It is not the magnitude of an incident that most shocks the human mind. A happening stuns us in ratio to its unexpectedness.

Now, if there was anything in the whole range of possibilities more unexpected than the appearance of Tom Hotchkiss, the absconding Polktown storekeeper, down in this unlovely Border town, Janice Day could not imagine what that more unexpected occurrence could be.

It took fully a minute for Marty's announcement to really percolate to his cousin's understanding. She stared dumbly at the red vest, which was about all she could see of the man in Don JosÉ Almoreda Tomas Sauceda Pez's store, and then turned to Marty, saying:

"Yes?"

"Cricky!" sputtered the boy. "You gone dumb, Janice? Don't you understand?"

"I—I—no, Marty. I do not believe I do understand. Is—is it surely that Hotchkiss man?"

"Surest thing you know!" declared the boy.

"What shall we do?" and for once Janice felt herself to be quite helpless.

That Marty's wits were bright and shining was proved by his immediate reply:

"You leave it to me. I got a scheme. I'm going to skip over to the telegraph office. We want to find that Lieutenant Cowan if we can, anyway. And I'm going to send what they call a night letter to dad. A night letter to a Day, see?" and he giggled.

"You get back upstairs into your room and don't let Hotchkiss see you. Get 'em to give you your dinner up there. 'Twon't be nothin' but beans, anyway, I have an idea. That's what they live on down here, they tell me, and comin' from Vermont as I do, beans ain't a luxury to me. I won't mind missing a mess of 'em for once."

"But, Marty——"

"I got a scheme, I tell you," the boy whispered. "Can't stop to tell you what it is. I got to hike."

He dashed out of the door, the only rapidly moving figure in all that town, for even the dogs in the street seemed too lazy to move.

Janice, feeling that she was allowing her cousin to take the lead in a most disgraceful way, yet really not knowing what better to do, mounted the stairs again and went into the room where the sand fleas were "fox-trotting," as she afterwards told Marty, over the straw matting.

The appearance of Tom Hotchkiss in this place was such a shock to the girl that it was some time before she could think connectedly about it. Her cousin had made the discovery and had had time to collect his wits before Janice had descended the stairs. After a time the girl realized what should be done, and she wondered if Marty would really be wise enough to do it.

Her uncle should be informed at once of the presence of Tom Hotchkiss here on the Border. In addition the local authorities should be communicated with and a complaint lodged against the runaway storekeeper and his arrest demanded.

She was not quite sure what would be the correct course to pursue; but when the smiling and ponderous Rosita with the niÑito still tagging at her skirt brought up her dinner, she asked the woman how one went about having a criminal arrested in that town.

"You want the sheriff—yes, huh?" said Rosita.

"I suppose so."

"The sheriff, heem my hoosban'," said Rosita proudly. "SeÑor Tomas Morales. But he off now to ar-r-est one weeked man—very weeked. He stole Uncle Tio's pants. Poor Uncle Tio! My hoosban' go far after this weeked man—two days' horse journey."

"And just because the man stole a pair of pants?"

"Yes, huh! You see," explained Rosita, "they were all the pants poor Uncle Tio own, and he now have to wear serape only. Only poor Indians appear without pants—yes, huh!"

Janice gazed at the niÑito and tried to imagine the dignity attached in the peon's mind to a pair of trousers. However, the meal was before her and although the main dish was beans, as Marty had foretold, they were savory and the girl found them good.

These frijoles were soft and well seasoned and the cakes, tortillas, were tender, too. The coffee was delicious and there was a sweet cake which Janice thought was made of ground bean-flour, but was not sure.

She began to worry about Marty's absence. After Rosita had descended the stairs everything was silent about the store and hotel. It was the hour of siesta—though why one hour should be considered more somnolent than another in this place the girl from Vermont could not imagine.

Through the open, unscreened window she could see down the street. At its far end, across the railroad, was a pole from which a faded American flag drooped. This she knew indicated the post telegraph office. The army post was a little more than a mile away.

