Now you would think on the surface of it that it ain’t much of a walk from Bogota to Buenos Aires, but let me tell you, they’re a lot closer to each other in the alphabet then they are on foot. I made the trek back in 1937 with a heavy heart, since I’d lost yet another fortune to Erich von Horst, a deep-dyed villain what didn’t have no respect at all for an honest, good-natured, trusting man of the cloth like myself.

He had that in common with about eighty trillion insects I encountered along the way, plus more than a few anacondas that wanted to teach me the samba, or at least the part where you shake like you got a case of palsy, and there was a jaguar what wanted to turn my hide into a coat for his missus, and a bunch of half-naked little bitty folks what carried around a bunch of heads that were even littler and bittyer, but eventually I made it to Buenos Aires, which seemed like as good a place as any to set up shop and finally build my tabernacle. The sinners were thick on the ground, there wasn’t no civic authorities going around trying to tighten all the loose women, and clearly Erich von Horst had never visited the place, because most of the folks still had their folding money.

The biggest place in town was a joint called the Casa Rosada, but the evening I got there I inquired out front by the massive iron gates about renting a room and putting my tab on the cuff, and they just stared at me like they couldn’t understand a word, so I started explaining about vows of poverty - mine had come a few miles north of town when I found out that a flush does beat a full house when the guy with the flush is also the guy with the machete - but they didn’t answer, and I finally figgered that either they didn’t speak no civilized lingo or else the whole hotel was rented out, which could well have been the case considering how many generals I seen coming and going whilst we was talking, or anyway whilst I was talking and they was listening.

I asked one of the locals to recommend a good cheap hotel. He just shrugged and said, rather apologetically, “Senor, there are not even any good expensive hotels.”

I was about to explain to him that we were standing in the central district of one of the great cities of South America, but I had to step out of the way as two llamas and a pig walked by.

“Okay,” I said, “just tell me where the foreign folk go.”

“Home, senor,” he said.

“Before then.”

He shrugged. “The Presidente.”

“The President puts ‘em up?” I said. “I’d call that uncommonly Christian of him.”

He shook his head. “The Hotel Presidente, Senor.”

He pointed to de Julio Avenue, and I moseyed over there, but before I could reach the door I chanced upon a little beer garden right in front of it. I’d heard of beer gardens before, but I hadn’t never seen one until just then, and to my surprise it didn’t have no tables nor chairs nor other conveniences. In fact, all it had was three guys in uniforms I couldn’t recognize sitting down on the ground and swilling bottle after bottle of beer and speaking in some tongue that was harsher than Argentinian and made even less sense than French.

“Howdy,” I said, stepping over the hedge and trying not to crush an excessive number of flowers. “You gents mind if I join you? Finding a hotel in this town can be mighty thirsty work.”

“I didn’t know one was missing,” said one of ‘em in a thick German accent, and the other two threw back their heads and laughed, which guv me a chance to delicately reach over and nab a beer bottle.

“Thanks,” I said. “You guys are looking mighty spiffy in them uniforms. Are they doing military exercises in these here parts?”

“We have no idea,” he answered.

“Well, you’re all decked out in your parade finest, and each of you got a chest full of medals,” I said. “So you can understand me thinking you were part of the army.”
“We are,” he said.

“But not this army,” added another one of ‘em.

“Got separated from your outfit, did you?” I asked.

“We are members of the Third Reich!” said the first guy.

“So you’re looking for the First and Second Reichs, is that it?” I said.

“Fool!” snapped the one what hadn’t spoke up yet. “We are the Master Race!”

Well, I could tell right off that these here officers had been drinking all night and were pretty far gone, because they weren’t running the Master Race until Saturday over at Argentine Downs, and besides, to the best of my knowledge it was limited to horses.

“I didn’t mean no offense, neighbor,” I said. “By the way, I’m the Honorable Right Reverend Doctor Lucifer Jones at your service. Baptisms and holy matrimony done cheap, with a group rate for military funerals.”

