"Stop! You have no right!" thundered the Mexican. But Captain Foster had uncovered two packing cases and continued energetically with his work. "Will you stop?" howled the Mexican, advancing upon the man in uniform. "No," returned Foster briefly. "I'm here on business." "Come in, my friends!" howled Pedro Guarez. "Never mind the young tailor's model at the door." The Mexicans outside heard, and the appeal frenzied them. Four or five started toward the barn-door, the rest closing in behind them. Swish! Lieutenant Hal's sword was again in the air. "Who wants to come first?" demanded the Army boy dryly. The rabble paused, then crowded back slowly. There was something in Hal Overton's cold, steady, masterful eyes that awed them more than any fears of their own. Captain Foster tossed and threw hay with a will until he had uncovered a compact pile of small packing cases. "Sixty," he announced, after a quick estimation. "And each case, Guarez, contains ten rifles. Six hundred in all--enough with which to equip quite a respectable _insurrecto_ regiment on the other side of the Rio Grande." "There are no rifles there, nothing with which to make war," snarled the fellow. "I accept your statement, with reservations," replied Foster dryly. "Even though they were rifles, the United States law does not forbid one to buy or sell guns," insisted the Mexican. "No; but it does forbid your shipping them over the border," rejoined the captain. "But I have not attempted to ship anything over the border." "Nor will you, Guarez. I might continue my search, and unearth other rifles, or perhaps cartridges. But I know enough for my purpose, and I am through here." Captain Foster turned and left the mow, followed by the owner of the place. "Come, Mr. Overton," ordered the company commander, stepping to the side of his junior officer. The assembled Mexicans followed them with flashing eyes. Out in the street Captain Foster espied an American cowboy in the near distance. Shouting, the captain attracted the attention of the man, who galloped up. "Do you know where my men are encamped?" inquired Foster. "Sure," nodded the cowboy. "Will you do me the very great favor of taking a note to the officer in command at the camp?" "Sure," nodded the cowboy, with the same brevity. Captain Foster hastily wrote the note, handing it to the man in saddle. "This talk-talk paper will be at your camp in less'n five minutes," volunteered the horseman. "You going to remain here. Captain, for a little while?" "Yes." "Then look out, or some of the Greasers will play jack-knife with you. They're just aching for trouble, Cap." The cowboy was gone in a cloud of dust. Captain Foster and his lieutenant did not again attempt to enter Guarez's yard, but the older officer whispered something that made the younger officer smile.