“We’ll be back inside two or three weeks at the most, so don’t you fret, Mother honey. I had it straight from Don Justino, who has just come up, that his cousin has several thousand head waiting there at his rancho just across the _frontera_. Don Justino promised him to find purchasers as soon as he got here. “He says that everything is quiet along the border now, and there’ll be no trouble. It’s only the rich refugees who are worried. “Gold, American money, is the only thing that counts in Mexico, and I’ll be back with a herd if they’re as Don Justino says. When you get my wire have the boys meet us at the border.” CHAPTER XIII ACROSS THE BORDER It had not been difficult to arrange for passports. The consul in El Paso did that with unusual alacrity when he understood for what purpose the young _Americanos_ desired them. The _rancho_ for which they were headed was about ten miles from Agua Prieta, a tiny border town. They would go as far as they could by train. Had Raquel not wanted to ride Paintbrush on the expedition the trip could have been much more quickly made by motor. But how fortunate this apparently impractical desire was to turn out! The pinto stood the trip very well indeed, and came daintily down the runway of the box car at the small tank stop, their last station. Georgie’s pony followed with the air of a veteran traveler. And so on a hot day in July down the dusty little street that was Agua Prieta (which means dirty water) rode two boys who might easily have passed for natives. They were Raquel and Georgie. “You boys! What do you want in Mexico?” The dignified but far from clean official who examined passports in an adobe hut eyed them a trifle suspiciously. “Buy cattle? Very, very good. _Muy bien._ But you’d better tend to business and get back where you’re going, _pronto_!” he thrust at them brusquely. “You leave that to us.” Georgie spoke confidently. Raquel was only a girl after all and her voice would give her away. She had decided to pass for a boy, so to Georgie was delegated the gratifying office of making arrangements as far as possible. They trotted out of the dusty little town and loped away across the desert with full saddle bags and light hearts. Long alkaline stretches reached before them, stunted palms and huge Spanish daggers sped merrily behind them. The ranch of Don Martin Amador, cousin of the Don Justino who had arranged the purchase with Raquel, appeared to be a primitive and rough place, a station for native cowpunchers, no more. They came upon it according to directions, as there was no other place in sight for miles and miles. There were two windmills, many fine pens and corrals, but no cattle in sight. As they rode up to a barbed wire gate no servant was to be seen, and only when they pounded on the bright blue door of the adobe house, did they get any response. Movements, then steps, were heard. The blue door opened and a jovial and intoxicated _caballero_ appeared.