“I am Colonel Guenther Schnitzel,” he said, offering me what would have been a snappy salute if he hadn’t poked himself in the eye. “And these are my companions: Colonel Hans Grueber and Colonel Wilhelm Schnabble.”

“Pleased to meet you gents,” I said. “Where do you hail from?”

“We already told you: we are members of the Third Reich.”

“Yeah, but I figger that’s some kind of amateur theater group or something like that,” I said. “What country are you from?”

They exchanged looks, and just when I figgered they was gonna tell me that they’d all forgot, Hans spoke up and said “Germany.”

“I don’t want to be the bearer of bad tidings,” I said, “but you must have tooken a wrong turn.” I pointed to the east. “Germany’s about seventeen trillion miles that way.”

“We are the advance guard,” said Wilhelm. “The Fuehrer sent us here to conquer South America while he’s preparing to conquer the rest of the world.”

“Just the three of you?” I asked.

“Nothing is impossible for the Master Race,” he said.

Obviously he hadn’t considered the likelihood of a muddy track, but I didn’t want to point it out to him, because he was already having trouble staying on topic, which was either conquering the world or finding them missing Reichs.

“He’s dubious,” said Hans, staring at me.

“No, I’m Lucifer,” I said. “You guys got a real head start on the beer, didn’t you?”

“I can see we shall have to convert you to Mein Kampf,” said Wilhelm.

“No, thanks,” I said. “I’m trying to give up these spicy foods.”

“Where are you heading?” asked Hans.

“Pretty much any place with a cheap bed, and if it’s occupied by an obliging lady of quality, so much the better,” I answered.“You sound like a man who is in need of capital,” he said.

“The Tabernacle of Saint Luke is always looking for substantial donations,” I told him.

“The Tabernacle of Saint Luke?” repeated Guenther, frowning.

“I’m its legal representative here on Earth,” I explained.

“And where is this magnificent edifice?” asked Guenther.

“Well, it ain’t quite got itself built yet,” I said. “We’re still collecting for the cornerstone. How much can I put you gents down for?”

“What seems a reasonable amount to you?” he asked.

“I don’t want to be greedy or nothing,” I told him. “How’s about six million apiece?”

“How about five hundred deutschmaks?” he countered.

“How much is that in real money?” I asked,

“Soon it will be the only real money,” he said.

“Well, I’ll have to have a heart-to-heart with God, but He’s a pretty agreeable critter about most things,” I said, stretching out my open hand, “so why don’t you just fork it over and if He’s in any way displeased, Him and me’ll find some way of getting it back to you.”

Guenther pulled a wad out of his wallet and counted out the money.

“You understand,” he said, “that in exchange for this donation, we will expect something in return.”

“I’ll put in a good word for you the next time I’m conferring with Him,” I said.

“We have in mind something a little more substantial than that,” said Guenther.

“Okay, I’ll name a pew after you.”

“Why don’t you let us tell you what our five hundred deutschmarks are buying?” said Guenther.

“A cornerstone?” I guessed.

“Silence, schweinhundt!” snapped Guenther.

“Okay,” I said, getting a little hot under the collar, “but just between you, me and the gatepost, I’ll lay plenty of eight-to-five that Jesus didn’t die for your sins.”

“Listen to me,” saud Guenther. “We are here to conquer South America and turn it into a German colony. We do not wish to sully our hands with members of inferior races. Therefore, we need a go-between, someone who will relay our commands to the lower orders of humanity that will be serving the glorious Fatherland.”

“Fatherland?” I said. “Where is that? I thunk you guys came over from Germany.”

“Let’s get someone else,” complained Hans. “I mean, there’s inferior and then -“’ he glanced at me - “there’s inferior.”

“We are running out of time,” noted Wilhelm,. “We’ve been here a whole week and haven’t subjugated a single nation. The Fuehrer won’t like that.”

