Presently I found the Red Sign Bar. The bar was crowded, so my passage was not marked. I opened the door at the end and went into a room. Immediately the man sitting at the table sprang up. On the table before him were a number of railroad folders and a map, and he was making some calculations on a blank sheet of paper. He was the same man whom I had seen in the canvas chair in the alley of side shows before the big tent of the circus. But he was visibly changed. He was like a cat, incredibly active. His hands were in his pockets and he did not move after he was on his feet. I closed the door and, going forward, put the envelope on the table. “A gentleman out at the circus,” I said, “sent you this letter.” He sat down with the same soft, quick feline motion, tore the envelope open with his finger and read the contents. But I had the feeling that while his eyes were on the paper they were also very carefully on me. Then suddenly he spoke. “Do you know why White picked you?” “Picked me for what?” I said. He folded the paper over his finger and, reaching across the table, showed me the lower half of what the note contained. It was written in pencil in a large clear hand: The same baby that we spotted at the Junction goes to the tank at 10:15 to-night. She always takes a drink at this trough. I think there is money in her clothes, and here’s a fellow to help. White. He whisked the note back into his pocket. “So you are going to help us,” he said. “You look like a husky youngster.” I was completely puzzled, but, as you will presently realize, I was ready for almost any adventure. My first clash with organized society had left me bewildered, and ready for any revenge that might present itself. The little nervous man, Mooney, regarded me searchingly for some moments before he spoke. Then he said: “Damn the Mexican government! There is some of its money going south to-night. How would you like to have a piece of it?” As I have said, I was ready for nearly any adventure, but especially an adventure directed against a government with which we had lately been at war, and which was still, one felt, a potential enemy. I did not reply. Mooney leaned back in his chair and regarded me for some time, his hand moving about his face. “You will be a stranger here,” he said, “and a reliable person or White would have passed you up. He has the eye of the devil for seeing through a man. Here’s a dollar.” He took a paper dollar out of his waistcoat pocket and handed it to me. “Do two things,” he said, “and don’t talk; go out and get something to eat and after that hunt up a piece of quarter-inch pipe about two feet long; slip it up your coat sleeve and be at the entrance of the big circus tent at eight o’clock.” I went out like a person who has suddenly fallen from the commonplace world into some story of the _Arabian Nights_.