He reflected yawningly for a few moments, while Brainard held his breath with impatience. For all he knew, the man and the woman might already have entered his room and discovered his flight. “If it were daylight, it would be different, but you know I couldn’t start a train out of here at this time without the whole town knowing about it; and I reckon that isn’t what you want.” “Not much!” “Can’t you bunk here with me until morning? Then Hollinger and I can fix up something.” Brainard shook his head. “I’d run you down myself in an engine to the coast—” “That’s it!” “But there isn’t an engine that can turn a wheel in the place. The first train comes up in the morning.” “I might get a horse and go over to the haçienda,” Brainard suggested. The Southerner scratched his sleepy head for a while. “You might,” he admitted. “But that wouldn’t put you out of your trouble and might put other folks into danger. You want to lose these urgent friends of yours for good.” “That’s so.” “Got some nerve?” “Enough to capture this stuff from a court and tote it ’cross country from Frisco!” He patted his valise. “Come on, then!” The Southerner drew on his trousers and boots. As Brainard turned impatiently toward the door, he said: “Not that way!” He pulled back a hanging at the foot of his bed, revealing a little wooden door, which he opened, and, candle in hand, led the way through a close, dusty passage. After making several turns, they descended a flight of narrow stairs, and Brainard’s guide pushed open a door at the bottom. The musty odor of old incense told him that they had entered a church, and the wavering candle-light partially revealed the statues of the saints and the altars of the chapels. “The cathedral,” the Southerner remarked, and added, “Convenient sometimes!” Brainard followed him closely across the nave of the church to a door, which Calloway unbolted after some fumbling. They emerged upon a narrow lane with blank walls on either side. “That hotel used to be the bishop’s palace,” the Southerner explained. “It’s a pretty handy place to get out of on the quiet, if you know the way!” It was only a short distance to the railroad terminal. Calloway walked rapidly and noiselessly on the toes of his boots, and kept to the dark side of the lane. They entered the yards beyond the station building, and went to the farther end, where several tracks were occupied by antiquated coaches that looked like a cross between open street cars and English third-class railway carriages. “We used these rattletraps before they changed the line to steam. It took six mules to haul one of ’em up from the junction of the Mexico and Vera Cruz road; but they can go down flying! It’s down grade all the way for nearly forty miles. They are rather wabbly now, but if you get one with a good brake, it will last the trip.”