignation lumped his throat into silence, and he seemed shaken as with an apoplexy.

“Spit it out,” Davies commanded dryly.

“I’ll tell you,” Habert exploded. “It’s Billy Boy. Fifty miles up country and twenty-thousand throat-cutting federals and rebels between him and me. D’ye know what that boy’d do, if he was here in Tampico and I was fifty miles up the Panuco? Well, I know. And I’m going to do the same–go and get him.”

“We’re figuring on going up,” Wemple assured him.

“And that’s why I headed here–Miss Drexel, of course?”

Both men acquiesced and smiled. It was a time when men dared speak of matters which at other times tabooed speech.

“Then the thing’s to get started,” Habert exclaimed, looking at his watch. “It’s midnight now. We’ve got to get to the river and get a boat–“

But the clamor of the returning mob came through the windows in answer.

Davies was about to speak, when the telephone rang, and Wemple sprang to the instrument.

“It’s Carson,” he interjected, as he listened. “They haven’t cut the wires across the river yet.–Hello, Carson. Was it a break or a cut? … Bully for you…. Yes, move the mules across to the potrero beyond Tamcochin…. Who’s at the water station? … Can you still ‘phone him? … Tell him to keep the tanks full, and to shut off the main to Arico. Also, to hang on till the last minute, and keep a horse saddled to cut and run for it. Last thing before he runs, he must jerk out the ‘phone…. Yes, yes, yes. Sure. No breeds. Leave full-blooded Indians in charge. Gabriel is a good hombre. Heaven knows, once we’re chased out, when we’ll get back…. You can’t pinch down Jaramillo under twenty-five hundred barrels. We’ve got storage for ten days. Gabriel’ll have to handle it. Keep it moving, if we have to run it into the river—-“

“Ask him if he has a launch,” Habert broke in.

“He hasn’t,” was Wemple’s answer. “The federals commandeered the last one at noon.”

“Say, Carson, how are you going to make your get-away?” Wemple queried.

The man to whom he talked was across the Panuco, on the south side, at the tank farm.

“Says there isn’t any get-away,” Wemple vouchsafed to the other two. “The federals are all over the shop, and he can’t understand why they haven’t raided him hours ago.”

“… Who? Campos? That skunk! … all right…. Don’t be worried if you don’t hear from me. I’m going up river with Davies and Habert…. Use your judgment, and if you get a safe chance at Campos, pot him…. Oh, a hot time over here. They’re battering our doors now. Yes, by all means … Good-by, old man.”

Wemple lighted a cigarette and wiped his forehead.

“You know Campos, Jose H. Campos,” he
volunteered. “The dirty cur’s stuck Carson up
for twenty thousand pesos. We had to pay,
or he’d have compelled half our peons to enlist
or set the wells on fire. And you know,
Davies, what we’ve done for him in past years.
Gratitude? Simple decency? Great Scott!”

* * * * *