"For believing that you are in
costume, that you are wearing a disguise, Mr. American?"
Bucky laughed outright, and offered a gay retort. "Believe me,
lieutenant, I am no more disguised as a gypsy than you are as a
soldier."
The Mexican officer flushed with anger at the suggestion of
contempt in the careless voice. His generalship was discredited.
He had been outwitted and made to yield without a blow. But to
have it flung in his teeth with such a debonair insolence threw
him into a fury.
"If you and I ever meet on equal terms, senor, God pity you," he
ground out between his set jaws.
Bucky bowed, answering the furious anger in the man's face as
much as his words. "I shall try to be careful not to offer myself
a sheath for a knife some dark night," he scoffed.
A whistle blew, and then again. The revolver of Bucky rang out
almost on the same instant as those of O'Halloran. Under cover of
the smoke they slipped out of the car just as Rodrigo leaped down
from the cab of the engine. Slowly the train began to back down
the incline in the same direction from which it had come. The
orders given the engineer were to move back at a snail's pace
until he reached Concho again.
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