Part 26 (1/2)

”Ah!” he said. ”You are not here for a picture. A thousand pardons. Give me your papers. One moment--I will return to the General and explain.”

He vanished, and Raymon and I waited in the growing dusk.

”No doubt the General supposed,” explained Raymon, as he lighted a cigarette, ”that you were here for _las machinas_, the moving pictures.”

In a few minutes the aide-de-camp returned.

”Come,” he said, ”the General will see you now.”

We returned to where we had left Carranza.

The General rose to meet me with outstretched hand and with a gesture of simple cordiality.

”You must pardon my error,” he said.

”Not at all,” I said.

”It appears you do not desire to be shot.”

”Not at present.”

”Later, perhaps,” said the General. ”On your return, no doubt, provided,” he added with grave courtesy that sat well on him, ”that you do return. My aide-de-camp shall make a note of it. But at present you wish to be guided to Francesco Villa?”

”If it is possible.”

”Quite easy. He is at present near here, in fact much nearer than he has any right to be.” The General frowned.

”We found this spot first. The light is excellent and the mountains, as you have seen, are wonderful for our pictures. This is, by every rule of decency, _our_ scenery.

Villa has no right to it. This is _our_ Revolution”--the General spoke with rising animation--”not his. When you see the fellow, tell him from me--or tell his manager--that he must either move his revolution further away or, by heaven, I'll--I'll use force against him. But stop,” he checked himself. ”You wish to see Villa. Good. You have only to follow the straight track over the mountain there.

He is just beyond, at the little village in the hollow, El Corazon de las Quertas.”

The General shook hands and seated himself again at his work. The interview was at an end. We withdrew.

The next morning we followed without difficulty the path indicated. A few hours' walk over the mountain pa.s.s brought us to a little straggling village of adobe houses, sleeping drowsily in the sun.

There were but few signs of life in its one street--a mule here and there tethered in the sun, and one or two Mexicans drowsily smoking in the shade.

One building only, evidently newly made, and of lumber, had a decidedly American appearance. Its doorway bore the sign GENERAL OFFICES OF THE COMPANY, and under it the notice KEEP OUT, while on one of its windows was painted GENERAL MANAGER and below it the legend NO ADMISSION, and on the other, SECRETARY'S OFFICE: GO AWAY.

We therefore entered at once.

”General Francesco Villa?” said a clerk, evidently American. ”Yes, he's here all right. At least, this is the office.”

”And where is the General?” I asked.

The clerk turned to an a.s.sistant at a desk in a corner of the room.

”Where's Frank working this morning?” he asked.

”Over down in the gulch,” said the other, turning round for a moment. ”There's an attack on American cavalry this morning.”