“This guy’s your boss, huh?” I said.

“The Fuehrer is the greatest human being who has ever lived!” said Hans devoutly.

Now me, I’d have voted for Bubbles La Tour, the prima ballerina of the Rialto Burlesque back in Moline, Illinois, but I didn’t want to seem rude, so I just agreed that this here furrier was all the rage, and made a note to see if I could pick up a cut-rate mink coat the next time I fell eternally and helplessly in love, which tended to happen about every two or three months, give or take.

“Then,” said Hans, “after we have subjugated all of South America, we will return home and take our place at the head of the army as we march across Europe.”

“So this is kind of spring training for the main event?” I said.

“In a manner of speaking,” agreed Wilhelm.

“Okay,” I said, “If I’m gonna lead your army into battle, where are you hiding it?”

“On the outskirts of town,” said Hans uncomfortably.

“I come down from the north, and I never seen ‘em,” I said, “so I figger they’re to the south. How many divisions you got waiting, armed and ready?”

They just kind of looked uncomfortable and didn’t say nothing.

“Okay, then,” I said, “how many regiments?”

Wilhelm immediately started watching a bird what was nesting in a balcony across the street.

“Brigades?” I said.

Hans suddenly noticed his shoelace was untied and leaned over to fix it, which was kind of strange since he was wearing boots.

“Platoons?” I asked.

Guenther pulled a monocle out of his pocket and began polishing it with a dirty handkerchief.

“Squads?” I said.

“I think we have a squad,” said Hans.

“A small one,” added Wilhelm.

“And you guys want to conquer Argentina with a small squad?” I said.

“We have to!” said Hans.

“You don’t know what the Fuehrer does to failures!” added Wilhelm with a shudder.

“How many men have you actually got?” I said.

“Seven,” said Wilhelm.

“Six,” Hans corrected him. “One ran off with the milkmaid.”

“So you plan to lead six men into battle again the entire Argentine army?” I asked.

“Certainly not,” said Guenther.

“I’m glad at least one of you is talking sense,” I said.

“We function best in an advisory capacity,” he continued. “You are going to lead them.”

I was about to object, but then my Silent Partner smote me with another of His timely revelations. “That ain’t no problem at all,” I announced. “You’re down here for spring training before you take on the British and the Russians and all them other inferior races that misleadingly seem identical to you in every way except maybe language. Well, I need some spring training too, so if you’ll fork over your money and tell me where to find your army, I’ll be more than happy to go conquer Uruguay or Paraguay or one of them other guays for you.”

“At least we’d have a triumph to report,” said Hans hopefully.

“Besides, the Fuehrer flunked geography,” added Wilhelm. “He doesn’t know one South American country from another.”

Guenther considered it for a minute before nodding his agreement. “What the hell,” he said. “If he gets captured, tortured with poisonous snakes and hunger-crazed rats, and then has his eyes gouged out before he is finally killed, we still have enough money left to go hire another go-between.” He handed the deutschmarks to me. “We are proud to contribute to the Tabernacle of Saint Luke.”

“The Tabernacle of Saint Luke thanks you,” I said, stuffing the bills in a shirt pocket. “And my first sermon will be about how even vicious, godless heathen can have moments of generosity.”

“Just out of curiosity, who was Saint Luke?” asked Hans.

“You’re looking at him.”

“I thought you were Lucifer?”

“Now what kind of haul do you think our poor box would take in if I was running the Tabernacle of Saint Lucifer?” I asked.

“What did you do to become a saint?” asked Wilhelm.

“What did you do to become a colonel?” I shot back.

“Touche,” he said. “The subject is closed.”

“But the war is open for business,” I said. “You guys care which country we conquer?”

“Not really,” admitted Hans. “Which one do you prefer?”

“Whichever’s got the cheapest busfare,” I said. “No sense fighting a war if you’re going to tire yourself out just getting there. Although,” I added, “since defeat ain’t in our lexicon from this moment on, maybe we ought to consider conquering the country with the friendliest ladies of the evening.”

