le up. State after state
would totter down. And at last, from every side, the victorious armies
of the Revolution would close in on the City of Mexico itself, Diaz's
last stronghold.

But the money. They had the men, impatient and urgent, who would use the
guns. They knew the traders who would sell and deliver the guns. But to
culture the Revolution thus far had exhausted the Junta. The last dollar
had been spent, the last resource and the last starving patriot milked
dry, and the great adventure still trembled on the scales. Guns and
ammunition! The ragged battalions must be armed. But how? Ramos lamented
his confiscated estates. Arrellano wailed the spendthriftness of his
youth. May Sethby wondered if it would have been different had they of
the Junta been more economical in the past.

"To think that the freedom of Mexico should stand or fall on a few
paltry thousands of dollars," said Paulino Vera.

Despair was in all their faces. Jose Amarillo, their last hope, a recent
convert, who had promised money, had been apprehended at his hacienda in
Chihuahua and shot against his own stable wall. The news had just come
through.

Rivera, on his knees, scrubbing, looked up, with suspended brush, his
bare arms flecked with soapy, dirty water.

"Will five thousand do it?" he asked.

They looked their amazement. Vera nodded and swallowed. He could not
speak, but he was on the instant invested with a vast faith.

"Order the guns," Rivera said, and thereupon was guilty of the longest
flow of words they had ever heard him utter. "The time is short. In
three weeks I shall bring you the five thousand. It is well. The weather
will be warmer for those who fight. Also, it is the best I can do."

Vera fought his faith. It was incredible. Too many fond hopes had been
shattered since he had begun to play the revolution game. He believed
this threadbare scrubber of the Revolution, and yet he dared not
believe.

"You are crazy," he said.

"In three weeks," said Rivera. "Order the guns."

He got up, rolled down his sleeves, and put on his coat.

"Order the guns," he said.

"I am going now."

III

After hurrying and scurrying, much telephoning and bad language, a night
session was held in Kelly's office. Kelly was rushed with business;
also, he was unlucky. He had brought Danny Ward out from New York,
arranged the fight for him with Billy Carthey, the date was three
weeks away, and for two days now, carefully concealed from