LOST IN THE CHAPARRAL.
An hour later Billie and Pancho Villa stood before Gen. Sanchez. It was
then ten o'clock and the sun would arise shortly before five. Neither
Billie nor Villa had any doubt that Don Rafael would carry out his
threat to execute the two young Americans. It was in keeping with his
previous actions and with the so-called laws of the revolution.
They had encountered some difficulty in getting through the city lines,
but Villa was equal to the occasion and they reached the Federal pickets
in safety. Here they gave their names and were quickly escorted to Gen.
Sanchez's headquarters.
The general had lain down to take a few minutes' sleep, but had left
word to be awakened if anything was heard from the boys.
Briefly Billie told his story.
"What can be done to save my friends?" he asked.
Gen. Sanchez looked grave.
"It is a hard problem," he replied. "We have been trying all day to
force our way into the city, but have not yet succeeded, as you know. It
seems hardly possible that we should be able to carry the lines between
now and dawn."
"Still there is a way," said Villa.
The general regarded him with considerable surprise.
"How?" he asked.
"By the bed of the river."
"What do you mean?"
"The river," explained Pancho, "runs right beside the walls of the
barracks. The water on this side is not so deep but that it is possible
for men to march right up to the walls of the barracks, if they know the
channel. I know it. If I had a hundred men who were not afraid I could
carry the barracks.
"But," he continued, "in order to lead this force to the barracks
unobserved, it would be necessary for you first to attack the city from
the opposite side. While the fighting is going on fiercely over there
and the revolutionists are striving to prevent you from entering the
city on the east, I will lead this hundred men into the barracks. As
soon as we have rescued the Americans we will attack the revolutionists
in the rear! You know what the result will be?"
"Undoubtedly!"
"Then you agree?"
"Yes; but I hardly know how to withdraw a hundred men from any one place
on our attacking line. Our force is small as it is."
"I wish some of the rangers were over here," exclaimed Billie. "They'd
help, I know."
"Yes," replied Gen. Sanchez, "but that is impossible. If any American
soldiers were to help us it would be almost as bad at this particular
time as though they helped the other side. We shall have to do the best
we can. I will promise you fifty, and a hundred if possible. Return at
3:30 o'clock and I will give the order."
"I need a hundred men," declared Villa as he and Billie left the
general's presence, "and I don't see how I can do with less."
"I'll tell you!" suddenly exclaimed Billie. "Maybe the rangers cannot
come as rangers to help rescue Donald and Adrian, but they can come as
friends of mine and I believe they will. I have at least five hours to
get across the river and bring them back. I am going to try. It is the
only way. I wonder if we can find a horse!"
"_Cierto!_" replied Villa. "We'll take the first good one we see!"
This they did, and ten minutes later Billie was again headed for the
American shore.
Billie had been over the ground between Presidio and Presidio del Norte
so many times that he thought he knew it perfectly, and as a result,
although the night was dark, he put spurs to his mount and was quickly
beyond the Federal outposts.
But the horse Billie was riding was not Jupiter. He was undoubtedly a
good horse, as the speed at which he went fully testified. But it is one
thing to have a horse that understands English and another to have one
that understands only Mexican, as Billie soon discovered.
The horse which Billie had mounted at Pancho's suggestion was Mexican
clear through. He had never been across the Rio Grande, nor had he the
slightest knowledge of the ground over which he was running. He had come
from the south only twenty-four hours before, and, despite all that
Billie could do, he insisted in bearing away from the river. Time and
again Billie forced him back into the right direction, as he thought,
but after half an hour's hard riding, which should have brought him to
the spot where the boys had landed from the boat, there was no river in
sight.
"By George!" exclaimed Billie aloud, as he finally drew rein and peered
into the darkness, "I wonder where that river has gone to. It ought to
be around here somewhere!"
He turned his horse sharply to the left and for several minutes rode
slowly along, looking all about his narrow horizon.