“We will leave it entirely in your hands,” said Guenther. “Just tell us when you’ve won.”

“Right,” said Hans. “You’d best get started. Don’t worry about casualties. They’re all inferior specimens anyway.”

“Well, if that’s the case,” I said, “maybe I ought to take some superior specimens with me, just to set a bold and noble example.”

#

Well, I never saw three people go deaf so fast. I figgered it might be contagious, so I took my leave of them. They’d kind of pointed off to the southeast when talking about their six-man army, so I hopped the bus and got off when I seen six fellers just kind of standing around a corner, passing a bottle of tequila amongst themselves.

“Howdy, brethren,” I said.

“Greetings,” replied one of them.

“Nice night for a war,” I said.

“Oh?” said another. “Who are you mad at?”

Well, when I mulled it over, I decided the only two people in the world I was mad at were Erich von Horst, and the sheriff what arrested Bubbles La Tour the last time I saw her, when she was giving a thoughtful demonstration of half a dozen new and unique uses for a broom, not a one of which had anything to do with sweeping the floor, but of course neither of ‘em was actually countries, so it didn’t hardly seem worth the bother to declare war on ‘em.

“I suppose we ought to be democratic about this,” I said, since I didn’t hold no grudge against Uruguay. “Who would you fellers like to go to war with?”

“My mother-in-law,” said one of ‘em promptly.

“My boss,” said another.

“You don’t have a boss,” said a third.

“Well, I would - if I had a job.”

“The man who made this tequila,” said another, taking a swig out of the bottle and making a face.

Pretty soon they all had a bunch of people they wanted to do battle with, but the problem was that all of them was local.

“Tell you what,” I said at last. “If you guys will pitch in and help me conquer Uruguay for the Third Fatherland, I’ll pay bus fare both ways.”

“What happened to the first two Fatherlands?” asked the one who didn’t have a boss.

“I guess the Motherlands caught ‘em playing around and guv ‘em the gate.”

A beat-up old bus with busted windows, torn seats, and worn tires pulled up just then, and I loaded all six of them onto it, bought seven tickets, and then joined ‘em.

#

“Damned lucky I found you fellows so easy,” I said. “I was afraid I was going to have to look for loaded cannons and things like that.”

“Why would we have a loaded cannon?”

“Well, you are the German army,” I said.

“No such thing, Senor. We are the janitors for the buildings on this block. We were on our break when you showed up.”

“What happened to the army?” I asked.

“Those other men? They got tired of waiting, so they all went home.”

“Well, even though you ain’t the regular army, I’m still paying your fare both ways,” I said, “and as soon as we conquer Uruguay I’m buying the first round of drinks.” Then I thunk a little more, and said, “Ah, what the hell - it ain’t that small a country: the first two rounds.”

“What about Madame Fifi’s House of Scarlet Pleasures?” said one of ‘em.

“I give up,” I said. “What about Madame Fifi’s House of Scarlet Pleasures?”

“If I bring you the Uruguayan president in chains, will you treat us to it?”

“Tell you what,” I said. “You bring him in chains, and he can treat us all to it.”

They let out a rousing cheer.

Well, we talked about this and that for the next few hours, mostly concentrating on some of the more unusual features to be found at Madame Fifi’s, and then the bus driver announced that we had crossed the border and entered Uruguay.

“Keep your heads down, men,” I warned ‘em. “We’re in enemy territory.”

“You’re on the 3A Bus Route,” corrected the driver in bored tones. “I take it every day of the year.”

“Yeah,” I said, “but we ain’t never declared war on Uruguay before.”

“Pablo did once, didn’t you?” asked one of them.

“Yes, but I didn’t really mean it,” explained Pablo. “I was dating a girl from Uruguay and she stood me up.”

I turned to the driver. “Where does this here assault vehicle let us off?”

