he camp, they could
smell the coffee and their appetites began to assert themselves.

"Wish I had some," whispered Adrian.

"You'll get to be as bad as Billie first thing you know," was the
retort. "But, hush! There comes some one."

They lay flat on the ground and listened.

Whoever it might be was coming directly toward them.

Not a move did the boys make, hoping that they might not be
discovered, but ready to act if they were.

When within ten feet of them the footsteps halted and they heard
a voice say:

"This will be far enough. You are the end man on the line."

"Bueno, caporal!"

"Keep a close watch," cautioned the corporal. "You never know
what these Americans may do."

"Si, Senor. How far are we from Vera Cruz?"

"About four leagues" (twelve miles). "General Maas will make a
stand at Tejeria, about a league further on."

Then as he moved away. "Remember now, no sleeping. This is a real
war."

"Bueno, mi caporal. I understand."

The corporal departed and the sentry, shouldering his rifle,
began pacing his station.

A minute later Donald gave Adrian a dig with his elbow as a
signal, and they slowly crawled away.

"That's the information we are after," whispered Donald when they
were out of earshot. "Now to get back to Vera Cruz as quickly as
possible."

They rose to their feet and ran swiftly but silently toward the
palm tree, where their horses were tethered.

Suddenly Adrian stopped and grabbed Donald by the arm.

"What is it, Ad?" asked Donald.

"Can't you see! There is some one there with the horses."

They both peered through the darkness and Donald quickly
perceived that Adrian was right.

Then as by one impulse they drew a few steps nearer.

In the dim starlight they were able to make out the figures of
several men.

"Do you think they are soldiers?" whispered Don.

Adrian shook his head.

"Camp followers. Thieves," he whispered.

Donald nodded his head in acquiescence.

The boys lay down upon the ground and put their heads together.

"It wouldn't be any trick at all," whispered Donald, "if it were
not for the pickets. But any noise will bring down upon us a
couple of hundred men. Maybe more. We have simply got to dispose
of that outfit without noise. But how?"

"Bad job," was Adrian's only reply.

"If the horses were only our Wyoming cow ponies, they'd come at
our call."

"But they're not," replied Adrian.

For several minutes neither spoke, but lay silently