Mr.
Cameron's death, the dispatches said, was hourly expected,
so the unfortunate boy received little encouragement from
his reading of the New York news.
Early in the evening of the third day out the boys reached
El Paso, on the Texas side of the Rio Grande. They found
the city looking like a military encampment. Soldiers
wearing the khaki uniforms of Uncle Sam were everywhere,
martial music filled the air with its shrill fifings and
deep drum-beats, and there was a gleam of polished steel
wherever the boys walked.
It was a scene well calculated to stir the imagination and
excite the patriotism of the Boy Scouts, and for a time
the excitement of it all forced Fremont's troubles from
his mind. The boys dined at a restaurant and then Fremont
went to a comfortable room which had been engaged in a
small hotel while Nestor went out into the city, "to spy
out the resources of the land," as he declared.
Fremont, however, knew that his friend was very anxious
over something. There appeared to be some new complication
which the patrol leader was having a hard time puzzling out.
It may well be imagined that his return was awaited with
impatience. His face was very grave when at last he
entered the room.
"I'm sorry I have no better report to make," Nestor said,
throwing himself into a chair, "but the fact is that we've
got to lose ourselves in the mountains across the river as
soon as we can do so. We can get across to-night, of course,
but must hustle after we get across.
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