that Pedro Salazar seized
the horse of an Americano--in Sonora."

The rural stopped short and turned as though awaiting further
instructions from his chief. The collector of customs rose and sauntered
to the doorway. Leaning against the lintel, he lighted a cigar and
smoked, gazing at Waring's horse with an appreciative eye. The captain
of rurales, seated opposite Waring, rolled a cigarette carefully; too
carefully, thought Waring, for a Mexican who had been daring enough to
ride across the line with armed men. Outside in the fading sunlight, the
horses of the rurales stamped and fretted. The cantina was strangely
silent. In the doorway stood the collector, smoking and toying with his
watch-charm.

Presently the assistant collector appeared, glanced in, and grinned.
"The kid is asleep--in the office," he whispered to the collector.

Waring knew that the flicker of an eyelid, an intonation, a gesture,
might precipitate trouble. He also knew that diplomacy was out of the
question. He glanced round the room, pushed back his chair, and, rising,
stepped to the bar. With his back against it, he faced the captain.

"Miguel," he said quietly, "you're too far over the line. Go home!"

The captain rose. "Your Government shall hear of this!"

"Yes. Wire 'em to-night. And where do you get off? You'll get turned
back to the ranks."

"I?"

"Si, Senor Capitan, and because--_you didn't get your man_."

The collector of customs stood with his cigar carefully poised in his
left hand. The assistant pushed back his hat and rumpled his black hair.

All official significance set aside, Waring and the captain of rurales
faced each other with the blunt challenge between them: "You didn't get
your man!"

The captain glanced at the two quiet figures in the doorway. Beyond them
were his own men, but between him and his command were two of the
fastest guns in the Southwest. He was on alien ground. This gringo had
insulted him.

Waring waited for the word that burned in the other's eyes.

The collector of customs drew a big silver watch from his waistband.
"It's about time--to go feed the horses," he said.

With the sound of his voice the tension relaxed. Waring eyed the captain
as though waiting for him to depart. "You'll find that horse in the
corral--back of the customs office," he said.

The Mexican swung round and strode out, followed by his man.

The rurales mounted and rode down the street. The three Americans
followed a