Where could Marty be all this time? It was two hours since he had darted out of the hotel to send the night letter to Uncle Jason. Surely he was not still at that telegraph office?

Here and there along the dusty, sunny street figures in broad hats, striped cotton, suits, with colored sashes, many of them barefoot or shod only in home-made sandals, leaned against the adobe walls, or lay on their backs in the shade. Groups of shawl-headed, gossipy women with innumerable babies playing about them likewise spotted the gray street with color.

Those males who were awake were smoking the everlasting cigarette or rolling a fresh one. Not a few of the women were smoking, too. Just one of these male figures, lolling against the wall directly opposite her window, did not expel the incense of nicotine through his nostrils. This lad did not smoke.

Janice, for some reason, looked at him more attentively. His high-crowned, gayly banded hat was quite like the headgear of the others; so, too, was the glaringly striped suit he wore of "awning cloth" such as the girls were having sport skirts made of in the North—"too loud for an awning, but just right for a skirt!"

He wore a flowing necktie and shoes and socks—an extravagance that few of the Mexicans in sight displayed. Or was he a Mexican? He was tanned, but not to the saddle color of the native.

Yes! he waved his hand to her. Now that he knew he had caught her eye he raised his hatbrim and revealed—Marty's face, all a-grin, beneath it!

"Goodness! what is that boy doing? He has attempted to disguise himself again," murmured Janice Day.

Then she suddenly apprehended her cousin's reason for thus assuming the dress and air of the town. At least she thought she did. He was watching the store to see that Tom Hotchkiss did not get away. He did not wish to be recognized by the dishonest Polktown storekeeper. And knowing, as she did, that the only local officer of the law, SeÑor Tomas Morales, was absent she realized that she and Marty must be careful if they wished to have Hotchkiss finally seized.

Here the absconder was, right near the Mexican Border. Once over the Rio Grande, in the present unsettled state of Mexican affairs Hotchkiss could not be arrested and turned over to the American authorities.

Instead of entering Canada as Polktown people thought probable, and from which he could be more or less easily extradited if found, Tom Hotchkiss had traveled across the continent to be near battle-troubled Mexico where many transgressors against laws of the United States have taken refuge.

Janice Day's heart throbbed with eager thoughts. What a really great thing it would be if she and Marty could succeed in having this man, whose dishonest acts threatened Uncle Jason's ruin, apprehended by the law before he could get across the Border!

"Oh! if daddy's friend, Lieutenant Cowan, were only here," thought the girl, "we might accomplish it without awaiting the return of Rosita's trousers-chasing 'hoosban'.' I wonder who is in command of the soldiers out there at the post? Would I dare go to see?"

This plan savored of delaying her determination to get into Mexico and find her wounded father. But to cause the arrest of Tom Hotchkiss might mean Uncle Jason's financial salvation. Of course, if the runaway storekeeper had not lost the money he had stolen, his apprehension would insure the recovery of the large sum for which Mr. Jason Day had made himself liable.

Janice waved her hand in return to Marty and nodded understandingly; but she wished to communicate with him at close quarters. She desired to know how much he had learned—if he, too, knew that the local sheriff was out of town. She however saw the danger of going down boldly to hold converse with her cousin. Tom Hotchkiss knew her, of course, as he did Marty, though not very well. Just then Janice hoped the man had forgotten them both.

When Rosita, smiling but puffing after the stair-climb like the exhaust of a "mountain climber" locomotive, appeared for her tray Janice took the willing and kindly Mexican woman into her confidence, to an end she had in view.

It was true that Janice's traveling bag held a very small wardrobe for such a long journey as she had made. She had nothing fit to wear now that she had reached the Border. Could ready-made garments that would fit her be bought in Don JosÉ's store?

But, by goodness!—yes, huh? There were garments for the young seÑorita—yes, of a delectable assortment. Ah! if Rosita herself could but wear them. But, she was past all that—yes, huh? Would the seÑorita believe it? She had lost her figure!

