Bat said, “Anybody fallen behind so far?”

Al Castro shook his head. “Surprise, surprise, no. Of course, we got well-organized before crossing the border. So we all got off together. But two will get you ten that by the time the lead homes get to Mexico City, we’ll be strung out over several hundred kilometers.”

“Don’t I know it? No bet,” Bat groaned. “I suppose what we’ll have to do is rendezvous there, stay several days sightseeing and waiting for the stragglers to catch up.”

“Yeah, I suppose so. We’ll be ready for a rest by then anyway.”

“I’ll take it up with the executive committee,” Bat said. “Let me know if anybody drops out before we reach Linares. See you, Al.” He deactivated the phone.

They were only to spend the one night in the Linares camp site so they made no particular efforts to arrange themselves in predetermined order; except, of course, that the administration and other auxiliary vehicles were parked in the center of their group. They occupied only about a third of the site’s most favored area, and aside from their own town there were only half a dozen other mobile homes. The site was large by New Woodstock’s needs but Bat Hardin wondered what would happen if a really large town came through. However, he supposed a really large mobile town wouldn’t come through the by-ways such as this. They stuck to the Pan American Highway and came down through Laredo, Monterrey and Saltillo.

Bat himself parked near the administration building, noting that the driver, Milt Waterman, wasn’t bothering to set it up but was making his way over to his father’s home to rejoin his family. Milt usually drove the heavy steamer that drew the administration building but not always. There were other volunteers. In fact, of all the auxiliaries the ad building seemed to have some sort of mystic prestige. Bat supposed that Dean Armanruder had informed the youngster that for this short a stay, there would be no need for the offices.