“Wow!” roared Hike, in a different tone, wildly excited. “This means a hike on the _Hustle_. Mexico—insurrectos—night flight—wow!” He grabbed his cap, tossed a time-table to Poodle, and cried, “Please, Pood’, see what’s the next train I get into town. I’m going to see the Headmaster right now, and get leave to—” “See him at midnight?” howled Poodle. “And permit us to _state_ that there ain’t any trains between midnight and dawn.” “Gee, that’s so,” mourned Hike. “I was so excited I forgot it was late at all.” “Yes,” remarked Poodle. “You were some excited. This is that ‘no aeroplaning, no nothing’ that we were just hearing about, ain’t it?” “Uh-huh. Gee, Poodle, I’m just _crazy_ over this. Gee, it’s great.... Out in the _Hustle_. Mexico. Cap’n Welch. It’s too good to be true!” CHAPTER XXII TROUBLE IN MEXICO Lieutenant Jack Adeler, dressed in riding breeches and khaki Norfolk jacket, was pacing the lobby of the Palace Hotel, waiting. As he saw a tall youngster enter the revolving door, he hastened to him and, with not a word, dragged him off to his private room. “Hike,” Jack Adeler exclaimed, “can you get away for two weeks, and come with me to Mexico, to drive the _Hustle_, and fight off some insurrectos? They’re attacking my rancho, down there. I can get leave from the Headmaster for you—I telegraphed him. But what about football?” Hike thought quickly. “Well, I’ll have to miss a couple of games. They can put in Left Eared Dongan and—” “So _that’s_ what you call Dongan,” smiled the Lieutenant, hurried though he was. “Sure. Pink Eye Morrison chewed his left ear for calling him ‘Glass Arm’ once!... Well, I can get back in time for the last two games— You’re sure we won’t take over two weeks?” “Not much over, certainly.” “Well, anyway, I can get back in time for the big Thanksgiving game with San Dinero.” “All right; that’s settled, then. Now, listen.” And Jack Adeler explained the “why” of this jaunt to Mexico: “Captain Welch has turned up again—like the bad penny. He’s in Lower California—that’s a province of Mexico, you know. There isn’t supposed to be any more revolution in Mexico, now, but believe me when I say that there’s _always_ more or less revolution in Lower California. That part of Mexico is more or less shut off from the rest, with some pretty savage islands on the west. I believe there’s a real tribe of cannibal Indians, near Tiburon Isle. “Well, Captain Welch has turned up there as a Colonel commanding a tough regiment of Mexicans, Indians, and rascally Americans. They are simply robbing and plundering, and calling it ‘revolution.’ The authorities in that part of the state can’t do a thing with them. Well, they are heading for my rancho, at Aguas Grandes—which means there’s a two-by-four creek running through the desert, and they call it ‘Aguas Grandes,’—big waters.