The puffing engine that shrieked and roared its way up the grades and shrieked and protested its way down again, as it crawled mile by mile nearer the American border seemed to Raquel an overworked heart that might stop or burst any minute, and tumble them all into the alkali desert. It belched its soot and cinders through the open door of the coach which swung precariously upon the tail of its coal bin. The occupants were roasted in the heat of its boilers. Huddled among the Mexican refugees, who packed the sole passenger coach which the laboring train drew through the desert, sat Raquel in her peón costume and Georgie. Between them was a fair-faced señorita--Lois, who clutched her black _serape_ tightly under her chin. Like all the other women, she never removed it in spite of the heat. Like the other girls and women, too, she was nervous with apprehension. Refugees they were all, _Maytorenistas_, _Villistas_, any “_ista_” other than _Carrancista_. They had been waiting for weeks for the train to run again; and for days had been sitting atop the freight cars with their bundles by their sides, fearful lest they be left behind. They were fleeing to the states for safety, taking no chances, placing no confidence in the momentary lull of revolution. “Lucky we got seats inside,” said Georgie comfortably. “Gee, I’d hate to be sitting on top of the coach in this sun, wouldn’t you, Lois? I bet that’s just where we’d be, too, if it hadn’t been for Don Nestor’s name; huh, Raquel? “I heard the Colonel say they were on the lookout for some Americans that the government and the consuls had been pesterin’ them about, ever since the telegraph wires had been mended again. Ha, ha! But he had no intention of lettin’ ’em through so easy. Let ’em wait, he said. It was easier not to know anythin’ about them. “But the cattle? Sure, they’d carry _them_ up all right. That meant bringing American gold into the country. Mexico for the Mexicans! So here we are, with a thousand longhorns on behind.” “Georgie, hush up, can’t you? Here, let me pull Lois’ skirt over the treasure chest a little more.” She would not believe that they were going home until they had actually crossed the border, thought Raquel. They expected to be met at Douglas by the faithful _vaquero_ who had been with them ever since he brought that message of Georgie’s to Raquel. With him was Concha’s sweetheart. They had gone ahead a week before, driving a thousand head of cattle. And--and maybe Jimmy would be there, if the messages got through to Mom. They were to unload this side of the border, and drive the cattle across themselves. Paintbrush and Custer’s pony and one of Don Nestor’s finest mares for Lois, were in a compartment of their own up in front of the cattle.