Janice turned quickly to point from the window so that the unfortunate Rosita should not see her expression. It was a task to keep from bursting into laughter in the simple woman's face.

"Clothes like that girl over there is wearing?" Janice asked.

"Ah, seÑorita! not like those old clothes of Manuel Dario's daughter. But real tailaire-made gowns from the East."

"But I wish to dress like one of you Mexican girls," Janice said with subtile flattery. "My cousin and I have to go over into your country and I shall be less conspicuous if I dress like—like other girls there, shall I not?"

"Oh! but not like the common girl!" begged Rosita. "One must dress richly, seÑorita."

"No," Janice said. "I am on a serious mission, Rosita; perhaps a dangerous mission. My father has been wounded in a fight up beyond San Cristoval, and I must go after him and bring him over here."

Rosita made a clucking noise in her throat significant of her sympathy, making likewise the sign of the cross. "May his recovery be sure and speedy, seÑorita," she said. "Yes, huh?"

But now for the new clothes. Once having got it fixed in her slow brain that Janice was not in the market for the shop-made garments copied after the latest fashions, Rosita was very helpful. She made no objection to waddling downstairs and panting up again with her arms full of the ordinary cheap finery of the Mexican women. The colors were gay and the goods coarse; but Janice was not critical. She merely hoped to escape any special attention while passing through these Border towns. Likewise she hoped to disguise herself from the eyes of Mr. Tom Hotchkiss.

"If the seÑorita desires to travel far within Chihuahua, it would be better to advise with my father, Don JosÉ," Rosita said, revealing a relationship Janice had not before suspected. "Although he has been exiled now for many years, and is—what you say?—naturalized—yes, huh. Yet, seÑorita, he has many friends among all factions. Some of the lesser chiefs are personally known to him, those both of the bandits and the army of deliverance. Speak to him, seÑorita."

"I shall, Rosita," said Janice. "And as soon as your husband, the SeÑor Sheriff Morales, comes I wish to speak with him too."

"SÍ, sÍ, seÑorita. I hope that will be soon," Rosita said, blowing a sigh. "And I hope he brings back Uncle Tio's pants."

Janice ventured downstairs dressed in her fresh garments. They were not unbecoming, and she tossed her head and walked with her hand on her hip as she had seen several of the Mexican girls do who had passed Marty leaning against the wall. Marty was not thinking much of girls, however, and he had given the seÑoritas very little notice for their trouble.

But he saw Janice when she came down the veranda steps and recognized her, grinning broadly at her.

"Hi tunket! you got a head on you, Janice, you have!" he said admiringly. "I wasn't sure you'd see what I was up to."

"I return the compliment," said his cousin, smiling on him. "You thought of it first."

"Well, I was afraid Tom Hotchkiss might see and spot me."

"He is still in the store. I heard and recognized his voice as I came down. I think he is bargaining for something with SeÑor JosÉ Almoreda Tomas Sauceda Pez. Perhaps Hotchkiss is going to adopt Mexican garments," she went on after she and Marty had giggled over their host's name.

"Good-bye to that red vest, then," grunted Marty. "Now, we've just got to catch that feller and shut him up somewhere till dad can send for him. There ain't any police here. I asked the feller I swapped my clothes with."

"Oh, Marty! did you get rid of all your good clothes—your Sunday suit?"

"Why," said Marty slowly, "I got something to boot. I didn't make such a bad bargain. Anyway, the feller I swapped with said he needed the pants awful bad."

"What for?" gasped Janice.

"Why, for somebody he called Uncle Tio. Uncle Tio's lost his—had 'em stole. I judge nobody down here ever owns more than one pair of pants at a time, and they would have hung this feller that stole Uncle Tio's if they'd caught him. 'Tisn't horse thieves they lynch down here in the Southwest; it's pants thieves!" and Marty chuckled.

"Oh, Marty!" giggled Janice. "The whole police force has gone chasing the robber who got Uncle Tio's trousers."

"Thought there weren't any police?" gasped Marty.

Janice told him about Rosita's husband.

