HELD FOR RANSOM
"Great Scott, Jack, how different you look. What a peach of a get-up."
The Temples, father and son, and Frank Merrick stood on the gravel-bed
outside the little wooden box doing duty as station at Ransome, New
Mexico. The transcontinental flier which had dropped them, was
dwindling in the distance. Jack Hampton, whom the chums and Mr. Temple
had crossed the country from New York to join, was in the center of
the group. Greetings had been exchanged, they had all slapped each
other on the back indiscriminately and enthusiastically, and now Bob
Temple stood off at arm's length to admire his chum.
"Yes, sir. Some get-up," he added.
"Righto," agreed Frank, also gazing at the handsome Jack admiringly.
"Where do you get 'em? Lead me to the store right away."
Jack, who was 19 and the oldest of the three chums, was almost as tall
as the six-foot Bob, but of more slender build than that gridiron
warrior. He had the build of a thoroughbred, long legs, flat hips,
trim waist, deep chest and broad shoulders and a flat back. Both at
dashes and distance running Jack easily was supreme at Harrington Hall
Military Academy, which all three boys attended. Like Bob he was fair
and had curling chestnut hair. His eyes were blue and lively, his
features not too regular. Altogether, he was a striking figure.
Today he was dressed in khaki shirt and breeches. Instead of puttees
he wore high, laced leather boots that reached to his knees. On his
head, pushed back so that his wavy hair showed in front, was a
wide-brimmed sombrero. By his side, suspended from a cartridge belt,
swung an automatic revolver in its holster. This was the outfit so
admired by his chums from the East, trim in their light-weight summer
suits of the latest cut and wearing low tan shoes more adapted for
city streets than for the sands stretching inimitably on every hand.
"We've worried considerably while aboard the train, Jack," said Mr.
Temple, "for fear something dire might happen to you these last two or
three days. I'm glad to see you are all right. Any word from your
father?"
Jack shook his head in negation. "Not a word," said he, "since those
two rascals picked him up in your airplane and headed for Old Mexico."
"Well, don't worry, Jack," said Mr. Temple. "I don't believe his life
is in danger."
"I'm trying not to worry, sir," said Jack. "But now that you and the
fellows are here, we shall have to get busy at once. It has been
pretty hard to wait for you. I wanted to ride into Old Mexico myself
at once."
Bags in hand the group was moving to the rear of the station, and now
came in sight of a ramshackle automobile with a Mexican at the wheel,
easily distinguished by his swarthy coloring and his ragged mustaches,
as well as by his peculiar dress--a steep crowned hat like a sugar
loaf, with a very wide brim, a tight bolero jacket that did not reach
to the waist and disclosed a dark blue silken shirt beneath and
tight-fitting trousers that flared at the bottom.
"That is Remedios and his flivver," explained Jack. "He does odd jobs
all through this region. I hired him to take us out to camp. But
before we climb aboard, take a look at this view."
Obediently, they paused and gazed at the surrounding country. In the
foreground was a wide dirt street at the rear of the station. For the
equivalent of the length of a city block it was lined on both sides
with wooden structures one-story in height, but with the false fronts
of the frontier country pretending to second stories--a front wall
sticking above the roof and with the semblance of windows painted on
it. A dry goods store, a Chinese laundry, an alleged hotel, several
restaurants, several ex-saloons still carrying on some kind of
business--these comprised the lot. At one end the street ran abruptly
into the desert. At the other was a cluster of old freight cars made
into dwellings, with Mexican men, women and children loitering in
front in the sun. This was Ransome.
"Not much of a town," said Jack, "just a trading post for a wide
stretch of this country around here. But look at the setting, will
you?" And he swept a hand in a wide gesture indicating the horizon.
On every hand stretched the desert, broken by clumps of mesquite and
cactus with the only trees in the landscape the thick belt of
cottonwoods lining the banks of a stream that rose in the mountains to
the north and ran by the town. North, east, south and west lofty
mountains gleamed on the far horizon, while closer at hand rose the
foothills. These latter were of fantastic shapes, like castles, tables
or crouching animals, and of the most vivid coloring. Over all was the
warm and brilliant sunshine of late afternoon. As for the air, it was
clean and despite the warmth of the day already beginning to turn cool
as the sun hovered on the rim of the farthest mountains to the west.
"Some country," said Bob emphatically.
"Wait until you have known it day in and day out for months," said
Jack. "You will never want to go back to Long Island."
"Is that the way you feel about it, Jack?" asked Frank.
"Oh, well, I suppose I'll want to go home sometime," said Jack. "But
just the same, I'm in love with this country. As for the old-timers
off there in the hills, you couldn't drive them away."
"Say, Jack," said Frank, as they all continued standing and gazing at
the surrounding scene, "I thought we'd see some oil derricks around
here. But there isn't one in sight."
"No, Frank," interposed Mr. Temple, in explanation, "you see the
Independents are mainly located over in the Panhandle, or upper
western portion of Texas and in Oklahoma. That is east from here. But
Mr. Hampton had his geologists in through this region, and they
reported the prospects for finding oil favorable. Then the
Independents came in quietly and took up leases, and Mr. Hampton
followed to prepare for development of the field."
"Yes, that's the way of it," agreed Jack.
"Say, Jack," said Frank, "I'm hungry as a hunter. If we are going to
get dinner at your camp, let's move along. How far is it, by the way?"
"Ten miles," said Jack, leading the way toward the automobile with its
dozing Mexican at the wheel. "Come on."
The others followed and were about to climb into the automobile when
the rapid hoofbeats of a galloping horse ringing on the sun-baked clay
of the street drew their attention, and they paused.
"Why, it's Gabby Pete," said Jack in surprise, moving forward a step
as the rider reined up his horse so sharply that it reared and slid on
braced hind legs. The animal came to rest so close to him that Jack
was forced to give back a step, and it stood there snorting and
blowing.
An oldish man of tremendous girth, but who sat his horse easily
despite his size, grinned down at Jack. He was white-haired and under
the brim of his sombrero little eyes twinkled genially and shrewdly in
a round, fat face.
"What brings you here, Pete?" asked Jack, sharply. "I thought you were
at camp, getting dinner for my guests." He indicated the boys and Mr.
Temple, who stood close at hand, looking on. "Who will prepare dinner
for them now?"
Gabby Pete, the talkative camp cook, scratched his head under his
sombrero, and looked solemn. "Waal, they'll have ter wait a bit," he
said. "But I kin rustle grub in a hurry onct I git back ter camp. An',
anyhow, Mr. Jack, a feller came to camp a while ago in one o' them
there aeryoplanes. Jest flew up almost to the door an' steps out an'
gin me this yere letter." Here Gabby Pete produced a missive from the
front of his shirt, and passed it to Jack. "He sez as how it war most
partickler that you git it right away. So I rid in with it," said
Gabby Pete, adding aggrievedly: "an' now you hop on me fur it."
Jack seized the missive in a sudden fever of anxiety. An airplane? He
opened the letter, took in its contents at a glance, and turned
excitedly to his chums.
"Father's held for ransom," he cried. "Here. Read this."