“Montevideo,” he said.

“Montevideo to you,” I replied politely. “Now, where does it stop?”

“Downtown Montevideo,” he said irritably. “That is the capital of Uruguay.”

“Not much longer,” I said. “We may take the whole town back to Buenos Aires with us.”

I pulled out a deck of cards and gave my men a crash course in higher mathematics, all having to do with the number twenty-one, and before we knew it the driver announced that we had reached Montevideo.

I walked up to the front and looked out the window. “Well,” I said, “if we’re going to conquer Uruguay, this is the place to do it. Pull over at the next corner.”

He did as I told him, but then I saw a cop walking his beat.

“Is he carrying a gun?” I asked, peering at him through the glass.

“Yes, I think so,” said the driver.

“Go another two or three blocks,” I said.

He drove three blocks and stopped.

“See any more cops around?” I asked him.

“No, Senor.”

“Fine.” I turned to my army. “Men, we’re getting out here.” As they clambered down onto the sidewalk, I turned to the driver. “Pick us up on your way back.”

“That will be in about five minutes, Senor.”

“No problem,” I said. “It ain’t that big a country.”

I stepped down onto the pavement, briefly examined the area to make sure there weren’t no cops around, and cleared my throat.

“I, Lucifer Jones, hereby declare Uruguay conquered and now the property of the Third Fatherland. If anyone’s got any objections, let him speak now or forever hold his peace.”

“I have one,” said Pablo.

“Shut up,” I said. “You’re on our side.” I waited a respectable thirty seconds, and there weren’t no more objections. “Man and boy, that was the easiest five hundred deutschmarks I ever made,” I announced. “Have we got time for a victory drink?”

“I don’t think so,” said Pablo mournfully. “Here comes the bus.”

“Climb aboard,” I said. “We’ll get our drink at some little town along the way, where they don’t water their liquor and the prices are better.”

And a moment later, with Uruguay all wrapped up and ready to be delivered, we boarded the bus and headed back to Argentina. We sang martial songs, especially about oversexed enemy captives named Rosita, and played a little more blackjack, and were all set to stop for a drink in some village near the border (which I suppose officially didn’t exist no more), when the bus came to a stop again.

“Out of gas?” I asked.

“Out of courage,” said the driver, pointing nervously ahead of us, where there were some fifty uniformed soldiers with guns, and most of them guns were pointed right at us.

I turned to say a word or two of encouragement to my victorious army, but all six of ‘em was hiding under the seats, so I just climbed down off the bus and walked forward, with my hands up in the air so everyone could see I didn’t have no weapons or hidden aces in ‘em.

“Greetings, brothers,” I said. “To what do I owe the honor of this here get-together?”

“You are our prisoner,” announced an officer, stepping forward.

“I’d love to be your prisoner,” I said, “but we’ll have to do it some other time. I’m in a hurry to get back to Buenos Aires and report that Uruguay has fallen.”

“It has?” he said, turning white as a dirty sheet. “I never heard a shot.”

“It was a pretty bloodless victory,” I said.

“Miguel!” he hollered. “Did you hear the news?”

“I don’t believe it!” said the officer called Miguel.

“Don’t take my word for it,” I said. “Ask the men in the bus.”

I indicated my troops, who all nodded their heads vigorously, then ducked back behind the seats again.

“This is tragic!” said the one called Miguel. “What foul fiend perpetrated this heinous sneak attack?”

“’Twasn’t no sneak attack,” I said. “It was right out there in the open for everyone to see. But in answer to your question, the foul fiends are Colonel Guenther Schnitzel, Colonel Hans Grueber, and Colonel Wilhelm Schnauzer, and my understanding is that they’re considering packing up the whole country and shipping it to Germany.”

“Those bastards!” screamed the first officer. “We were going to conquer Uruguay next week!”

“Actually,” said the other apologetically, “we were going to conquer it last week, but I had a hangnail and his cousin was getting married.”

