But the clamor of the returning mob came through the windows in answer.

Davies was about to speak, when the telephone rang, and Wemple sprang to
the instrument.

"It's Carson," he interjected, as he listened. "They haven't cut the
wires across the river yet.--Hello, Carson. Was it a break or a cut? ...
Bully for you.... Yes, move the mules across to the potrero beyond
Tamcochin.... Who's at the water station? ... Can you still 'phone
him? ... Tell him to keep the tanks full, and to shut off the main to
Arico. Also, to hang on till the last minute, and keep a horse saddled
to cut and run for it. Last thing before he runs, he must jerk out the
'phone.... Yes, yes, yes. Sure. No breeds. Leave full-blooded Indians in
charge. Gabriel is a good _hombre_. Heaven knows, once we're chased
out, when we'll get back.... You can't pinch down Jaramillo under
twenty-five hundred barrels. We've got storage for ten days. Gabriel'll
have to handle it. Keep it moving, if we have to run it into the
river----"

"Ask him if he has a launch," Habert broke in.

"He hasn't," was Wemple's answer. "The federals commandeered the last
one at noon."

"Say, Carson, how are you going to make your get-away?" Wemple queried.

The man to whom he talked was across the Panuco, on the south side, at
the tank farm.

"Says there isn't any get-away," Wemple vouchsafed to the other two.