On the second morning
after leaving home the party was borne southward into Mexico.
Although train schedules were uncertain, the railroad journey
itself was similar to many Alaire had taken, except for occasional
evidences of the war. The revolution had ravaged most of northern
Mexico; long rows of rusting trucks and twisted car skeletons
beside the track showed how the railway's rolling-stock had
suffered in this particular vicinity; and as the train penetrated
farther south temporary trestles and the charred ruins of station-
houses spoke even more eloquently of the struggle. Now and then a
steel water-tank, pierced with loop-holes and ripped by cannon
balls, showed where some detachment had made a stand. There was a
military guard on the train, too--a dozen unkempt soldiers loaded
down with rifles and bandoliers of cartridges, and several
officers, neatly dressed in khaki, who rode in the first-class
coach and occupied themselves by making eyes at the women.
At its frequent stops the train was besieged by the customary
crowd of curious peons; the same noisy hucksters dealt out
enchiladas, tortillas, goat cheeses, and coffee from the same
dirty baskets and pails; even their outstretched hands seemed to
bear the familiar grime of ante-bellum days.
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