forced to spend at a mud jacal, encircled, like some
African jungle dwelling, by a thick brush barricade.

Jose Sanchez was in his element here. He posed, he strutted, he
bragged, he strove to impress his countrymen by every device. Jose was,
indeed, rather a handsome fellow, with a bold insolence of bearing that
marked him as superior to the common pelador, and, having dressed
himself elaborately for this journey, he made the most of his
opportunities for showing off. Nothing would do him but a baile, and a
baile he had. Once the arrangements were made, other Mexicans appeared
mysteriously until there were nearly a score, and until late into the
night they danced upon the hard-packed earth of the yard. Alaire fell
asleep to the sounds of feet scuffling and scraping in time to a wheezy
violin.

Arriving at Pueblo on the following day, Alaire secured her passports
from the Federal headquarters across the Rio Grande, while Jose
attended to the railroad tickets. On the second morning after leaving
home the party was borne southward into Mexico.

Although train schedules were uncertain, the railroad journey itself
was similar to many Alaire had taken, except for occasional evidences
of the war. The revolution had ravaged most of northern Mexico; long
rows of rusting trucks and twisted car skeletons beside the track
showed how the railway's rolling-stock had suffered in this particular
vicinity; and as the train penetrated farther south temporary trestles
and the charred ruins of station-houses spoke even more eloquently of
the struggle. Now and then a steel water-tank, pierced with loop-holes
and ripped by cannon balls, showed where some detachment had made a
stand. There was a military guard on the train, too--a dozen unkempt
soldiers loaded down with rifles and bandoliers of cartridges, and
several officers, neatly dressed in khaki, who rode in the first-class
coach and occupied themselves by making eyes at the women.

At its frequent stops the train was besieged by the customary crowd of
curious peons; the same noisy hucksters dealt out enchiladas,
tortillas, goat cheeses, and coffee from the same dirty baskets and
pails; even their outstretched hands seemed to bear the familiar grime
of ante-bellum days. The coaches were crowded; women fanned themselves
unceasingly; their men snored, open-mouthed, over the backs of the
seats, and the aisles were full of squalling, squabbling children.

As for the country itself, i