"Don't you know where you are?" he asked of the horse; but not
understanding English, there was no answering movement of the animal's
ears and no sense of that companionship which a horseman should feel
from his mount.
"If I'd had Jupiter under me I wouldn't be in this fix!" thought Billie,
and for a brief moment he was almost overcome with a sense of
loneliness.
But there was no time to waste. The lives of his companions depended
upon his success, and he hastily pulled himself together and spurred
forward.
For another five minutes he galloped along, when all at once his horse
went down upon his knees and only the saddle kept Billie from going over
his head.
Quickly gathering himself, he tried his best with the reins to lift the
animal to his feet; but his efforts were in vain and he was obliged to
dismount.
One look at the ground beneath his feet was sufficient. He had ridden
into the midst of a prairie dog village and his horse had fallen into
one of the holes.
After some minutes, Billie succeeded in getting the animal on his feet;
but when he mounted and started to ride, he found that the broncho was
so lame he could scarcely move.
While the accident was unfortunate in one way, it was a good thing in
another. It served as a landmark to tell Billie where he was--for the
very first day the boys had arrived on the Rio Grande they had noticed
it and Billie was sure that it was the only dog village for miles.
"I must be about two miles from Don Pablo's," he mused. "That makes me
fully six miles from the city and with this lame pony I don't know how
long it will take me to get there! I wish I could get hold of one of old
Don Pablo's mules."
He gave the broncho a slap with the reata, not having the heart to use
his spurs. The animal tried to go a bit faster, but the effort was a
failure.
"I can walk faster than this," was the lad's next thought and without a
moment's hesitation he threw himself from the horse and started in the
direction of the river on a run.
"If I can only find that river," he muttered as he sped along. "I'll
stick close to it until I reach town. It can't be so very far away!"
Billie was a good runner and he had learned in his months of experience
on the plains how to run so as not to tire himself. It was vastly
different from running along a beaten path, or even along a regular
trail. The ground was covered with sand hummocks, and every once in a
while he would run into a patch of sand so deep that it was impossible
to do more than walk.
After some minutes Billie struck a belt of chaparral.
"Well!" he gasped, "this is encouraging, anyway. I am getting nearer the
river."
Through the brush he ran and finally, to his great delight, he emerged
into a beaten path.
"Now I'm all right," he thought. "This will lead me right down to the
shore."
Encouraged by the thought, he put on more steam and spurted ahead; but
when, after five minutes' running, he failed to come to the water, he
stopped and looked around.
"I must be going in the wrong direction," he exclaimed, and turning,
began to retrace his tracks.
For nearly ten minutes he kept on his course and then again stopped,
pretty well tired out.
"This is something fierce!" he said aloud. "I'm in as bad a fix as that
chap you read about in mythology, who was lost in a labyrinth. I used to
think that was a pretty fishy story, but here I find myself in the same
fix. I wish the stars would come out!"
But the stars failed to appear and Billie stood perplexed.
As he stood thus undecided, his ears caught the sound of a strange
little cough and a smile spread itself over his face.
"The prairie dogs are barking at the pinto," he laughed. "Well, anyway,
I know where I am as far as they are concerned. I must have gone pretty
nearly in a circle. That wouldn't be strange for me, but why should this
path go in a circle?"
He took off his sombrero and wiped the sweat from his forehead.
"It's mighty funny," he continued, still thinking of the path.
Then an explanation came to him.
"It isn't a circle!" he exclaimed. "It's a loop and I would have gone
straight across it if I had kept on the way I was going when I first
struck it. There must be a bend in the river down here somewhere."
Billie's surmise was quite correct. It was a bend in the river, and in a
few minutes more, pushing straight through the chaparral, he came in
sight of the water.
"Well!" declared the lad as he drew a deep breath, "I'm certainly glad
to see you! And now to get to the other side."
He sprang down the bank in three long strides and peered out toward the
American shore. It seemed a long way and the water was running at a good
speed.
