ousand, we're only one thousand, I know. But there are
hundreds and hundreds of Americans down here like us, and all of 'em
wanting service. There's that colony just starting at Cordova near Vera
Cruz. But they'd fight, if there was an American to lead them, and more
yet 'ud come from the States. Quicker'n that, Old Joe will have a
division."

Driscoll ruefully shook his head. "Maximilian wants us," he said, "if
we'll give up our arms first."

"If we----"

"If we will surrender, Dan."

Mr. Boone's jaw fell. The phrase that would measure the depth of the
proposed ignominy would not come. Finally, he dug from his pocket a
bright new gold coin, twenty pesos, and contemplated reflectively the
side that bore Maximilian's effigy.

"I've got the cub repohter's superstition," he said at last. "You get
your cards printed," here he tapped the coin significantly, "and you're
sure to lose your job--still we might of helped him."

There was nothing, though, for Daniel but to turn back and meet the
Brigade. Learning Maximilian's decision, the Missourians would probably
join the Cordova colony. Boone reckoned that _he_ would. He
discovered that he was tired of fighting. Perhaps the new citizens at
Cordova would want an organ, a weekly at least; and already his nostrils
were sniffing the pungent, fascinating aroma of printer's ink. Then he
asked Driscoll what he thought of doing, now that he was free.

"Don't know," came the reply lonesomely. "Stir around, I guess. There's
a flying column leaving this week to capture Juarez. Maybe that'll do
me."

CHAPTER II

THE BLACK DECREE

"So may heaven's grace clear whatso'er of foam
Floats turbid on the conscience."--_Dante._

That unleashed hawk which was the flying column failed to clutch its
prey. From the City of Mexico across the far northwestern desert the
Chasseurs and cuirassiers rode their swift Arabian steeds, and into the
town of Chihuahua at last. But the old Indian for whom they came was not
there. Benito Juarez had fled. He must have known. Yet how, no one might
conjecture. It was as though some watchful Republican fairy had marked
the sturdy, squat patriot as the one hope of the Empire's overthrow, and
did not propose to have him taken. Scouts, spies, the entire French
secret service, delved, gestured, and sweated. But they laid bare next
to nothing. At the Palacio Municipal a number of functionaries told of a
peon in breech clout, a wretch coated with