Captain Skinner and his miners were well mounted, and they were tough,
seasoned horsemen. They were in a great hurry, too, for their minds were
full of dreams of the grand good times they meant to have. Some of them
talked and laughed and even sung over their plans for the future.
Others, older or of more quiet disposition, rode forward in good-humored
silence all the many long miles of that second day.
The only thing to be done, now they were once for all beyond the reach of
enemies, was to get to a place where they could exchange their gold-dust
and nuggets and ingots for coin, and then spend that.
Captain Skinner had been compelled to hear nearly all of them say, one
after another, and in very much the same way,
"It's a great pity, Cap, we didn't get out them twenty-dollar pieces, and
leave bullion instead."
He had only replied two or three times,
"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."
"Not to them we haven't."
In a few minutes more it was too late, if it had not been just then, for
the gleaming lances of a full company of the Mexicans began to shine
above the grass and bushes behind the miners.
"Trapped, boys! I wonder what they're going to do?"
The Mexican commander was nearly ready to tell them now, for, as his
really splendid-looking horsemen closed steadily in upon the silent squad
of wild-looking desperadoes, he himself rode forward toward them,
accompanied by two officers in brilliant uniforms.
Captain Skinner rode out as if to meet him, but was greeted by an
imperative, loud-voiced,
"Halt! Dismount!"
The fire flashed from the eyes of the ragged little Captain.
"Close up, boys! Dismount behind your horses, and take aim across the
saddle."
He was obeyed like clock-work, and it was the colonel's turn to "halt,"
for no less than three of those deadly dark tubes were pointing straight
at him, and he saw with what sort of men he was dealing. Had they been
six dozen instead of only less than two, they would not have hesitated a
second about charging in upon his gay lancers, and would probably have
scattered them right and left.
"What are you doing here?" he demanded of Captain Skinner.
"Travelling."
"Where are you going?"
"Going to try and mind our own business."
"Where did you come from?"
"Across the border. Driven out of the mines by Apaches. Didn't expect
to find Mexican regular cavalry worse than the redskins."
"We will see about that, señor. You are our prisoners."
"All right, so long as none of you come too near. It won't be healthy
for any of you to try."
"No harm is intended you, señor. We are sent to guard this frontier
against the Apaches, and to put down a small pronunciamento."
Captain Skinner knew what that meant. There had been some sort of a
little revolution in that part of Mexico, and he and his men were
suspected of having crossed the border to take part in it.
"All right, colonel. All we want is to march right along. We can pay
our own way."
That was the first blunder the wily Captain had made.
The regiment of lancers, like a great many other Mexican regiments, was
only "regular" because it happened just then to be employed by the
national government. Its pay had not been regular at all, and the minds
of both officers and men were excited by the mention of such a thing.
A half-scornful smile shot across the dark face of the colonel as he
looked at those ragged men, and wondered how much they would be likely to
pay for anything, even if they were not disposed to help themselves
without paying. A young officer at his side was more sagacious, and
suggested,
"I beg a thousand pardons, colonel, but they are miners."
"Ah! They may have been successful."
The expression of his face underwent a rapid change, and there was
nothing scornful in it when he remarked to Captain Skinner that the price
of a written "safe-conduct" for him and his men would be a hundred
dollars each.
"That's reasonable, Cap."
"We won't mind that."
"Pay him. It's the best we can do."
"All right, Señor Colonel," said the Captain. "We will pay you in gold
as soon as it's written."
One of the young officers at once dismounted, and produced a supply of
writing materials.
The "safe-conduct" was a curious document, and nothing exactly like it
could have been had or bought of any cavalry officer in the United
States. It was written in Spanish, of course, and it appeared to vouch
for the peaceable and honest character and intentions of the entire
company of miners.
The latter stood sternly behind their horses, in a dangerous looking
circle, while the bargain was making, and the Captain himself had coin
enough to pay for them all without calling for contributions.
The colonel was very polite now, and gave very accurate advice and
instructions as to the route the miners would do well to follow.
Captain Skinner's second blunder was that he determined to go by the road
laid out for him by the colonel.
Perhaps he might not have done so if he had read one other piece of paper
that the young officer wrote for his colonel to sign. Or if he had seen
it handed to a lancer, who rode away with it at full speed along the
precise path the colonel was describing.
It was addressed, with many titles and formalities, to "General Vincente
Garcia," and it was delivered by the lancer postman within three hours.
There was something remarkable in the quantity and quality of the
politeness expressed by the Mexican officers after that money had been
paid. Not only did they declare their great pleasure at meeting so
distinguished a party of "caballeros," but also a great deal of regret at
parting with them.
"That's all serene, Cap," said Bill, "but they'd have rid right over us
if we'd ha' let 'em."
"We're all right now. Let's make a long push today."
The colonel showed no disposition to detain them, and it was not until
they had been on their southward march for an hour that he wheeled his
glittering column in the same direction.
