The feverish day drew at length toward an end. The sun was still high though Lois’ watch said six o’clock. They were nearing the line. With a great snorting of brakes, and much complaining of wheels, the train from Sonora came to a halt. A lieutenant came running up from the rear of the coach. The cattle were to disembark, explained the engineer. _Si, si_, from El Escondido, from Don Nestor Torreon, a faithful supporter of the Government, a man for the people. Georgie W. Daniels was the first person to touch foot to ground. Raquel swung down next, and helped Lois. The cowpunchers were already bringing their horses down the runway. It was amazing how quickly the cattle were unloaded. And here they were, but a scant half mile from the border, with an hour of daylight still, in which to cross to the United States where they would drive right into the pens at the train yards. With a great glory of golden dust at their backs, and a noble heralding of mooing and bellowing, with the yell of the punchers, and the shouts of Don Nestor’s _vaqueros_, the three young adventurers crossed that imaginary line in the dust between Mexico and Arizona which Uncle Sam has drawn with the toe of his boot, and Mexico with her _bayonete_, while Nature has impartially planted the Spanish dagger on both sides. They came like a conquering army, whooping and singing, and never had a landscape seemed more beautiful than that which lay before them. And so it seemed to Jimmy Hovey and Custer Daniels, who had stopped the boiling Pathfinder to stand up and look towards that moving cloud of dust. “It’s them, sure’s whiskey cures snake bite,” exclaimed Custer softly. “By Jove, it is, all right. They’ve made it!” Jimmy was half wild. In a short time two girls were being folded to two vastly relieved uniformed breasts.... And, in spite of herself, it was Raquel who cried at sight of Custer’s empty sleeve. “Just look at that bunch of cattle,” she choked, and buried her face in his shoulder. “There’s another thousand waiting for us in Douglas.” “It’s not the cattle I’m looking at,” he was holding her tight, “but the gamest, bravest, little old cattlewoman I ever heard of! “But, oh, Raquel, why did you do it? Down into such a hornet’s nest. It wasn’t worth it, hon.” “I had to, Custer. Dad asked for more cattle. I had it all arranged to get a bunch just over the border--and along came old ‘A. B.’ and took them right out from under my nose. What else was I to do but go after more?” Still she could not look at his empty sleeve.