"Miguel," he said quietly, "you're too far over the line. Go home!"

The captain rose. "Your Government shall hear of this!"

"Yes. Wire 'em to-night. And where do you get off? You'll get turned
back to the ranks."

"I?"

"Si, Señor Capitan, and because--_you didn't get your man_."

The collector of customs stood with his cigar carefully poised in his
left hand. The assistant pushed back his hat and rumpled his black hair.

All official significance set aside, Waring and the captain of rurales
faced each other with the blunt challenge between them: "You didn't get
your man!"

The captain glanced at the two quiet figures in the doorway. Beyond them
were his own men, but between him and his command were two of the
fastest guns in the Southwest. He was on alien ground. This gringo had
insulted him.

Waring waited for the word that burned in the other's eyes.

The collector of customs drew a big silver watch from his waistband.
"It's about time--to go feed the horses," he said.

With the sound of his voice the tension relaxed. Waring eyed the captain