in
their beds. Ned had several times asked permission to accompany a train,
and it had been refused, but it was now explained that this train would
like to have one more man with it who could talk Spanish. When, however,
an hour or so later, he reported for duty, Lieutenant Grant remarked to
him:

"Well, yes, you can talk it and you can look it, but you can't walk it.
Don't step off so lively, if you mean to pass for a Mexican."

"Hold on, Grant," said another officer, standing near them. "Don't you
think the Mexicans have been lively enough since we left Perote? I've
had to step around a good deal myself on their account."

"Just so," said Grant. "But that's while they're fighting. When they're
at anything like work, though, it's a different kind of movement. Don't
walk fast, Ned, or they'll shoot you for a gringo."

It was nearly midnight when the supply-train, commanded by Lieutenant
Grant, entered the city, and an hour was consumed in obtaining the
supplies and getting them into the wagons, for not a pound of anything
had been made ready for delivery. No true-hearted Mexican really wished
to sell provisions to the enemies of his country.

"Lieutenant, may I go now?" asked Ned, as the last wagon prepared to
move away. "There isn't a patrol in sight, and the Paez place is within
a few squares from this."

Grant replied only by a wave of the hand, for at that moment he had
become engaged in a sharp controversy with the one Mexican officer who
was present on duty for his own side. He had been fairly polite, but he
had not pretended to be pleased to see gringos in Mexico. Therefore, it
was almost without express permission that Ned slipped away from his
train and his escort upon his exceedingly perilous errand.

The streets were dark and deserted, for the heavy-hearted people had
nothing to call them out of their houses at that hour. Nevertheless, Ned
was feverishly on the alert, and, almost without his knowing it, his
machete had jumped out of its sheath, ready for whatever might turn up.

"Halt!" suddenly came from a deep voice at his right, as he stealthily
turned a street corner, and a tall form stepped out of the near shadows
to stand in front of him.

Ned saw the long, bright blade of a lance pointed at his bosom, and
there seemed but one thing left for him to do. The holder of the lance
was beyond his reach, even if he had wished to strike him, but the lance
itself was not. All the strength he had in him