PINING FOR THE GOOD OLD U.S.
"You will have to be very careful that Gato does not get another
chance to shoot at you, _mi caballero_," Nicolas went on. "He
does not believe that you are unarmed, or he would speedily settle
with you. But he will shoot at you frequently, from ambush, if
you give him the chance."
"Then I hope he'll do it frequently," grimaced Reade. "The need
of frequent shooting indicates bad marksmanship."
"Senor," begged Nicolas, "I would not joke about Gato. He means
to kill you, or worse."
"Worse?" queried Tom, raising his eyebrows. "How could that be?"
The Mexican servant made a gesture of horror.
"It is worse when our Mexican bandits torture a man," he replied,
his voice shaking. "They are fiends--those of our Mexicans who
have bad hearts."
"Then you believe that Gato plans something diabolical, just because
I walloped him in a fair fight--or in a fight where the odds
were against me?"
"It matters not as to the merits of the fight," Nicolas went on.
"Gato will never be satisfied until he has hurt you worse than
you hurt him."
"And perhaps Don Luis may be behind the rascal, urging him on
and offering to protect him from the law? What do you think about
that, Nicolas?"
"I cannot say," Nicolas responded, with a slight shrug. "I am
Don Luis's servant."
"Pardon my forgetting that," begged Harry. "I should not have
spoken as I did."
"For more than one reason," Tom muttered, "we shall do well to
get out of this unfriendly stretch of country. Harry, we're pining
for the good old U.S., aren't we?"
"Just a glimpse of the American side of the border--that's all
we want," laughed Hazelton.
"And, if we're to be killed, we'll at least be killed while trying
to reach the border," Reade proposed.
"Do you intend starting now, senor?" asked Nicolas, in a low voice.
"Not before dark," Tom murmured.
"Then why do you two not sleep for a while?" begged the servant.
"You will need some strength if you are to travel through these
mountains all night. Sleep! You can trust me to keep awake and
to warn you if danger gets close."
"Thank you, old fellow; I know we can trust you," Tom replied.
He stretched himself out on the ground, pulling his hat down
over his eyes. Within two minutes he was sound asleep. Not more
than a minute after that Harry, too, was dozing.
It was still daylight when Tom awoke. He sat up. Harry was sleeping
soundly, and Nicolas was not in sight.
"Abandoned?" thought Reade. "No; that's hardly likely. Nicolas
rings true. Hiding close to here, undoubtedly, that he may keep
better watch. A call will bring him here."
Tom rose, to look about.
"Be cautious, senor," came the whispered advice from an unseen
speaker. "If you expose yourself you may invite a bullet."
Tom promptly accepted the advice. Going toward the sound of the
voice, he found Nicolas crouched in a trough of rock not far from
where they had lain down.
"Now, Nicolas, it's your turn," whispered Reade.
"My turn for what, senor?"
"Sleep!"
"I am but a servant, senor. I do not need rest."
"Nicolas, you go in and lie down near Hazelton, and go to sleep."
The Mexican grumbled a little, but all his life he had been taught
to obey orders. Within sixty seconds the servant was sound asleep.
An hour later it began to darken.
Harry Hazelton awoke with a start, to find Tom with his finger
on his lips.
"Nicolas is asleep," whispered Reade. "Don't make any noise that
will awaken him. I have no doubt that he would go through with
us and be our guide. But that would put him in bad with Don Luis,
and we have no right to expose the poor fellow to blame. Move
about without noise, and we'll eat some of the stuff that Nicolas
brought us."
This was done. It was dark by the time that the simple meal had
been finished. Tom drew out another five-dollar bill, which he
pinned to the shirt of the poor Mexican.
"Now we'll take all the food with us," Tom whispered. "Nicolas
won't need any of it, as he's less than twenty minutes' walk from
a square feed. Come along--on tip-toe."
Tom led the way through the darkness, not halting until they were
well away from the Mexican.
"Now, wait a moment, until we get our bearings from the stars,"
Tom proposed. "Then we'll make a straight, fast, soft hike to
the telegraph station."
"Only twenty miles away, over the boulders," murmured Hazelton.
"This is where our past physical training comes in finely," Tom
rejoined. He looked up at the sky, pointing to and naming several
of the fixed stars.
"Now, as we know our course, we can hardly, go astray," Reade
suggested. "Ready! Forward march!"
Tom took the lead in this, as he did in nearly everything else.
For more than an hour the young engineers trudged ahead. When
at last they halted for breath they had covered at least three
miles of their way.
"Nicolas will feel insulted when he wakes, I'm afraid," suggested
Hazelton.
"I'm afraid he will. Nicolas may have a copper skin, and be under-sized
and illiterate, but he's one of the old-fashioned, true-to-the-death
kind. But, if he helped guide us out of this wilderness, Don Luis
would probably flay the poor fellow alive afterwards."
"I wonder if we're going to make the telegraph station by daylight!"
Harry went on.
"I'm afraid not. But we ought to be there some time during the
forenoon."
"That will give Don Luis time, perhaps, to wake up to our disappearance
and send men after us," hinted Harry.
Tom's face grew long at this suggestion. He was well aware that
Don Luis Montez was a man who was both dreaded and obeyed in these
mountains.
"Oh, well, we'll do all we can for ourselves," Tom proposed.
"We'll keep cheerful about it, too--until the worst happens."
"I'm rested, Tom. Shall we start along?"
"Yes; for we're both anxious to get through!"
Once more Reade took the lead. They trudged another mile, often
without finding the semblance of a trail. Finally, they discovered
what seemed to be a crude road leading in their general direction.
Ahead boulders loomed up. They were getting into a rough part
of the mountains.
As Tom plodded around a bend in the road, past a big rock, he
heard a low laugh.
"Oblige me, senores, by showing me how high you can reach in the
air!" came a mocking voice.
Tom and Harry had both stepped around into the plain range of
vision of Pedro Gato.
That scoundrel stood with rifle butt to his shoulder, his glance
running along the barrel. The weapon covered them.
"Don't forget! Your hands, _caballeros_!" insisted Gato, jubilantly.
For a brief instant Tom Reade hesitated. He was doing some lightning
calculating as to whether he would be able to spring forward under
the rifle barrel and knock up the weapon.
But a second glance showed him that he could not hope to do it.
Pedro Gato was completely master of the situation.
"For the third time--and the last, _caballeros_ your hands!
Up high!" commanded Gato exultantly.
"Now, stand just so, until I get back of you," ordered Gato.
"Do not attempt any tricks, and do not turn to look back at me.
If you do I shall pull the trigger--once and again. This rifle
shoots fast."
While talking Gato had placed himself to the rear of his captives,
who, with hands up, remained facing ahead.
"Do you want us to keep our hands up forever?" demanded Tom Reade,
gruffly.
"To take them down will be the signal for death," replied Gato
coolly. "Take your hands down, or turn this way, if you deem
it best. Possibly you will prefer to die, for to-night's entertainment
may strike you as being worse than death. The matter is within
your own choice, wholly, _caballeros_. Perhaps on the whole it
would be far better for you to lower your hands and die."
"Cut out the thrills and the mock-comedy, Gato, and tell us what
else you want us to do," Tom urged, stiffly.
"Oho! My Gringo wild-cat is much tamer, isn't he?" sneered Gato.
"But he shall be tamer still before the night is over. Now--are
you listening?"
Harry made no sign, but Tom shrugged his shoulders.
"Keep your noses pointed the same way. March!" commanded Gato.