"What a fool I was not to stick to the broncho," he muttered. "If he
couldn't walk, he could swim. If I was sure he was still there I'd go
back and get him; but that's altogether unlikely. No sir, I've just got
to swim it alone and the sooner the better."
He threw off his jacket and began to unbuckle his cartridge belt.
"If I could only find a log of some kind, it wouldn't be so bad; but I
don't see any."
He took a few steps along the shore, peering into the darkness, as he
rolled his belt about his six-shooter and deposited them in his hat.
Then he turned again to the water, and, throwing off his boots--which
together with his jacket he tossed up on the bank, as if perchance he
might come back for them on the morrow--he waded in.
He had reached deep water, and was just about to strike out for the
opposite shore, when his ear caught the sound of oar-locks. He paused in
the act of launching himself into the current, and listened attentively.
There was no mistaking the sound, and he waited anxiously to see what
would appear.
He had not long to wait, for a couple of minutes later a batteau, very
much like the one the rangers had captured the night before, came into
sight, rowing slowly upstream. It contained three persons, two at the
oars and the third standing in the bow of the boat, looking forward.
Billie sank himself into the water until nothing could be seen below his
eyes. There was only one chance in fifty that he would escape detection,
but he was in luck, and, as soon as the boat passed him, he struck out
for it with all his speed.
Good swimmer though he was, he would never have been able to catch the
boat had the men been rowing with any speed; but they were evidently
looking for something, and were going so slowly that it was no trick at
all to swim up behind and seize the stern with both hands.
For several minutes after he had secured a hold he made no move, being
content to let the boat tow him along; but, after a few minutes, he
began silently to use his feet and legs and to turn the boat's head
toward the American shore.
At first the oarsmen did not notice what was happening. Then the one on
the American side of the boat exclaimed:
"_Caramba, hombre!_ Don't pull so hard! Can't you see you are pulling us
out of our course?"
"Yes," echoed the man in the bow, "don't get too near the American shore
tonight. We may be watched."
"I'm not pulling hard," replied the other oarsman. "It's Emilio who is
weak. If he would pull harder, there'd be no trouble!"
Hearing the controversy, Billie sank lower into the water, and let the
boat hold its course. Then, after a couple of minutes, he again diverted
the little craft, being more careful, however, to do it gradually.
Several times he performed the feat, until the boat was past the middle
of the stream.
"I guess I'm near enough now," he thought to himself, "so I won't have
any trouble," and was about to release his hold and let the boat go on
her way, when the man at the bow called out sharply:
"Where are you going? Do you want the gringo patrol to get you?"
The words were spoken in a much louder tone, evidently, than had been
intended, and must have been heard from the American shore, for
immediately thereafter there came a challenge in English:
"Boat ahoy! Who goes there?"
There was no answer from the boat, only an answering tug from the
oarsman, who pulled lustily to turn his boat from shore, while Billie,
using himself as a rudder, strove his best to keep the boat in an
opposite direction. The result was that the boat kept straight ahead.
"Who goes there?" again came the challenge. "Answer, or I'll fire!" A
threat which was carried out a moment later when no reply was
forthcoming.
The patrol must have caught a glimpse of the boat, for the bullet
whistled through the air close to it.
"_Caramba!_" shouted the man in the bow. "Why don't you pull?"
"We are pulling!" exclaimed the oarsmen, "but the evil one must have the
boat in his grasp, Don Pablo! We can't turn it!"
"Don Pablo!" exclaimed Billie to himself, "so that's who it is!" And he
struggled harder than ever to turn the boat toward the shore, while the
patrol, evidently reinforced by two or three comrades, poured a sharp
fusillade in the direction of the sound of the voices.
"The evil one, verdad!" exclaimed Don Pablo. "The evil one must have
hold of you, Emilio. Pull!"
But, instead of pulling, Emilio dropped his oar and pitched forward into
the boat, pierced by a rifle ball from the shore patrol, which now
seemed to have the range of the boat.