several, and whistled low in amaze. His manner became quick, alert,
serious.

"I can't read these written in Spanish, but I know the names signed."
Swiftly he ran through the others.

"Why, these mean Stewart's release has been authorized. They explain
mysterious rumors we have heard here. Greaser treachery! For some
strange reason messages from the rebel junta have failed to reach their
destination. We heard reports of an exchange for Stewart, but nothing
came of it. No one departed for Mezquital with authority. What an
outrage! Come, I'll go with you to General Salazar, the rebel chief in
command. I know him. Perhaps we can find out something."

Nels made room for the officer. Link sent the car whirring across
the line into Mexican territory. Madeline's sensibilities were now
exquisitely alive. The white road led into Agua Prieta, a town of
colored walls and roofs. Goats and pigs and buzzards scattered before
the roar of the machine. Native women wearing black mantles peeped
through iron-barred windows. Men wearing huge sombreros, cotton shirts
and trousers, bright sashes round their waists, and sandals, stood
motionless, watching the car go by. The road ended in an immense plaza,
in the center of which was a circular structure that in some measure
resembled a corral. It was a bull-ring, where the national sport of
bull-fighting was carried on. Just now it appeared to be quarters for a
considerable army. Ragged, unkempt rebels were everywhere, and the whole
square was littered with tents, packs, wagons, arms. There were horses,
mules, burros, and oxen.

The place was so crowded that Link was compelled to drive slowly up
to the entrance to the bull-ring. Madeline caught a glimpse of tents
inside, then her view was obstructed by a curious, pressing throng.
The cavalry officer leaped from the car and pushed his way into the
entrance.

"Link, do you know the road to this Mezquital?" asked Madeline.

"Yes. I've been there."

"How far is it?"

"Aw, not so very far," he mumbled.

"Link! How many miles?" she implored.

"I reckon only a few."

Madeline knew that he lied. She asked him no more; nor looked at him,
nor at Nels. How stifling was this crowded, ill-smelling plaza! The sun,
red and lowering, had sloped far down in the west, but still burned
with furnace heat. A swarm of flies whirled over the car. The shadows of
low-sailing buzzards crossed Madeline's sight. Then she saw a row of the
huge, uncanny bla