“We’re not going to permit them to plunder the treasury we were going to plunder!” yelled the first one. He turned to me. “I am Colonel Jose Marcos of the Uruguayan army, and this is my co-conspirator…ah…my fellow officer, Colonel Miguel Garcia.”

“And I’m the Right Reverend Doctor Lucifer Jones,” I said, wondering what it was about being colonels that made people so bloodthirsty.

“We will give you one thousand American dollars if you will lead us to these German usurpers,” said Jose. “Half now, half when you deliver them.”

“Right,” said Miguel. “We will find them, cut them to ribbons, and then Paraguay will be ours.”

“Uruguay, Miguel,” said Jose. “Uruguay.”

“Oh, right,” apologized Miguel. “Paraguay is next month.”

I resisted the urge to say “You go Uruguay and I’ll go mine,” because they clearly weren’t in the mood for highbrow sophisticated witticisms, so I simply allowed that it was a right generous offer, and the sooner they paid it the sooner I could put ‘em in touch with the German colonels, who were probably right where I’d left ‘em unless they finally found them other two Reichs what went missing and took ‘em home.

Well, money changed hands, and in my good-heartedness I told ‘em that they’d not only paid for a cornerstone, or at least a corner brick, of the Tabernacle of Saint Luke, but they’d also bought absolution for any sins they committed at Madame Fifi’s for the next 72 hours.

I thought Miguel was going to head right off to Madame Fifi’s, but Jose said no, they’d paid for the information and now they wanted it. So I told ‘em that the three colonels in question had been sprawled out in the garden of the Hotel Presidente when last I saw ‘em, and I couldn’t see no reason why they should stray too far from it.

“We don’t want to march right down de Julio Avenue,” said Miguel. “Who knows what kind of trap they might have set?”

“Right,” said Jose. “We should make them come to our trap.”

“Do we have one?” asked Miguel.

“You, Reverend Jones,” continued Jose, “will arrange a meeting between Miguel and myself, and your three German officers, in the little border town of Salto. Then, when they arrive, our men will attack and cut them to pieces, and Uruguay will be ours.”

I got back on the bus, and then we began driving off to Buenos Aires. Me and the army started swapping risible stories - I especially liked the one about the blind carpenter and the dancing girl - and then almost before I knew it we were pulling up to the Hotel Presidente. The colonels were still in the beer garden, crushing the flowers in between bouts of watering ‘em, and I walked over to report that Uruguay had fallen. For some reason this seemed to surprise them, but I assured them we’d done it without no casualties nor even any collateral damage, and finally they offered to walk me inside and buy me a victory drink.

“Well, that’s mighty nice of you,” I said, “but I got urgent business in Salto.”

“Oh?” said Guenther suspiciously. “What’s in Salto?”
I’d thunk long and hard about it on the way back, and I figgered if I told ‘em a bunch of guys were waiting them to chop them into fishbait they’d probably decide they had urgent business elsewhere, so instead I said that Madame Fifi’s House of Scarlet Pleasures had opened up a branch in Salto and was giving out free coupons, and suddenly all three colonels made a beeline for the bus and had the driver gun the gas pedal, even before the conquering army could get off and go back to work.

All they could talk about was Madame Fifi’s, though Wilhelm, who was clearly the most sensitive of ‘em, kept asking if making love to a member of an inferior species might not constitute bestiality, which was good for ten years in the hoosegow back in Germany.

It began raining about halfway through the trip, and pretty soon it was pouring cats and dogs and other critters that unlike most men got enough brains to come in out of the rain. Finally the bus pulled up in the mud in the middle of Salto, and everyone got out - the Germans, who still hadn’t stopped talking about Madame Fifi’s, and the army and me and the bus driver, just to stretch our legs and keep clear of the coming slaughter.

