It was cool and delightful now and he felt refreshed and invigorated. His bundle was light and he swung along at a good clip. In and out of arroyos, over little bridges, under fragrant branches of pine--the walk was pleasant and the engineer reflected that one sees a good deal from one's feet that one misses from the cab of an engine. Prairie dogs scuttled into their holes as he approached and chipmunks sat on branches and swore at him in sharp little voices. Now and then a far-away but penetrating odor reminded him of another night animal on the prowl. His wisdom in following the railroad track instead of the road was evident. It was longer but it led through the mountains at the lowest places. Midnight found him nearly out of the mountains, standing, tired but not exhausted, on the edge of a decline, looking over miles of the semi-flat country to a dark spot where one or two lights twinkled faintly and which he knew was Conejo. "Old Swartz is still on the job," he reflected, as he rolled himself in his blanket and settled down for a nap. He had built a small fire and lay with his feet almost in it. He stared ahead of him over the road which he must travel before he could reach his destination and though his trip was only half made he felt as though he were already there, so encouraging was the sight of Swartz' night light. "It's a great country for them that can stand the pace," he murmured, sleepily. "I've a notion sometimes to go back to Omaha and get me a wife and settle down out here. Picking a woman these days is a risk, though. Get a young one, so's you can educate her, and ten to one you get an ambitious young brat that wants to spend all your money seein' life. Pick a settled one, a widow woman, say, and you get one that knows more'n you do and that don't make for happiness in married life. Mrs. Van Zandt's a likely woman but she's had one gold brick--'tain't likely she'd want to fall for another. Besides, I can enjoy her cooking and her company without bein' married to her, and there's times I like right well to get clear of her gab," and so he drifted into sleep, snoring comfortably before his fire went out. It was the middle of the afternoon when Johnson, tall, gaunt and tired, stalked into Swartz' store at Conejo where he found a situation for which he was not prepared. Conejo was under martial law, and from every doorway he saw the interested faces of women and children who stared at the soldiers as they went by or stood talking in groups. The jail had a military guard while the office of the local _jefe_ swarmed with uniforms. Outside stood a motor truck and two large automobiles, quite dwarfing Mendoza's Ford, which, having been requisitioned, also stood near by, its wrathful owner lurking in the distance keeping an eye on his treasure. In Swartz' store the fat owner was still in his accustomed seat, while the usual loafers still persistently loafed, but there were soldiers everywhere.