The two Mexicans who were in advance, rifle in hand, stood irresolutely, and glanced at the man behind them, who had just risen from his blanket.

"You are welcome," said this man in good English but with a strong Mexican accent. "We are glad for anybody to share with us our camp fire in this wilderness. Dismount, Senores."

Then Phil knew him well. It was Pedro de Armijo, the young Mexican whom he had seen with the Mexican envoy, Zucorra, in New Orleans, one whom he had instinctively disliked, one whom he was exceedingly astonished to see at such a time and place. Middleton also recognized him, because he raised his cap and said politely:

"This is a pleasant meeting. You are Captain Pedro de Armijo, who came to our capital with His Excellency Don Augustin Xavier Hernando Zucorra on a mission, intended to be of benefit to both our countries. My name is Middleton, George Middleton, and these are my friends, Mr.

Breakstone, Mr. Arenberg, and Mr. Bedford."

De Armijo gave every one in turn a quick scrutinizing look, and, with flowing compliment, bade them welcome to his fireside. It seemed that he did not remember Middleton, but that he took for granted their former meeting in Washington. Phil liked him none the more because of the polite words he used. He was not one to hold prejudice because of race, but this Mexican had a manner supercilious and conceited that inspired resentment.

"It seems strange, Senor Middleton," said de Armijo, "that we should meet again in such a place on these vast plains, so far from a house or any other human beings, plains that were once Mexican, but which you now call yours."

De Armijo glided over the last words smoothly, but the blood leaped in Phil's temples. Middleton apparently took no notice, but said that he and his comrades were riding across the plains mainly on an exploring expedition. As there was some danger from Comanches, they were traveling partly by night, and, having seen the camp fire, they had come to investigate it, after the custom of the wilderness.

"And, now that you have found us," said de Armijo with elaborate courtesy, "I have reason to believe that you would run into Comanche hors.e.m.e.n a little farther on. They would not harm us Mexicans, with whom they are at peace, but for you Americans they would have little mercy. Stay with us for the remainder of the night."

He smiled, showing his white teeth, and Middleton smiled back as he replied:

"Your courtesy is appreciated, Captain de Armijo. We shall stay. It is pleasant, too, to welcome a gallant Mexican officer like yourself to American soil."

The eyes of de Armijo snapped in the firelight, and the white teeth were bared again. Phil knew that he resented the expression "American soil."

Mexico still maintained a claim to Texas--which it could not make good--and he felt equally confident that Middleton had used it purposely. It seemed to him that some sort of duel was in progress between the two, and he watched it with overwhelming curiosity. But de Armijo quickly returned to his polite manner.

"You speak the truth," he said. "It is I who am your guest, not you who are mine. It was Mexican soil once, and before that Spanish--three centuries under our race--but now gone, I suppose, forever."

Middleton did not reply, but approached the fire and warmed his hands over the blaze. The night was cold and the flames looked cheerful. The others tethered their horses, and all except the two who had met the Americans took their places by the fire. The Mexicans were six in number. Only de Armijo seemed to be a man of any distinction. The others, although stalwart and well armed, were evidently of the peon cla.s.s. Phil wondered what this little party was doing here, and the conviction grew upon him that the meeting had something to do with Middleton's mission.

"I am sorry," said de Armijo, "that we do not even have a tent to offer you, but doubtless you are accustomed to sleeping under the open sky, and the air of these plains is dry and healthy."

"A blanket and a few coals to warm one's feet are sufficient," said Middleton. "We will avail ourselves of your courtesy and not keep you awake any longer."

Both Breakstone and Arenberg glanced at Middleton, but they said nothing, wrapping themselves in their blankets, and lying down, with their feet to the fire. Phil did the same, but he thought it a strange proceeding, this apparently unguarded camping with Mexicans, who at the best were not friends, with the possibility of Comanches who were, at all times, the bitterest and most dangerous of enemies. Yet Middleton must have some good reason, he was not a man to do anything rash or foolish, and Phil awaited the issue with confidence.

