Arose the incoherent clamor of the mob, punctuated by individual cries
in Mexican-Spanish. Least terrible among the obscene threats were:
"Death to the Gringos!" "Kill the American pigs!" "Drown the American
dogs in the sea!"

Stanton Davies and Jim Wemple shrugged their shoulders patiently to each
other, and resumed their conversation, talking louder in order to make
themselves heard above the uproar.

"The question is _how_," Wemple said. "It's forty-seven miles to
Panuco, by river----"

"And the land's impossible, with Zaragoza's and Villa's men on the loot
and maybe fraternizing," Davies agreed.

Wemple nodded and continued: "And she's at the East Coast Magnolia, two
miles beyond, if she isn't back at the hunting camp. We've got to get
her----"

"We've played pretty square in this matter, Wemple," Davies said. "And
we might as well speak up and acknowledge what each of us knows the
other knows. You want her. I want her."

Wemple lighted a cigarette and nodded.

"And now's the time when it's up to us to make a show as if we didn't
want her and that all we want is just to save her and get her down
here."

"And a truce until we do save her--I get you," Wempel affirmed.