From El Paso a leisurely run on the Mexican Central Pacific took
them to Chihuahua, a quaint old city something about the size of
El Paso. Both Bucky and his friend were familiar with the manners
of the country, so that they felt at home among the narrow adobe
streets, the lounging, good-natured peons, and the imitation
Moorish architecture. They found rooms at a quiet, inconspicuous
hotel, and began making their plans for an immediate departure in
the event that they succeeded in their object.
At a distance it had seemed an easy thing to plan the escape of
David Henderson and to accomplish it by craft, but a sight of the
heavy stone walls that encircled the prison and of the numerous
armed guards who paced to and fro on the walls, put a more
chilling aspect on their chances.
"It isn't a very gay outlook," Bucky admitted cheerfully to his
companion, "but I expect we can pull it off somehow. If these
Mexican officials weren't slower than molasses in January it
might have been better to wait and have him released by process
of law on account of Hardman's confession. But it would take them
two or three years to come to a decision.
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