The lieutenant and his guests chatted in French. When they had finished eating, and the two Spanish officers had wiped their moustaches with fine white handkerchiefs, the lieutenant said, crisply:
"Have I the pleasure to understand that this is a friendly call upon me by his Majesty's troops, at the instance of the New Mexico government?"
The elder officer coughed. He answered politely:
"Señor, the Governor of New Mexico, being informed that you have missed your route, has ordered me to offer you in his name mules, horses, money, or whatever you may need, for the purpose of conducting you to the head of the Red River. From Santa Fe that is eight days' journey, before open to navigation. We have guides and know the routes."
"What! Missed my route, sir? Is not this the Red River?"
"No, señor. This is the Rio Grande del Norte, of New Mexico. The Red River is many leagues to the southeast."
The lieutenant flushed red. His thin hands clinched, and he gazed bewildered.
"Impossible. Why was I not told this by those two men ten days ago, and I would have withdrawn?"
The officer twirled his moustache and shrugged his shoulders.
