"It must have been from a well," said Phil, "this is a dry country with water mostly from wells, and around these wells villages usually grow. Bill, we must be on the right track. I can’t believe that we’re going wrong." "The signs certainly point the way we’re thinking," said Bill Breakstone. "The lava, the dust, and the water. We’ve passed the lava and the dust, and we know that the water is before us." They came presently to Agua Neva, a somber little town, now reoccupied by a detachment from Taylor’s army. The people were singularly quiet and subdued. The defeat of Santa Anna by so small a force and his precipitate flight made an immense impression upon them, and, as they suffered no ill treatment from the conquerors, they did not seek to make trouble. There was no sharpshooting in the dark, no waylaying of a few horsemen by guerillas, and the three could pursue without hesitation the inquiry upon which they were bent. Wells! Wells! Of course there were wells in Agua Neva. Several of them, and the water was very fine. Would the señors taste it? They would, and they passed from one well to another until they drank from them all. Breakstone could speak Spanish, and its Mexican variations, and he began to ask questions--chance ones at first, something about the town and its age, and the things that he had seen. Doubtless in the long guerilla war between Texas and Mexico, captives, the fierce Texans, had passed through there on their way to strong prisons in the south. Such men had passed more than once, but the people of Agua Neva did not remember any particular one among them. They spent a day thus in vain, and Phil, gloomy and discouraged, rode back to the quarters of the American detachment. "Don’t be downhearted, Phil," said Breakstone. "In a little place like this one must soon pick up the trail. It will not be hard to get at the gossip. We’ll try again to-morrow." They did not go horseback the next morning, not wishing to attract too much attention, but strolled about the wells again, Breakstone talking to the women in the most ingratiating manner. He was a handsome fellow, this Breakstone, and he had a smile that women liked. They did not frown upon him at Agua Neva because he belonged to the enemy, but exchanged a gay word or two with him, Spanish or Mexican banter as he passed on. They came to a well at which three women were drawing water for the large jars that they carried on their heads, and these were somewhat unlike the others. They were undoubtedly of Indian blood, Aztec perhaps, or more likely Toltec. They were tall for Mexican women, and it seemed to Phil that they bore themselves with a certain erectness and pride. Their faces were noble and good.