Then Jose and Miguel walked out from a nearby building, and I could see that the rest of their army was hidng behind it. Jose stopped by the bus long enough to pay me my final five hundred dollars, and then the two Uruguayan colonels walked straight up to the three German colonels.

“You have a lot of nerve, Senors,” said Jose. “Uruguay is ours, and I demand that you relinquish it right now.”

“We won it fair and square,” said Guenther, “and we are not giving it back.”

“We’ll see about that!” snapped Miguel. “You are outnumbered fifty to one!”

“That’s seventeen to one,” Jose corrected him. “With one left over.”

“What are you talking about?” demanded Miguel.

“Well, we have fifty armed men, plus ourselves, so that’s fifty-two, and there are three of them, so that comes to seventeen-to one, with one of us left over.”

“Who cares?” screamed Miguel. “They’re outnumbered and we’re going to kill them! That’s all that counts!”

“I beg to differ,” said Hans calmly. “We are members of the Aryan race. One of us is worth fifteen of you.”

“Even if that’s true, and I’m not conceding it for an instant,” replied Jose, “then we still outumber you one-point-sixteen-to-one!”

“Ah, but it’s raining,” noted Guenther. “That decreases your mobility by nineteen percent.”

“But you wear a monocle,” said Jose. “That decreases your field of vision eleven percent even if it wasn’t raining.”

“But there’s also a nine percent chance that your pistol will misfire in the rain,” noted Hans.

“Can we just stop talking and kill them, please?” said Miguel wearily.

“Oh, all right,” said Jose. “Anything to make you happy. Let’s step out of the way of our bayonet-wielding infantry.”

Nobody moved.

“Uh…I can’t lift my legs,” said Miguel.

“Neither can I,” said Guenther, frowning.

And sure enough, all five of ‘em had sunk into the muck and mire past their knees, and they were stuck there.

Suddenly I saw the Uruguayan infantry break cover and race over toward the bus.

“Take us back to Montevideo,” said one of ‘em to the driver.

“Don’t you want to save your fearless leaders?” I asked.

“They aren’t fearless, and they’re not our leaders. We only came with them because they told us Madame Fifi had opened a new branch here.”

I turned to my army. “How about you guys?” I said. “You want to save any of these here colonels?”

“No!” they said in unison.

“You sure?” I said. “After all, you won a whole country for ‘em. They might want to give you a slice of it.”

“They would, too, the bastards!” said Pablo passionately.

“I’m not quite sure I follow that particular line of reasoning,” I said.

“It’s hard enough just to keep our block clean,” he said. “Who wants to be in charge of cleaning a whole country?”

I could see where his sentiments lay, so I didn’t try to talk him out of it. Then I took one last look at the combatants. Hans was explaining that the mud wouldn’t hamper three guys as much as two, and Jose was answering that any mathematician would know that two guys were one-third less likely to be hampered, and then Wilhelm said he hadn’t eaten all day and Miguel said that as soon as he got loose he’d cut Guenther into pieces and feed him to Wilhelm, and Hans snickered and said that his knife would be so rusty by then that it wouldn’t cut through Wilhelm’s flesh, and pretty soon they were back to yelling and cursing at each other, and I noticed that all their noise had attracted a bunch of curious spectators, most of which had four legs and long whiskers and were covered with spots, and that seemed like an appropriate time to leave all them would-be conquerors behind, because the real conquerors had just showed up.

We dropped the Uruguayan army off in Montevideo, then turned the nose of the bus back to Buenos Aires. We stopped by Salto, but there wasn’t no sign of none of the colonels, though we did see some mighty fat, contented jaguars.

Me and the Argentine army got off in the middle of town, they decided to go back to their jobs and their womenfolk, and as for me, I’d had my fill of conquering countries and decided it was time to start plundering them. I’d heard of some forgotten kingdoms off to the west that were filled to overflowing with priceless gems and liberal-minded high priestesses, and I decided then and there to go grab my share of both. But as you will see, it wasn’t quite as easy as it sounds.