"Well, here we are at last, Phil," he exclaimed. "We've ridden all the way across Texas, and it must have been a hundred thousand miles. Now we stand, or rather sit, on the shores of the Rio Grande.
"Behold the river! But I don't quiver. They call it grand. It's mostly sand.
It's no Mississippi, Phil, but it's a hard stream for an outfit like ours to cross. I'm glad that Taylor has already cleared the way. You remember what a fight we had with the Comanches back at the crossing of that other and smaller river."
"I do," said Phil, "but there is nothing here to oppose us, and doubtless we can make the crossing in peace."
The crossing of the Rio Grande was a formidable task, and the train could never have accomplished it in the face of a foe, even small in numbers, but no Mexicans were present, and they went about their task unhindered. One of the streams was too deep to be forded, but they cut down the larger trees and constructed a strong raft, which they managed to steer over with long poles. The reluctant horses and mules were forced upon it, and thus the train was carried in safety over the deep water. Nor was the task then ended. It usually took six horses and ten or twelve men to drag a wagon through the sand and carry it up the bank to the solid earth beyond, the way having been carefully examined in advance in order to avoid quicksand.
It took three days to build the raft and complete the passage. Phil had never worked so hard in his life before. He pushed at wagon wheels and pulled at the bridles of mules and horses until every bone in him ached, and he felt as if he never could get his strength again. But the train was safely across, without the loss of a weapon or an animal. They were in Mexico, and they did not deceive themselves about the greatness and danger of the task that lay before them. Phil felt the curious effect which the passage over the border from one country to another usually has on people, especially the young. It seemed to him that in passing that strip of muddy river he had come upon a new soil, and into a new climate--into a new world, in fact. Yet the Texas shore, in reality, looked exactly like the Mexican, and was like it.
"Well, Phil," said Bill Breakstone, "here we are in Mexico. I'm covered with mud, so are you, and so is Arenberg. I think it's Texas and Mexico mud mixed, so suppose we go down, find a clear place in the water, and get rid of it."