"A sheriff, eh?" said Marty. "We'll get him to grab and hold on to Tom Hotchkiss—sure. Wonder if there's a calaboose here?"

"There must be some way of holding the man. Did you communicate with Lieutenant Cowan, Marty?"

The boy wagged his head regretfully. "Nobody knows where he is. They tell me at the telegraph office that the army is on a war basis and information about the movements of troops is not locally given out. We got to go on our own taps, I guess, Janice."

"But, Marty, I don't know what to do. About this Tom Hotchkiss, I mean."

"I know. You're mighty anxious to make the crossing and go up to Uncle Brocky's mine. So am I. But we got to grab Tom Hotchkiss first."

"If we can."

"I told dad we would," Marty said confidently. "Oh! we'll fix it. But I wish there was a constable here right now. I don't know about these sheriffs. Still, it's against the law down here to carry a gun, I s'pose, same as it is up North, unless you're a soldier or a law officer. That's why that feller that swapped clothes with me said there were no cops to bother about it."

"Why! what do you mean, Marty?" his cousin cried.

The boy drew from its hiding place in his sash a shiny "snub-nose" service revolver—a much more deadly weapon than the army automatic, for it will shoot farther and straighter.

"This is what I got to boot in the trade," said the boy with immense pride.

"Marty!" almost shrieked Janice. "You'll shoot yourself!"

"I won't till it's loaded," returned her cousin coolly. "I got the cartridges, all right all right; but I haven't put any of 'em into the cylinder. Oh, I know about guns, Janice."

"Goodness me!" groaned the girl. "What are we coming to?"

"We've come," announced Marty grimly. "And it ain't any Sunday-school picnic at that. This isn't Polktown, Janice. We're at the Border. 'Tisn't no place for scare-cats, either."

"I'm no 'scare-cat,' as you call them, I should hope," said the girl indignantly.

Nevertheless she was very much disturbed by this incident. It seemed so peaceful here; they had seen scarcely a soldier in crossing Texas—none at all since leaving the train. The fact that they were so near the border-line of war-ridden Mexico was now suddenly impressed upon her mind.

"Suppose Marty should be shot?" she thought. "Oh! what would Uncle Jason and Aunt 'Mira do to me?"

"Say!" the boy suddenly interrupted the train of these thoughts and with cheerfulness. "Say! it's up to us to do something. Let's get that old don out of the store and put it to him—straight. They tell me he's the whole cheese here."

"He seems kindly disposed," Janice agreed.

"He was a high muck-a-muck in Chihuahua once upon a time. But he favored the poor people—peons, they call 'em—and old Diaz who used to boss the whole o' Mexico run him out. I guess he's one good greaser that ain't dead," and the boy grinned.

"Oh, Marty!"

"Well, maybe he can help. And if his son-in-law is sheriff——"

At that moment Don JosÉ walked out upon the porch and seated himself in his broad armchair.

"Come on," said Marty, seizing his cousin's hand.

They approached the hotel veranda. This time the proprietor did not rise to greet them. He scarcely looked at them, in truth.

But when Marty spoke Don JosÉ started upright in his chair and stared—then arose.

"By goodness! it is so!" he exclaimed. "Pardon! I did not recognize. It is, then, that you have assumed the dress of my countrymen?"

"We have to go over into Mexico and we thought it would be better if we dressed in this way," Janice explained.

"It is so," agreed the old gentleman, nodding vigorously. "And when would you go?"

"As soon as possible. But there is something——"

"Manuel is going this evening with an empty wagon," the don said. "He will take you to La Guarda for five dollars each."

"Five dollars Mex?" put in Marty shrewdly.

"But, yes."

"Oh! but how about Tom Hotchkiss——" broke in Janice.

"That feller in the red vest—the American talking with you in the store, Don JosÉ?" questioned Marty. "We want to talk to you about him."

"You know heem?" cried the old man amazedly. "Why did you not speak to heem, then? He is gone."

"Gone!" chorused the cousins.

