"Afraid of international complications. Don't want to offend the
Maderists, or be criticized by jealous foreign nations. It's a
delicate situation, Dick. The Washington officials know the gravity
of it, you can bet. But the United States in general is in the dark,
and the army--well, you ought to hear the inside talk back at San
Antonio. We're patrolling the boundary line. We're making a grand
bluff. I could tell you of a dozen instances where cavalry should
have pursued raiders on the other side of the line. But we won't
do it. The officers are a grouchy lot these days. You see, of
course, what significance would attach to United States cavalry
going into Mexican territory. There would simply be hell. My
own colonel is the sorest man on the job. We're all sore. It's
like sitting on a powder magazine. We can't keep the rebels and
raiders from crossing the line. Yet we don't fight. My commission
expires soon. I'll be discharged in three months. You can bet
I'm glad for more reasons than I've mentioned."

Thorne was evidently laboring under strong, suppressed excitement.
His face showed pale under the tan, and his eyes gleamed with a dark fire.
Occasionally his delight at meeting, talking with Gale, dominated the other
emotions, but not for long. He had seated himself at a table near one of
the doorlike windows leading into the street, and every little while
he would glance sharply out. Also he kept consulting his watch.

These details gradually grew upon Gale as Thorne talked.

"George, it strikes me that you're upset," said Dick, presently. "I seem to
remember you as a cool-headed fellow whom nothing could disturb.
Has the army changed you?"