he genial Buck. At his suggestion, therefore, they diverted
from their road to the mine, and swung off to this house. Here a hasty
meal and a warm welcome were enjoyed, and Ralph set the car in order as
best he could. Buck's friend, however, had news for them. He had
heard that there was an encampment of regulars at Rosario, from which
it was only a short run by rail to the branch on which the Esmeralda
was located.

This information caused the party to change their plans. With the car
in the condition in which it was, they doubted whether it would be
possible to travel over the rough roads intervening between themselves
and the mine. On the other hand, Rosario was not far off, and on a
smooth, hard highway. If the information of Buck Bradley's friend was
correct, and there was no reason to doubt it, the regulars were camped
at Rosario guarding the line. What more easy than to explain their
case to the leader of the Mexican regulars, and steal a march on the
insurrectos by reaching the Esmeralda first by rail, and wiping out the
band of Madero?

But, alas for human plans! The party in the auto was doomed to bitter
disappointment. As they approached, and no camp was to be seen, they
began to realize that their information had been inaccurate. Bill
Whiting speedily clinched all doubt in the matter.

"Say, my friend," hailed Buck Bradley, as the agent emerged from his
shack, "where are the soldiers?"

"You mean the greaser regulars?" was the rejoinder. "Blazes, they went
off yesterday. Had a tip where Madero was, and they are after him,
hot-foot, I reckon."

The boys exchanged despondent glances. Here was a fine end to their
high hopes. The Esmeralda was now farther off than ever, and the auto
was hopelessly crippled. One tire was worn almost to ribbons, a rim
had been sprung, and two spark plugs had cracked. Every one of the
party realized, as the car stopped with a sigh, that it couldn't move
again until a tall lot of overhauling had been done.

"Anything I can do to help yer?" volunteered Bill, noting the woebegone
faces of his countrymen.

"Nothing, son, unless you've got a wire working," sputtered Buck, who,
as he did with everything, had gone into this matter, heart and soul.

"Wire!" echoed the station agent, "why, blazes, I couldn't put through
a tap fer Diaz himself. The wire went dead two days ago, and I've been
on my own hook since."

"What was the last word you had?" asked Jack, thi