A cheer arose from the crowd when Harry Benson, at one time the captain of the “Arizona Rangers,” appeared upon the scene, clearing a way for himself by the adept fashion in which he spat tobacco juice. “Going along, Harry? Good boy,” some one called. “You ought to have brought all the Rangers with you.” “See here,” answered Benson, “this ain’t in no wise official business. This is sort of a pleasure excursion.” There was a howl of laughter at this, then as the engine whistle blew sharply, all scampered for places in the “special” which the railway company had provided. A man who was on the front platform of one of the cars began to sing a song—a very popular song, of which the verse and chorus were unprintable, but very singable. With men hanging out of the windows, standing on the roofs of the cars, and with platforms and steps jammed, the train pulled out of the station, headed for the Mexican Line, only fifteen miles away. Half an hour brought them to the border. Here were waiting the governor of Sonora and many Mexicans, who cheered excitedly as the train drew into the station. Benson, by unanimous consent, was acting as director-general of warfare. As the train slowed down, he jumped to the platform. A Mexican official resplendent in uniform and gold braid, in strange contrast to the motley throng following at Benson’s heels, stepped forward to greet him. Benson sang out cheerfully: “Hello, here we are; what is there for us to do?” While the official was explaining the situation, he looked a bit anxiously at the crowd, hoping that when the trouble was over, they would all depart from the province of Sonora with the same celerity with which they had come. It certainly was a hard-looking aggregation. The Governor talked earnestly with Benson, speaking excellent English. “I do not know what to do. According to the laws, no armed force can enter our territory. It is a bad precedent. And yet we need help. There are no troops near Los Andes where the raiders are feared. Yet the laws are very strict, and as an officer of the law I must not let them be broken. The law says plainly: ‘No armed force.’ What shall I do?” The Governor was in despair over the situation. Benson saved the day. “Look here, Gov,” he said. “I used to be an officer of the law myself. A man must conform strictly to the laws; I know all about it. But,” he added, with a wink, “we’re here, just sort of a disorganized party as happened to meet on the train. We was all going hunting near Los Andes, and we sort of came over without formalities.” The Governor’s face beamed with happiness at this solution. “It is _magnifico_! And as the custom-house cannot appraise so many weapons at once, you are permitted to carry them, gentlemen. In bond, of course, in bond,” he added hastily.