“Shoot,” said Pete.

Brevoort tossed an egg on the pile.  Several of the eggs broke with a faint “plop.”  Pete wrinkled his nose, and his face expressed such utter astonishment, disgust, even horror, as the full significance of the age of those eggs ascended to him, that he did not need to act his part.  He got to his feet and backed away from those eggs, even as Brevoort rose slowly, as though just aware that the eggs were not altogether innocent.  The two Mexicans had risen to their knees and rocked back and forth, laughing at the beautiful joke on the Gringoes.  Plop!—­Plop!—­Plop! and three of the four eggs targeted an accurate twelve o’clock.  Pete leaped and kicked viciously.  His high heel caught one choking Mexican in the jaw just as Brevoort jumped and swung the single-tree.  Pete grabbed up his belt and gun.

Brevoort had no need to strike again.

“You go see if the horses are saddled.  I’ll watch the door,” said Brevoort.

Arguilla was awakened from a heavy sleep by the sound of a shot and the shrill yelp of one of his men.  A soldier entered and saluted.  “The Americans have gone,” he reported.

Arguilla’s bloated face went from red to purple, and he reached for his gun which lay on the chair near his bed.  But the lieutenant who had reported the escape faced his chief fearlessly.

Arguilla hesitated.  “Who guarded them?” he asked hoarsely.

The lieutenant named the men.

“Take them out and shoot them—­at once.”

“But, Senor Comandante, they may not stand.  The Americans have beaten them so that they are as dead.”

“Then shoot them where they lay—­which will be easier to do.”

CHAPTER XXIX

QUERY

Far out across the starlit gloom the two thoroughbreds raced side by side.  They seemed to know what was required of them.  A mile, two miles, three miles, and the night-fire of Arguilla’s men was a flickering dot against the black wall of the night.

Brevoort pulled his horse to a walk.  “We done left ’em looking at each other,” he drawled.

“Two of ’em ain’t,” said Pete succinctly.

Brevoort chuckled.  “I was tryin’ that hard not to laugh when you smelled them aigs, that I come nigh missin’ my chanct.  You sure are some play-actor.”

“Play-actor nothin’!  I was doggone near sick.  I kin smell ’em yet.  Say, I’d like to know what’ll happen to them two Cholas.”

“Ain’t you satisfied with what we done to ’em?”

“Yep.  But Arguilla won’t be.  I’d hate to be in their boots—­” From the south came the faint, sinister “pop! pop!” of rifle shots.  Pete turned quickly toward his companion.  “Right now,” he concluded, shrugging his shoulders.