Part 2 (1/2)

Phillips was making, Ken felt sure, a deliberate effort to sound casual. He found himself wondering about the man's curiosity, and wondering even more about his apparent efforts to conceal it.

A moment later Phillips swallowed the last of his coffee and looked around the table. ”Whenever you two are finished,” he said, ”I'm ready to start. In the meantime, I'll take care of the bill.” And when Ken automatically protested, he said, ”No, I insist. The least I can do in return for the lift is to buy your first Mexican meal.” He summoned the proprietor then and paid the check, while Ken and Sandy drained their own cups.

”He's in a hurry all of a sudden,” Ken found himself thinking, and again he wondered.

As they climbed into the convertible a moment later Ken noticed that the big black sedan was gone. And the open highway, when they left Nuevo Laredo behind, seemed occupied almost entirely by crowded buses and trucks. Ken, who was driving, instinctively watched for another red convertible, although he reminded himself that it probably was fifty miles ahead by now, unless its occupants too had stopped for breakfast.

The country was flat and dull, with a spa.r.s.e cover of low bushes. Villages were few and small, each one CUBIOUs. .h.i.tCHHIKER 23.

little more than a handful of low earth-colored houses made of sun-baked adobe brick.

”I still feel let down,” Sandy muttered. ”It still looks just like Texas.”

”There isn't much to look at until you get near Monterrey,” Phillips agreed. ”Then the hills begin and the road is more interesting. In the meantime, if you don't mind, I'll practice some Spanish verb conjugations. I've got an exam coming up when I get back to school.” He took a small notebook from his pocket and settled back into the corner near the door.

Ken's foot pressed down on the accelerator. Ten minutes went by, and as many miles. Suddenly a highway sign loomed up on the right.

Phillips roused himself. ”Despotic,” he read, and translated the word. ”Slow down. The first customs station is right ahead.”

The small building appeared a moment later, and a man in a neat brown uniform waved them to a halt beneath a portico that offered protection from the hot sun.

”Will you please show me your tourist permits and your car permit,” he said politely. ”And unlock the trunk of your car.”

They all handed over their papers. While the guard took them, Phillips opened the door and got out. ”Want me to unlock the trunk?” he asked.

”Never mind, thanks. I'll do it.” Ken opened the door on his side of the car and walked around to the trunk. Phillips, he noticed, sauntered toward the small customs building where a man in civilian clothes stood leaning against the wall. Phillips spoke to him quietly and the man answered in a voice equally inaudible.

”Having trouble?” Sandy joined Ken.

24 .

Ken shook his head. ”Just a little curious about our hitchhiking friend.” Without taking his eyes off Phillips he fumbled around for the lock and inserted the key.

Phillips still had his small notebook in his hand, and now he was tearing out a page and folding it over, as if absent-mindedly unaware of what he was doing. But suddenly, in a single swift movement, the folded paper changed hands and disappeared into the stranger's pocket.

”Did you see that?” Ken murmured. The customs official was coming toward them and he hastily flung up the lid of the trunk.

Over the official's head Sandy nodded. There was a puzzled look in his eyes.

The official glanced inside the trunk and nodded his satisfaction when he saw that the seals put on at the border were still unbroken. ”Thank you, senores. You may close it now.”

Phillips wandered back to the car. ”Just been checking up,” he said. ”When I came north recently there was a road gang at work on the highway not far south of here-delayed me half an hour. But I've been told the work's all done and the road is clear now.”

Ken and Sandy looked at each other. If Phillips and the stranger had been discussing road conditions, what reason would there have been for the swift pa.s.sage of a note between them?

CHAPTER III.

CHANGED PLANS.

PHILLIPS APPEABED not to notice the look the boys exchanged. While Ken banged down the trunk lid, Phillips rattled off a volley of Spanish at the customs official. The official's answer, a quiet, ”No, senor,” threw no light on what Phillips had said.

Then the official was returning their identification papers, bowing slightly, and saying, ”Thank you, senores. That is all. But please do not break the seals until you pa.s.s the next inspection post about a hundred and fifty kilometers farther on.”

As they all climbed back into the car Sandy raised his eyebrows at Ken, silently querying, ”What do you make of it?”

Ken shook his head. He was remembering that Phillips had pretended not to see the man he later conferred with, back at the restaurant, and that he had shown definite interest in Sandy's account of the man with the green-flamed lighter. Now, for some reason, he had secretly pa.s.sed a message to the stranger leaning against the customs-house wall. Ken glanced over toward the little building. The man to whom Phillips

25.

26 .

had handed the folded slip of paper was no longer in sight.

Ken couldn't have answered Sandy's question in words, even if he had had the opportunity, but he had the definite feeling that Phillips was not what he claimed himself to be.

”All set?” Their pa.s.senger spoke as cheerfully as ever.

”Sure,” Ken answered shortly. A moment later he swung the car back onto the road that stretched flat and straight ahead of them, under the blinding sun.

Far to their right, dimly visible through a faint haze, a range of mountains seemed to parallel their course. But as mile after mile flowed away beneath their wheels, the rugged hills drew a little closer. The country remained only spa.r.s.ely populated, however, and it was a relief, some thirty miles beyond the inspection station, when the highway ran through the little village of La Gloria. It was upon them suddenly. Ken slowed the car. On either side of the road, cement and whitewashed adobe houses stood in closely packed rows. Each house adjoined its neighbor, creating a single unbroken front wall close to the highway's edge.

Phillips broke a long silence. ”Try to catch a glimpse through an open doorway,” he said. ”Houses like tin's look pretty grim to those of us who are accustomed to front and back yards. The barred windows and the heavy doors and solid walls don't look very cheerful to us.”

A procession of six burros, each laden with two c.u.mbersome bags of charcoal, appeared suddenly at the intersection of a narrow cobblestoned cross street. Ken braked to a stop when it was apparent that they were going to amble slowly right across the highway.

CHANGED PLANS 27.

”There-to the right-look!” Phillips said, gesturing toward an open doorway. ”You can't have any idea of how Mexicans live until you know about the patio in the center of almost every house.”

The boys looked in the direction toward which he was pointing. Almost opposite the car a heavily timbered house door stood open, and beyond it, at the far end of a short corridor, was a brilliant riot of lush-green leaves and many-colored flowers. Its vivid contrast to the sober quiet of the street was breath-taking.

”The patio down here represents a whole way of life,” Phillips was saying. ”It permits the people to live most of their lives outdoors, but with complete privacy. Of course not every patio is that beautiful. Some of them are pretty well crowded with chickens and pigs and other kinds of livestock. But almost all of them have gardens and flowers of a sort.”

The last burro had crossed to the far side of the highway. Almost reluctantly Ken turned his head away from the flower-filled patio and started the car again. The Mexican owner of the burros touched his wide-brimmed straw sombrero with a gesture of thanks as he followed his animals, and the car began to move slowly forward.

Ken gestured a response to the Mexican's thanks, and Phillips too waved a hand.

”Almost everybody you'll meet down here will be polite,” he commented. ”I think you're going to like the Mexicans. They're dignified and friendly and- well, just nice people.”

Ken glanced sideways at him with curiosity. There had been a genuine warmth in Phillips' voice, an honest admiration for the people of the country. Was it really likely, Ken asked himself, that a person so openly friendly, as Phillips appeared to be, would involve 28 .

himself in some dark and mysterious undertaking?

A block farther on, the highway formed one boundary of the village square, a place of tree-shaded walks and beds of flowers.