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Updated: May 21, 2025
I was vigorously opposed to indulging this idea of his, which is almost as sinful in her as it is superstitious and silly in him; but she would go her own gait, and so she may for all of me. "She insisted, too, on having one of Adam Wemple's girls in to do the work when your aunt fell ill.
Had it battered down the doors of the Southern Hotel, or of other hotels, or of residences such as Wemple's, a fight would have started in which the thousands of federal soldiers in Tampico would have joined their civilian compatriots in the laudable task of decreasing the Gringo population of that particular portion of Mexico.
"And a drunken Mexican, whose whole carcass and immortal soul aren't worth ten pesos including hair, hide, and tallow, can start the bonfire with a lighted wad of cotton waste," was Wemple's contribution. "And if ever she starts, she'll gut the field of its last barrel." Dawn, at five, enabled them to accelerate their pace; and six o'clock found them routing out the occupants of the lodge.
A crafty look came into Ambrosio's eyes. "There is one way," he went on quietly, not heeding Wemple's reply, "in which you may make her your wife. But there is only one." The officer leaned eagerly forward in his saddle and the girl inside the door clasped her hands and listened breathlessly.
There was need of haste, for scarcely had the horse pricked up his ears and sprung into a long gallop when they heard loud shouts from the top of the mesa. "Hurry, hurry!" exclaimed Barbara. "They have found me out and they will follow us!" Scarcely had she spoken when the sound of a rifle report came from the top of the cliff, and Wemple's left arm dropped helpless beside him.
Indian and half breed women gazed stolidly at the strange vehicle, while the children and barking dogs clamorously advertised its progress. Once, passing long lines of tethered federal horses, they were challenged by a sentry; but at Wemple's "Throw on the juice!" the car took the rutted road at fifty miles an hour. A shot whistled after them. But it was not the shot that made Mrs. Morgan scream.
A scattering of shots came from the rear. "Whose business is to live! hunch down!" Davies yelled in Wemple's ear, accompanying the instruction with an open-handed blow on the shoulder. "Live yourself," Wemple grumbled as he obediently hunched. "Get your head down. You're exposing yourself." The pursuit lasted but a little while, and died away in an occasional distant shot.
"He hasn't," was Wemple's answer. "The federals commandeered the last one at noon." "Say, Carson, how are you going to make your get-away?" Wemple queried. The man to whom he talked was across the Panuco, on the south side, at the tank farm. "Says there isn't any get-away," Wemple vouchsafed to the other two.
But being in his rear they only made Wemple's horse quicken his pace. They darted at the heads of the ponies, which shied and pranced about, and so lost to their riders some valuable seconds. The train was already moving as Wemple dashed up to its hindmost car, his horse staggering and their pursuers almost upon them. "Jump for the car-steps!" he shouted to Barbara.
"Mexicans are born with guns in their hands, and they never learn to use them." Nor was the Chill or any man aboard damaged when at last she rounded the bend of river that shielded her from the searchlight. "I'll have you in Panuco town in less'n three hours, ... if we don't hit a log," Peter leaned back and shouted in Wemple's ear.
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