The old cattleman settled his huge bulk on the pile of boughs and drew
his pipe from his pocket. Not until it was filled and lighted and
drawing well, would he "unlimber his jaw," to use his own phrase, and
tell of the day's experience.

"I figured it all out on the trail," he began, as he leaned back
comfortably against the rock, "and the minute we got to Montillo, I made
a bee line to the American Consul. A fellow in brass buttons at the door
wanted my card and told me I would have to wait in the anteroom. But I'm
a rough and ready sort of fellow--always believe in taking the bull by
the horns and cutting out the red tape--and I pushed him out of the way
and streaked right into the consul's private office. I guessed the old
man was kind o' shocked by my manners--or my lack of them--but he's a
good sort all right, and when I gave him straight talk and told him I
wanted him to mix war medicine right away, pronto, he got busy on the
jump. He sent out one of his men to get me three of the best horses that
could be had and then he scurried round with me to the big Mogul of the
town--sort of mayor and chief of police rolled into one. I ain't much
on the lingo, but I could see that the old boy was handing out a pretty
stiff line of talk, and that the mayor was balky and backing up in the
shafts. Not ugly, you know--anything but that. He was a slick
proposition--that mayor. Smooth as oil and spreading on the salve a
foot thick. Shrugging his shoulders and fairly wringing his hands. So
sorry that anything had happened to these good Americanos whom he loved
as though they were his brothers. He was desolated, broken-hearted--but
what could he do? And every other word was manana--meaning tomorrow.
That word is the curse of this country. Everything is manana--and then
when to-morrow comes, it's manana again."

"Well, the old man stood this for a while, and then a sort of steely look
came into his eyes that meant trouble and he sailed into him. Say, it
did my heart good. Told him there wasn't going to be any manana in this.
If there was, Mexico City would hear of it and Washington would hear of
it, and before he knew it he'd be wishing he were dead. Those boys had
to be helped mighty quick. He must call out his guards, get a troop of
cavalry and send them off on the run. I backed up his play by looking
fierce and rolling my eyes and resting my hand kind o' careless like on
my hip pocket. I guess the mayor ha