"I'm 'most tempted to go with you," Blaze stammered, uncertainly.
"No. Somebody has to stay here and stir things up, If we had
twenty men like you we might cut our way in and out, but there's
no time to organize, and, anyhow, the government would probably
stop us. I've got a hunch that I'll make it. If I don't--why, it's
all right."
The two men shook hands lingeringly, awkwardly; then Blaze managed
to wish his friend luck. "If you don't come back," he said, with a
peculiar catch in his voice, "I reckon there's enough good Texans
left to follow your trail. I'll sure look forward to it."
Dave took the river-bank to Sangre de Cristo, where, by means of
the dilapidated ferry, he gained the Mexican side. Once across, he
rode straight up toward the village of Romero. When challenged by
an under-sized soldier he merely spurred Montrosa forward, eyeing
the sentry so grimly that the man did no more than finger his
rifle uncertainly, cursing under his breath the overbearing airs
of all Gringos. Nor did the rider trouble to make the slightest
detour, but cantered the full length of Romero's dusty street, the
target of more than one pair of hostile eyes.
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