"Let me look, Billie," and Donald reached out his hand for the field glass through which Broncho Billie was gazing down from the summit of Real del Monte upon the plain of Quesco, through which the Pachuca river winds its way. "Maybe I can make out who they are." Billie handed over the glass without a word and stood expectant, while Donald scrutinized closely a body of horsemen-twenty or more in number-which had halted beside the railroad that connects the little city of Pachuca with the City of Mexico.