Middleton smiled. He was appealing deftly to the pride of these men, and he had known the response before it came. "Then if we can neither go on to Santa Fé nor turn back to New Orleans," he said, "we must either start to the north or to the south." He was speaking now with the greatest fervor. His face flushed deeply, and they hung upon his words. "To the north lies the wilderness," he said, "stretching away for thousands of miles to the Arctic Ocean. To the south there are plains reaching down to a river, broad, shallow, and yellow, and somewhere along that river armies are fighting, armies of our own people and armies of the Mexicans with whom we are now at war. Which way shall we go, north or south?" "South!" was roared forth in one tremendous voice. Again Middleton smiled. Again he had known before it came the response that would be spoken. "Then south it is," he said, "and we make for Taylor’s army on the Rio Grande. You will find there a better market for what you carry in your wagons than you would have found at Santa Fé, and you’re likely to find something else, also, that I know you won’t shirk." "Fighting!" roared forth that tremendous voice once more. "Yes, fighting," said Middleton, as he sprang down from the pole and rejoined Woodfall. "That was clever talk," said Bill Breakstone, "but he knew his ground before he sowed the seed. These are just the sort of lads who will be glad to go south to Taylor, breaking their way through any Mexicans or Indians who may get across their path. "He said north He said south, What’s the choice? We spoke forth, It was south, With one voice. And now, unless I’m mightily mistaken, we’ll fare forth upon our journey, as the knights of old would say. This is a good camp for defense, but not for siege. It lacks water. You just watch, Phil, and you’ll see a wrinkle or two in plains work worth knowing." The men began to hitch the horses to the wagons, but they were interrupted in the task by a horseman who rode forth from the Mexican column, carrying a white handkerchief on the point of a lance. He was joined by two Indian chiefs riding on either side of him. Phil instantly recognized all three. The white man was Pedro de Armijo, and the Indians were Black Panther and Santana. "They want a big talk," said Bill Breakstone. "I fear the Greeks bearing gifts, and also a lot of other people who smile at you while they hold daggers behind their backs, but I suppose our side will hear what they have to say." Middleton and Woodfall were already mounting to ride forth, and Middleton beckoned to Phil. "Come, Phil," he said. "They are three, and we should be three, also. You can call yourself the secretary of the meeting if you like."