nd tired,
stalked into Swartz' store at Conejo where he found a situation for which
he was not prepared. Conejo was under martial law, and from every doorway
he saw the interested faces of women and children who stared at the
soldiers as they went by or stood talking in groups. The jail had a
military guard while the office of the local _jefe_ swarmed with uniforms.
Outside stood a motor truck and two large automobiles, quite dwarfing
Mendoza's Ford, which, having been requisitioned, also stood near by, its
wrathful owner lurking in the distance keeping an eye on his treasure.

In Swartz' store the fat owner was still in his accustomed seat, while the
usual loafers still persistently loafed, but there were soldiers
everywhere.

"Whew, this is something new for Conejo!" whistled Tom. "I reckon I'd
better have a word with Dutch before I horn in. Say, Swartz," he said,
pushing a crowd of youngsters out of the way, "got anything to drink? I've
just walked in from Athens."

"My Gott, are you mad?" inquired Swartz, pleasantly.

"Not yet, but I'm likely to be if I don't get something down my gullet.
Got any beer?"

"Beer?" Swartz' contempt was sweeping. "Look at dem," pointing to the
soldiers. "Doos that look like I haf any beer mit dem fellers around?"

"Who are they? Federals or Rebs?"

"De State troops. Don't you know dis here state has--what you call
it--seceded?"

"Martial law, eh?"

Swartz nodded.

"Did they grab your stuff or did they pay for it?"

"Oh, dey pays--in paper money," replied the German, sourly.

"Well, you're better off than we are. They took our stuff, shot two of the
boys, knifed another, and blew up our track."

"Who done it?"

"Young Pachuca and his crowd. Say, who's the boss of this outfit?"

Swartz opined that Colonel d'Anguerra, who was lodged in the house of the
local _jefe_, was in command.

"Good-natured kind of a guy, is he?" queried Tom, anxiously. "Or one of
the kind that orders out the firing squad if his dinner don't set well on
him?"

Swartz had seen better natured men than the Colonel, but on the other hand
admitted that he had seen worse. "He iss a young man," he said, "and he
ain't got so much sense that it bothers him, yet he tries to keep them
devils quiet if he can."

"Well, give me a drink of water if you ain't got no beer. I guess I'll
look this feller up."

"I got some lemon pop," offered Swartz, hospitably. "Them fellers don't
like it; it ain't got poison