"Just too late," said Adrian.
"Too late for what?" queried Donald.
"To see a masterly retreat," and in a few words he told Donald
what had occurred.
"Well," was the rejoinder, "I am glad no blood was shed. But who
fired the shot from the rear?"
"I," came a voice, and out of the shadows appeared a figure which
had a most familiar appearance. "If you don't recognize me," he
continued, "you may recognize Ambrosio."
"By George!" exclaimed Billie, "if it isn't our old friend
Strong. Where on earth did you come from?"
"I suppose I might ask you the same thing," was the laughing
reply. "Briefly, I am on my way to Vera Cruz. I heard there was a
band of American brigands out in the mountains and I thought I
might fall in with them."
"So that's what they call us, is it?" said Billie. "I never
expected to be called a brigand."
"Strange things happen to men who travel," declared Strong
facetiously; "but you'd better be going. There are some good
troops in this section and they are on the lookout."
"Good advice," muttered the old trooper. "This ain't no pleasure
excursion."
"Sorry we haven't a horse for you," said Adrian to Strong, "but I
guess you are used to walking."
"A good deal more so than riding.
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