"Whew, this is something new for Conejo!" whistled Tom. "I reckon I'd better have a word with Dutch before I horn in. Say, Swartz," he said, pushing a crowd of youngsters out of the way, "got anything to drink? I've just walked in from Athens." "My Gott, are you mad?" inquired Swartz, pleasantly. "Not yet, but I'm likely to be if I don't get something down my gullet. Got any beer?" "Beer?" Swartz' contempt was sweeping. "Look at dem," pointing to the soldiers. "Doos that look like I haf any beer mit dem fellers around?" "Who are they? Federals or Rebs?" "De State troops. Don't you know dis here state has--what you call it--seceded?" "Martial law, eh?" Swartz nodded. "Did they grab your stuff or did they pay for it?" "Oh, dey pays--in paper money," replied the German, sourly. "Well, you're better off than we are. They took our stuff, shot two of the boys, knifed another, and blew up our track." "Who done it?" "Young Pachuca and his crowd. Say, who's the boss of this outfit?" Swartz opined that Colonel d'Anguerra, who was lodged in the house of the local _jefe_, was in command. "Good-natured kind of a guy, is he?" queried Tom, anxiously. "Or one of the kind that orders out the firing squad if his dinner don't set well on him?" Swartz had seen better natured men than the Colonel, but on the other hand admitted that he had seen worse. "He iss a young man," he said, "and he ain't got so much sense that it bothers him, yet he tries to keep them devils quiet if he can." "Well, give me a drink of water if you ain't got no beer. I guess I'll look this feller up." "I got some lemon pop," offered Swartz, hospitably. "Them fellers don't like it; it ain't got poison enough in it for 'em." Johnson, having drunk the pop, departed for the official residence. It took some time and a good deal of diplomacy to get an audience with the military chief, but it was accomplished at last. D'Anguerra was a youngish man, tall, thin and sallow. He spoke very little English, but his secretary spoke it very well and acted as interpreter, Tom's Spanish being several degrees worse than the Colonel's English. The conversation in two tongues proceeded through the secretary with dispatch and accuracy. "I understand that you are from an American mining company located at Athens?" the Colonel began. "I am," replied Tom, a little awed by the other's dignity and the threefold nature of the dialogue. "You have been raided by bandits, eh?" "Well, I suppose you'd call it that. Juan Pachuca helped himself to what he wanted and shot two of our boys." "Killed them?"