When he had finished Blaze Jones drew a deep breath.  “We’re mighty glad you got out safe, but you’ve kicked the legs from under one of my pet ambitions.  I sure had planned to nail Longorio’s hide on my barn door.  Yes, and you’ve taken the bread out of the mouths of the space writers and sob sisters from here to Hudson’s Bay.  Miz Austin, your picture’s in every newspaper in the country, and, believe me, it’s the worst atrocity of the war.”

“War!” Father O’Malley had joined the group now, and he asked, “Has war been declared?”

“Not yet, but we’ve got hopes.”  To Alaire Blaze explained:  “Ellsworth’s in Washington, wavin’ the Stars and Stripes and singin’ battle hymns, but I reckon the government figures that the original of those newspaper pictures would be safe anywhere.  Well, we’ve got our own ideas in Jonesville, so some of us assembled ourselves and declared war on our own hook.  These gentlemen”—­ Blaze waved his hand proudly at his neighbors—­“constitute the Jonesville Guards, the finest body of American men that has invaded Mexican soil since me and Dave went after Ricardo Guzman’s remains.  Blamed if I ain’t sorry you sidetracked our expedition.”

It was evident, from the words of the others, that the Jonesville Guards were indeed quite as heedless of international complications as was their commander.  One and all were highly incensed at Longorio’s perfidy, and, had Alaire suggested such a thing, it was patent that they would have ridden on to La Feria and exacted a reckoning from him.

Such proof of friendship affected her deeply, and it was not until they were all under way back toward Romero that she felt she had made her appreciation fully known.  When she reflected that these men were some of the very neighbors whom she had shunned and slighted, and whose honest interest she had so habitually misconstrued all these years, it seemed very strange that they should feel the least concern over her.  It gave her a new appreciation of their chivalry and their worth; it filled her with a humble desire to know them better and to strengthen herself in their regard.  Then, too, the esteem in which they held Dave—­her husband—­gratified her intensely.  It made no more difference to them than to her that he was a poor man, a man without authority or position; they evidently saw and loved in him the qualities which she saw and loved.  And that was as it should be.

They were gentle and considerate men, too, as she discovered when they told her, bit by bit, what had happened during her absence.  She learned, much to her relief, that Ed’s funeral had been held, and that all the distressing details of the inquiry had been attended to.  Jose Sanchez, it appeared, had confessed freely.  Although her new friends made plain their indignation at the manner of Ed’s taking off, they likewise let her know that they considered his death only a slight loss, either to her or to the community.  Not one of them pretended it was anything except a blessing.