tenant as he looked the
boys over.

"I guess it will have to be Adrian and Don," replied Billie
ruefully. "I've had glory enough for one day. The insult to the
flag has been avenged and the Stars and Stripes are floating over
Vera Cruz."

"I think it's only fair that Don, as you call him, should share
in the adventure," said the lieutenant, "and the sooner you go
the better. It is almost sundown now."

Then as Donald and Adrian started on their mission:

"Success to you and report here when you return."

"Is there any place near here where I can care for my horse?"
asked Billie as soon as the others had passed out of sight.

"Why, yes. There are stables in almost any of these houses. Here,
try this one," and the lieutenant indicated the one before which
they were standing.

Billie knocked on the big door, but there was no reply.

"Knock louder," laughed the lieutenant. "Use your boot."

Billie used his foot and with such vigor that the gate flew open.

When no one appeared to answer his summons, he stuck his head
inside the patio and called lustily.

"Must be deserted," he finally remarked. "Such being the case,
lieutenant, I reckon I might as well take possession."

"Sure. Go ahead. If every one has gone, I may join you later."

Billie led his horse within and looked around. It was a large
house and the patio was the most elaborate Billie had ever seen.
He had thought that Pedro's home in Mexico City was fine, but
this was much finer.

"They must be swells," was the lad's comment. "I reckon they
became frightened and have run away with General Maas."

He started to lead the horse to the stable and then stopped.

"I might as well shut this big gate," he thought. "I'll leave the
little gate open so the lieutenant can come in."

He pushed the big gate together and dropped the bolt in its
place.

"Now to do something for the horse," and he turned to the animal
which stood patiently by.

Then he stopped and stood in mute astonishment at what his eyes
beheld.

In the center of the patio, with rifle in hand, aimed squarely at
his head, stood a figure he had last seen on the banks of the Rio
Grande more than a year before--the figure of a man whom he had
known only as Santiago.

The recognition was mutual, but instead of the friendliness which
had always before marked the attitude of the strange man, there
was now upon his face a look of the most bitter hatred.

CHAPTER XVI.

SHADOWING AN