Phil could not sleep. The meeting had stirred him too much, and his nerves would not relax. He lay before the fire, his feet within a yard of the coals, and his head in the crook of his arm. Now and then he heard a horse move or stamp his hoofs, but all the men were silent. De Armijo, lying on a blanket and with a fine blue cavalry cloak spread over him, seemed to be asleep, but as he was on the other side of the fire Phil could not see his eyes. Middleton was nearer, and he saw his chest rising and falling with the regularity of one who sleeps.

It all seemed very peaceful, very restful. Perhaps de Armijo's hospitality was real, and he had wronged him with his suspicions. But reason with himself as he would, Phil could not overcome his dislike and distrust. Something was wrong, and something was going to happen, yet much time pa.s.sed and nothing happened. De Armijo's eyes were still shaded by his cloak, but his long figure lay motionless. Only a few live coals remained from the fire, and beyond a radius of twenty feet lay the encircling rim of the darkness. At the line where light and dark met, crouched the two peons with their rifles across their knees.

It was Phil's opinion that they, too, slept in this sitting posture.

Surely de Armijo and his men had great confidence in their security, and must be on the best of terms with the Comanches! If so, it might increase the safety of the little American party, also, but the boy yet wondered why Middleton had stopped when they were all so eager to reach the wagon train and warn it of the new danger.

Phil stirred once or twice, but only to ease his position, and he did it without noise. His eyes were shaded by the brim of his soft hat, but he watched the circle about the fire, and most of all he watched de Armijo.

An interminable period of time pa.s.sed, every second growing to ten times its proper length. Phil was as wakeful as ever, but so much watching made the figures about the fire dim and uncertain. They seemed to shift their places, but the boy was still resolved to keep awake, although everybody else slept through the night. His premonition was yet with him, his heart expanded, and his pulse beat faster.

The remaining coals died one by one. The circle of light, already small, contracted still more, became a point, and then vanished.

Everything now lay in the dark, and the figures were merely blacker shapes against the blackness. Then, after that long waiting, with every second and minute drawn out tenfold, Phil's premonition came true.

Something happened.

De Armijo moved. He moved ever so slightly, but Phil saw him, and, lying perfectly still himself, he watched him with an absorbed attention, and a heart that had increased its beating still further. De Armijo's body itself had not moved, it was merely one hand that had come slowly from under the covering of the cloak, and that now lay white against the blue cloth. A man might move his hand thus in sleep, but it seemed to Phil that the action was guided by a conscious mind. Intent, he watched, and presently his reward came. The other hand also slid from beneath the cloak, and, like its fellow, lay white against the blue cloth. Now both hands were still, but Phil yet waited, confident that more would come. It was all very quiet and slow, like the craft and cunning of the Indian, but Phil was willing to match it with a patience and craft of his own.

At last the whole figure of de Armijo stirred. Phil saw the blue cloak tremble slightly. Then the man raised his head ever so little and looked about the dark circle. Slowly he let the head fall back, and the figure became still again. But the boy was not deceived. Already every suspicion had been verified in his mind, and his premonition was proved absolutely true.

Pedro de Armijo raised himself again, but a little higher this time, and he did not let his head and body drop back. He looked about the circle with a gaze that Phil knew must be sharp and scrutinizing, although it was too dark for him to see the expression of his eyes. The Mexican seemed satisfied with his second examination, and then, dropping softly on his hands and knees, he crept toward Middleton. It occurred to Phil afterward that this approach toward Middleton did not surprise him. In reality, it was just what he had expected de Armijo to do.

The boy was uncertain about his own course, and, like one under a spell, he waited. The dusky figure of de Armijo creeping toward Middleton had a sinuous motion like that of a great snake, and Phil's hand slipped down to the hammer of his rifle, but he would not fire. He noticed that de Armijo had drawn no weapon, and he did not believe that murder was his intention.