Captain Skinner and his men knew nothing about that, and when noon came
they found a capital camping-place, precisely as it had been described to
them. A beautiful spot it was, with groves of shady trees and a fine
spring of water, and there was more than one drove of long-horned cattle
in sight.
"Somebody or other's careless about his critters," remarked one of the
miners; but the Captain's face was sober.
"It looks too much as if they'd been driven up this way to feed the
cavalry on. I don't like it."
"Cap, do you hear that? If it ain't another bugle you can shoot me!"
More than one was heard within the next half-hour, and three consecutive
squadrons of lancers rode within sight of the miners' camp and dismounted
for their noon-day meal.
They had a perfect right to do so. They were in their own country.
Besides, they were not interfering with anybody. There was a good many
of them, to be sure, and it was a curious thing that they should happen
to come.
"Thar's too big a crop o' lancers this year to suit me," muttered Bill.
"Thar's a squad of 'em coming now."
Not a large squad; only a couple of officers and their orderlies, on a
very proper errand, very politely done.
It was their duty, they said, with many apologies. General Garcia
desired to know who were his neighbors, and so forth.
The colonel's "safe-conduct" was shown them, and they actually touched
their hats when they read it.
It was entirely satisfactory, they said. Perfect. The general would be
glad to know that all was in due form. Would Captain Skinner do them the
great favor to go with them and pay his respects to the general? Or
would one of the other caballeros? The general would be glad to sign the
"safe-conduct" himself, as the officer In supreme command of the district.
That was precisely what the Captain thought he wanted, and he consented
at once.
"Cap," said Bill, "can't you get one of them civil-talkin' chaps to let
us have some coffee? Or a side o' bacon?"
The officer understood him, and his bow and smile were of the most
polished order as he replied, "Certainly, señor. We will be only too
happy. But we hope to have the happiness of your presence at our own
mess at dinner to-day. We can promise you something better than
camp-fare."
"We are too many, señor," said Captain Skinner.
"Too many, Captain! We shall not have a caballero at each mess. Some of
us will be disappointed."
He repeated his invitation, with a tempting list of the good things to be
had at the regimental campfires, and the miners assented like one man.
They had had no coffee for long months, nor bread, nor tobacco, nor
vegetables, and the mere mention of such things entirely overcame their
prudence.
They all abandoned their lunch of cold beef, mounted their horses, and
followed the polite officers and Captain Skinner.
Their promised "good time" had come to them sooner than they had
expected, and they were all jubilant over it.
The Mexicans were as good as their word, and the miners were astonished
at the cordial hospitality of their welcome in the cavalry camp. Every
"mess" came forward to claim a guest, and they were speedily distributed
in a way which left no two of them together.
Captain Skinner found General Garcia as polite as any of the others. Not
a word would he speak about business until after dinner, and so the
Captain did not know till then how great a mistake he had made in
permitting his men to be scattered.
"You will permit us to go on with our journey, of course, will you not,
general?" said he at last, over his coffee.
"Certainly. Without doubt. We shall not detain you an hour. But the
señor is a caballero of experience and knowledge. He will understand
that I cannot permit so strong a body of foreigners to march through my
district armed?"
"Armed? We always go armed."
"At home. Of course. You have your own laws and customs. I must
enforce those of Mexico, and this district is under martial law."
So smiling and so polite was the general, that Captain Skinner could
almost believe he was sorry to be compelled to enforce that law.
He tried, therefore, to argue the point, and was still trying when one of
his men came rushing up, knocking over a Mexican as he came, and
shouting, "Cap, they've took every weapon I had while I was eatin'! And
they won't give them up."
"Will Señor Skinner do me the favor to tell his friend that this is by my
order?" The general smiled as he said it.
It was another half-hour before the different "messes" in all parts of
the camp brought up to "headquarters" each its angry and disarmed guest.
"It's no use, boys," said Captain Skinner to his crestfallen band. "It's
martial law, and we may as well submit. We'd best mount and ride now."
Again General Garcia felt called upon to smile and be very polite. His
command was greatly in need of horses. Those of the American caballeros
were just suited to cavalry use.
"Oh, if we only had our rifles, Cap!" exclaimed Bill. "Anyhow, we'll get
our saddles back."
More than one bearded face grew a little pale at the thought of those
saddles. The general's own chief of staff had attended to their transfer
from the backs of the splendid American horses to those of the wretched
little Mexican ponies, and he had noticed how heavy they all were. It
was his duty, therefore, to search them, and not a saddle among them all
was now any heavier than a saddle of that size ought to be.
"The ponies," remarked the polite Mexican, "are not strong enough to
carry all that gold bullion as well as those heavy Gringo miners."
It was a sad dinner-party for Captain Skinner and his miners. And it
turned out as he feared, for not an ounce of stolen gold was to be found
in the pockets of that ragged band within ten days of their "first
dinner."