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Updated: May 7, 2025
That morning Ned Crawford had not felt like going out of the city to see any review. Days had passed since the departure of General Zuroaga, but Ned's head was full of what his friend had said to him, and he did not care much in what direction his feet might take him.
He says he came down that trail in midwinter. He studied it, too, because his friend, General Zuroaga, told him it was built by a Spanish fellow by the name of Cortes." "Good!" said Lee. "Seems to me I've heard of him somewhere, but who is Zuroaga? Tell me about him, Crawford. Does he know anything?"
The front door opened to admit them, and shut quickly behind them as they passed in. "Señora Paez," said Zuroaga to a shadow in the unlighted hall, "the armistice is ended, but I shall command my Oaxaca regiment in the fighting which is now sure to come. Let us all meet in the parlor and hear from Señor Carfora the American account of these lost battles." "Carfora?" she exclaimed. "Is he here?
The general was silent for a moment, and appeared to be lost in thought. "No, not now!" he then whispered between his set teeth, but Ned heard him. "If I shot him, it would make enemies of Zuroaga and the Tassaras and Señora Paez. Bravo would not care. Carfora," he added, aloud, "you may go.
"There isn't any horseback riding done there. I'd rather go on wheels." "Of course you would," laughed Zuroaga. "But there won't be any use for wheels on some of the roads I am to follow. I've picked you out a pony that you can manage, though, and you will soon learn. You will have to be a horseman if you are to travel in Mexico." "So father used to tell me," said Ned. "He can ride anything.
They did come out somehow, and then he made an extra effort not to fall asleep with his head on the general's shoulder. "Used up completely!" exclaimed Zuroaga. "Can you walk? Stretch your legs. Kick. It's your first long ride? You'll soon get used to it. There! Now I'll put you into my tent, but we must be on the march again by six o'clock in the morning. You can sleep till breakfast."
With reference to that, moreover, he had learned from Zuroaga that a Mexican post-commander of the rank of Colonel Guerra was a kind of local military dictator. Only so much of the ammunition as he might see fit to send would ever find its way into any other hands than his own.
We shall hear a good deal more about those battles one of these days. I'd like to read the newspaper reports, though, on both sides." "They would be good fun," dryly remarked Señor Zuroaga. "There is nobody on earth that can win victories like a newspaper editor." "Hullo!" suddenly exclaimed Ned. "Something's the matter with the captain! Did you hear that?" There was quite enough to hear.
Ned knew what she meant, and he hastened to tell her that his country contained more church people of her religion than Mexico did, and he added, to her great disgust: "And our priests are a hundred times better than yours are. General Zuroaga says so, and so does your father. I don't like your Mexican priests.
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