As for the country itself, it was dying.  The ranches were stripped of stock, no carts creaked along the highways, and the roads, like the little farms, were growing up to weeds.  Stores were empty, the people were idle.  Over all was an atmosphere of decay, and, what was far more significant, the people seemed content.

All morning the monotonous journey continued—­a trial to Alaire and Dolores, but to Jose Sanchez a red-letter experience.  He covered the train from end to end, making himself acquainted with every one and bringing to Alaire the gossip that he picked up.

It was not until midday that the first interruption occurred; then the train pulled in upon a siding, and after an interminable delay it transpired that a north-bound troop-train was expected.

Jose brought this intelligence:  “Soon you will behold the flower of the Mexican army,” he told Alaire.  “You will see thousands of Longorio’s veterans, every man of them a very devil for blood.  They are returning to Nuevo Pueblo after destroying a band of those rebels.  They had a great victory at San Pedro—­thirty kilometers from La Feria.  Not a prisoner was spared, senora.”

“Is General Longorio with them?” Alaire inquired, quickly.

“That is what I came to tell you.  It is believed that he is, for he takes his army with him wherever he goes.  He is a great fighter; he has a nose for it, that man, and he strikes like the lightning—­here, there, anywhere.”  Jose, it seemed, was a rabid Potosista.

But Dolores held opposite sympathies.  She uttered a disdainful sniff.  “To be sure he takes his army with him, otherwise the Constitutionalistas would kill him.  Wait until Pancho Gomez meets this army of Longorio’s.  Ha!  You will see some fighting.”

Jose blew two fierce columns of cigarette smoke from his nostrils.  “Longorio is a gentleman; he scorns to use the tricks of that bandit.  Pancho Gomez fights like a savage.  Think of the cowardly manner in which he captured Espinal the last time.  What did he do then?  I’ll tell you.  He laid in wait and allowed a train-load of our troops to pass through his lines toward Chihuahua; then he took possession of the telegraph wires and pretended to be the Federal commander.  He sent a lying message back to Espinal that the railway tracks were torn up and he could not reach Chihuahua, and so, of course, he was ordered to return.  That was bad enough, but he loaded his bandits upon other trains—­he locked them into freight-cars like cattle so that not a head could be seen—­and the devil himself would never have guessed what was in those cars.  Of course he succeeded.  No one suspected the truth until his infamous army was in Espinal.  Then it was too late.  The carnage was terrible.  But do you call that a nice action?  It was nothing but the lowest deceit.  It was enough to make our soldiers furious.”

Dolores giggled.  “They say he went to his officers and told them:  ’Compadres, we are now going into Espinal.  I will meet you at the Plaza, and I will shoot the last man who arrives there.’  Dios!  There ensued a foot-race.”