"No!" said Tom, who was giving but little thought to the customs duties, but a great deal to his own personal freedom. He did not want to meet any kind of officers, customs or otherwise. He would have jumped at a secret trail into the settlements had he not known so much about Pedro. "At th' same time I ain't hankerin' fer ter leave th' caravan so soon. We're nigh three hundred miles from Sante Fe, an' thar ain't no way we kin go that'll cut off ten miles. This wagon road runs nigh as straight as th' crow flies. What about grass fer th' mules, an' water?" "Ah," breathed Pedro. "We weel not go to Santa Fe, senor; we go near Taos, less than two hundred mile away from here. Along thee Ocate Cr-reek I haf fr-riends who know ver' well thee mountains. They weel tak us over them. How can thee senores sell their goods onless by ways that ar-re made? Weeth us we haf men that know that tr-rail. We weel send one befor-re to thee Ocate, an' follow heem fast." Tom studied the fire for a few moments and then looked up at his guest. "We want ter think this over, Pedro," he said. "You figger what per cent o' th' customs savings you want fer yer share, an' we'll decide tomorrow night. Hank, here, wants ter go ter Bent's an' reckons we kin git a good price thar fer our goods. Let you know then. Good night." After Pedro had painted the picture of the innocent-looking loads of faggots and sheepskins, hay and produce, towering over the backs of the nearly hidden pack mules as they toiled through the canyon and over the rough trail leading from the Valley of Taos into Santa Fe, their loads passing the customs house without drawing even a careless glance and then, by many turnings, safely arriving at various destinations with their smuggled goods; after he had described the care and foresight of his friends and their trustworthiness, and made many knowing bows and grimaces, he smilingly departed and left the partners to themselves. Knowing that they were being watched they idled before the fire, careless now of their store of wood, of which plenty was at hand, and talked at random; but through the droning of their careless words many times there could be heard the name "Bent's Fort," which Hank mentioned with affectionate inflections. It seemed that he very strongly preferred to go to that great trading post and rendezvous of hunters and trappers, where old friends would be met and new ones made. Tom held out for Santa Fe, but did not show much enthusiasm. Finally they rolled up in their blankets, feet toward the fire and heads close together and simulated sleep. Half an hour later they were holding a whispered conversation which was pitched so low they barely could hear each other. CHAPTER XV TEXAN SCOUTS