“It’s not a bad idea.  But our pistols are loaded and we’ll keep them in sight.  It won’t hurt if the humble peon takes us for brigands.  He’ll trade a little faster, and, as this is a time of war so far as we are concerned, we have the right to inspire necessary fear.”

They started toward the north and west, anxious to leave the tierra caliente as soon as they could and reach the mountains.  Ned saw once more the silver cone of Orizaba now on his left.  It had not led him on a happy quest before, but he believed that it was a true beacon now.  They walked rapidly, staying their hunger as best they could, not willing to approach any hut, until they were a considerable distance from Vera Cruz.  It was nearly nightfall when they dared a little adobe hut on a hillside.

“We’ll claim to be Spaniards out of money and walking to the City of Mexico,” said Obed.  “They probably won’t believe our statements, but, owing to the sight of these loaded pistols, they will accept them.”

It was a poor hut with an adobe floor and its owner, a surly Mexican, was at home, but it contained plenty of food of the coarsest Mexican type, and Obed White stated their requests very plainly.

“Food we must have,” he said, “sufficient for two or three days.  Besides, we want the two serapes hanging there on the wall.  I think they are clean enough for our use.  In return we offer you this most excellent musket, a beautiful weapon made at Seville.  Look at it.  It is worth twice what we demand for it.  Behold the beautifully carved stock and the fine steel barrel.”

The Mexican, a dark, heavy-jawed fellow, regarded them maliciously, while his wife and seven half-naked children sat by in silence, but watching the strangers with the wary, shifting eyes of wild animals.

“Yes, it is a good musket,” he said, “but may I inquire if it is your own?”

“For the purposes of barter and sale it is my own,” replied Obed politely.  “In this land as well as some others possession is ten points of the law.”

“The words you speak are Spanish but your tone is Gringo.”

“Gringo or Spanish, it does not change the beauty and value of the musket.”

“I was in Vera Cruz this morning.  Last night there was a storm and the great guns at the mighty Castle of San Juan de Ulua were firing.”

“Did they fire the guns to celebrate the storm?”

“No.  They gave a signal that two prisoners, vile Texans, were escaping from the dungeons under the sea.  But the storm took them, and buried them in the waters of the bay.  I heard the description of them.  One was a very tall man, thin and with very thick, red hair.  The other was a boy, but tall and strong for his age.  He had gray eyes and brown hair.  Wretched infidel Texans they were, but they are gone and may the Holy Virgin intercede for their souls.”

He lifted his heavy lashes, and he and Obed White looked gravely into the eyes of each other.  They and Ned, too, understood perfectly.