III
THE AMERICANS GAIN A RECRUIT
The norther was making things uncomfortable
in the city as well as outside. The streets were
lashed by howling wind, and raked by sand and bits
of clay; loosened stones crashed to the pavement,
threatening the few people who scuttled around the
corners; and when the thick dusk gathered early Vera
Cruz seemed deserted. But if matters were bad here,
what must they be yonder, out in the open?
Jerry was going to know, pretty soon. It was time that he left Vera Cruz. He did not belong in Vera Cruz, where Americans were disliked. It was the enemy's country. The two Manuels had housed him in their shack, and had fed him, but only because he worked for them. He had not seen them this day—did not wish ever to see them again; they had cuffed him on the ears, they thought little of slapping him about. He had stayed with them because there was nothing else for him to do. But now his own people had arrived to teach these Mexicans a lesson; had brought the Flag right to the doorway of Mexico, and were knocking for admittance.
If they really did not get in—of course they would get in, but supposing they didn't, and had to go away and try at another place! Supposing, as the Vera Cruzans said, the walls held out against the cannon, and the yellow fever raged, then he would be stranded the same as before. It was a long, long way from Vera Cruz to the United States.