"I sorrow to tell you—yes. He is gone this half hour. He was bargaining for my best horse, and he went out through my stables in the rear. He is already at the crossing by now. SÍ, seÑorita. I am sure your friend—SeÑor Hoo-kiss, is he called?—did not see you."

Janice and Marty glanced at each other. The boy, first to find his voice, muttered:

"Of all the gooneys that ever got away from the backwoods, we take the bun!"

"The seÑorita is greatly disappoint?" queried the kind old man. "SeÑor Hoo-kiss has gone to La Guarda. If the seÑorita and her compadre," and he smiled at Marty, "go there she may overtake los Americanos, eh? The boy, Manuel, is to be trusted."

"We might's well go, Janice," groaned Marty. "No use even waitin' for dad to answer my telegram. It's all off about Tom Hotchkiss."

"Oh! poor Uncle Jason!" murmured Janice.

"We'll take a ride with Manuel, Don JosÉ," said Marty briskly. "And can you get us a good supper before we start?"

"I will have a chicken killed, seÑor," said the old man, going indoors to give the order.

"Cricky! Chicken right off the hoof," groaned Marty. "Unless they pound it like they say they do the boarding-house beefsteak, that pullet will sure be tough."

"Rosita is a good cook," Janice assured him wearily.

"She's bound to be," grinned Marty. "'Twasn't wind-pudding that made her as fat as she is, I bet."

They tried not to show each other how disappointed they were over the escape of Tom Hotchkiss. They had found him and lost him so easily! It was positive that the absconding storekeeper did not know of the presence of the cousins here; yet chance had sent him on his way before they could have the man apprehended for the swindle he had worked in Polktown. However, this misadventure made Janice's principal object in coming to the Border loom more significantly in her thoughts. She must reach San Cristoval and the Alderdice Mine as quickly as possible.

While supper was being prepared and the two cousins waited for the teamster, Manuel, Janice talked with Don JosÉ, who was a very intelligent person indeed. He assured her that, if the journey to San Cristoval was possible at all, it could be made from La Guarda on the other side of the river as directly as from any place.

He went so far as to write a letter in Spanish, which he carefully translated for Janice's benefit, to the cacique, or mayor, really the "feudal lord" of La Guarda, asking his good offices for "my very good friends," as he politely called Janice and Marty.

"He will advise you regarding route, conveyance, and payment for services," Don JosÉ said. "SÍ, sÍ! you have the money to pay? Poderoso Caballero es Don Dinero—a powerful gentleman is Mr. Money, seÑorita."

The two hurried their departure. At least, Janice and Marty hurried their preparations for leaving Don JosÉ's establishment; but nobody else hurried.

Manuel hitched in his four mules after a while. Then he ate his supper. Half an hour was consumed in picking his teeth and gossiping with Rosita.

"Hi! seÑor and seÑorita!" he finally shouted. "Los Americanos! We go—alla right?"

The wagon was merely a platform of split poles laid over the axletrees of the two pair of wheels, connected by a reach. But Marty, mindful of his cousin's comfort, had bought a bundle of thatch for a seat.

She climbed on and Marty followed. Manuel sat sidewise on the tongue just behind the mules' heels. He shouted to the animals in Spanish, and the mules were off.

It was a dusty drive to the river, but comparatively cool at this time of day. The cousins did not see the red vest of Tom Hotchkiss on the way. He had doubtless got over the river before them.

It was nine o'clock when the mules splashed down into the ford. Manuel drew up his feet carefully, so as not to get them wet, although he was barefooted.

"If they got washed he'd die of the shock," whispered Marty to Janice.

In one place the mules were body deep in the yellow, sluggish flood. Janice and Marty stood up; but the water did not rise over the platform of the wagon. In a few minutes Manuel shouted again to the mules and they fought their way up the Mexican bank.

"Viva MÉjico!" ejaculated Manuel.

"What's that for?" asked Marty suspiciously.

"We haf arrived," said the teamster. "And whoever hears us," he added, squinting about in the dusk, "will know we love la patria."