Middleton did not move. He lay easily upon his right side, and Phil judged that he was in a sound sleep. De Armijo, absorbed in his task, did not look back. Hence he did not see the boy who rose slowly to a sitting posture, a ready rifle in his hands.

Phil saw de Armijo reach Middleton's side and pause there a moment or two. He still drew no weapon, and this was further proof that murder was not in the Mexican's mind, but Phil believed that whatever lay between these two was now at the edge of the crisis. He saw de Armijo raise his hand and put it to Middleton's breast with the evident intention of opening his coat. So he was a thief! But the fingers stopped there as Phil leveled his rifle and called sharply:

"Hands up, de Armijo, or I shoot!"

The startled Mexican would have thrown up his hands, but he did not have time. They were seized in the powerful grasp of Middleton, and he was pulled downward upon his face.

"Ah, would you, de Armijo!" cried Middleton in exultant tones. "We have caught you! Good boy, Phil, you were watching, too!"

"All the others were up in an instant, but Breakstone and Arenberg were too quick for the Mexicans. They covered them with their rifle muzzles before their antagonists could raise their weapons.

"Throw down every gun and pistol!" said Breakstone sternly. "There, by the log, and we'll see what's going forward!"

Sullenly the Mexicans complied, and then stood in a little huddled group, looking at their fallen leader, whom Middleton still held upon the ground, but who was pouring out m.u.f.fled oaths from a face that was in the dirt.

"Take his pistols, Phil," said Middleton, and the boy promptly removed them. Then Middleton released him, and de Armijo sat up, his face black as night, his heart raging with anger, hate, and humiliation.

"How dare you attack me in my own camp! You whom we received as guests!" he cried.

"We did not attack you," replied Middleton calmly. He had risen to his feet, and he towered over the Mexican like an accusing judge. "It is you who attacked us, or me, rather, and you intended, if you did not get what you wanted with smooth fingers, to use violence. You cannot deny that, Captain Pedro de Armijo of the Mexican army; there were at least two witnesses of your act, Philip Bedford and myself."

De Armijo looked down at the ground, and seemed to commune with himself for a few moments. Then he stood at his full height, brushed the traces of dirt from his clothes, and gave Middleton a look of uncompromising defiance and hostility. All at once it struck Phil that this was a man of ability and energy, one who could be a bitter and dangerous enemy.

"You are right in part, Captain Middleton," said de Armijo slowly. "I was seeking to take the maps, letters, and instructions that you carry inside your tunic, next, perhaps, to your very flesh. They would be valuable possessions to us, and it was my duty, as a captain in the Mexican army, to take them if I could, from you, a captain in the American army."

Phil started and looked anew at Middleton. A captain in the American army! This was why he had walked with that upright carriage! This was why he had been so particular about his personal appearance! He began to see a little way.

"We, too, have our channels of information," said de Armijo, "and I knew that you had embarked upon a mission in the West to learn our movements and forces upon the border, and our temper and disposition with regard to great matters that are agitating both Mexico and America."

"It is true, all that you say," replied Middleton tranquilly. "I am Captain George Middleton of the American regular troops, and, at the request of our War Department, I undertook the hazardous mission of which you speak."

"You will go no farther with it," said de Armijo.

"How can you keep me from it?"

"I cannot--perhaps, but events can--events have. You do not know, but I do, Captain Middleton, that there is war between your country and mine."

"Ah!" exclaimed Middleton, and, despite the darkness, Phil saw a sudden flush spring into his face.

"It is not only war," continued de Armijo, "but there has been a heavy battle, two of them, in fact. Your troops met ours at Palo Alto on May eighth, and again on the following day at Resaca de la Palma."

"Ah!" exclaimed Middleton again, the exclamation being drawn up from the very depths of his being, while the flush on his face deepened. "And you know, I suppose, which won?"