dreamed of
localities."

"It requires a strong hand to rule such a people," Jimmie mused. "I
guess Diaz has troubles of his own."

"There is no doubt of it," the drummer continued. "In future years
Mexico will become one of the garden spots of the world. It is clear
why one people after another selected the Valley of Mexico for their
abiding place. But blood will tell for evil as well as for good, and
the bad strain here must be thinned down. The hills are rich in
minerals, and the valleys are fertile, and all the land needs is a race
of steady, patient workers--fewer bull fights and less pulque and more
days' work."

As the drummer ceased speaking, Jimmie laid a warning hand on his
shoulder and bent his head forward in a listening attitude.

"Listen!" he said. "There are men talking just over that slope."

CHAPTER XIII.

CAPTURED THE WRONG BOY.

As the boys listened voices came distinctly to their ears. It was
evident that the men who were talking had only recently arrived at the
spot where they stood, for all had been quiet a short time before.

The boys crept closer and saw a party of rough-looking natives gathered
about an evil-looking man, who appeared to be an Englishman, and a
slender figure which Jimmie had no difficulty in recognizing as that of
George Fremont. The sinister Englishman, undoubtedly the leader of the
party, was a giant of a fellow.

As the boys looked, he reached forth a great hand and, seizing Fremont
by one shoulder, shook him fiercely. Then it was seen that Fremont's
hands were tied behind his back. Jimmie started forward,
involuntarily, at sight of the brutality of the act, but the drummer
drew him back.

"You'll have to remain quiet," the latter said, "if you want to help
your friend. We can't fight the whole party. Have you a gun with you?"

Jimmie nodded and laid a hand on his hip.

"I am unarmed," the other said, in a minute, "and so couldn't do much
in a fight; so, perhaps I'd better go down and bring up the guards."

"Just the thing," whispered Jimmie. "I'll remain with this gang of
bandits and manage to leave a trail that can be followed if they leave
the place. Go on down an' bring the guards. And," he added, a half
smile on his anxious face, "don't forget to bring your drum."

"My drum!" repeated the other, in amazement. "What is the good of
bringing a drum, I'd like to know?"

"Bring it, anyway," directed Jimmie. "If you hear a shot up here, play