"They sang that stuff all through Texas and North Mexico," said Hannibal. "It's the Mohawk war cry. And the Mexicans think it's a sort of national song, like some of theirs. You ought to hear 'em try to sing it themselves. 'Gringo, gringo,' they say, instead of 'Green grow,' and they call the Americans 'gringos'!"
"That's right; they do," Jerry agreed, remembering the two Manuels and other Vera Cruzans. "They called me a 'gringo' whenever they were mean, but it wasn't Spanish and they didn't seem to know where it came from. 'Gringo!' Huh!"
Now he understood at last.
"Well, I've got to go back for that blamed 'retreat,'" Hannibal grumbled. "Thunder! I never did see the use in all this parading every day." Which was an odd remark for a Regular and a veteran.
They were just leaving the mess fires of the Mohawks, when there was a great shout of laughter, and out of the brush here came a big Illinoisan, a dead turkey in one hand and his long musket in the other, driving before him two ragged Mexicans.
"What you got there, Bill?"
"Part the Mexican army, boys. 'Peared like they were going to ambush me and take this turkey; but I said 'Nary, Mary Ann,' and fetched 'em along with help of old Sal." And he flourished his gun.
"We meant no harm, good Americanos," the Mexicans whined. "We are only poor countrymen."
"Pass your turkey over to us," the soldiers cried, to Bill. "Tell your paisanos to git and come back with the rest of their army."
