NEXT TO THE TELEGRAPH KEY
Tom and Harry started along the trail, side by side.
Something whizzed through the air. Then something struck the
earth heavily, and there was a slight, quickly repressed groan.
"Quick, _caballeros_!"
For the life of him Tom could not help halting and wheeling about.
The next second he uttered a low cry of glee.
For Pedro Gato lay flat on the ground, Nicolas bending over him.
"Quick, _caballeros_!" implored Nicolas again.
"You fine chap," chuckled Reade, bounding back and bending over
Gato, as Nicolas was doing.
"There was no other way to save you," whispered the servant.
"I had to do it."
As Nicolas raised his right hand, Reade could not help seeing
that it was stained with blood.
"See here," gasped Tom, recoiling. "You didn't--you didn't knife
the scoundrel?"
He had all of an American's disgust of knife-fighting.
"Oh, no--not I," returned the little Mexican. "I do not use
the knife. I am a servant, not a coward. But I had to throw
a stone. I am thankful, senor, that my aim was good."
Tom now discovered that blood was coming from a wound in Gato's
head. Moreover, the rascal was beginning to moan. He would soon
recover consciousness.
"Do you know how to use this, senor?" Nicolas asked, as he passed
over a small coil of stout hempen cord.
"I think we can fix the fellow," Tom nodded. "Roll him over,
Harry, and hold him. Don't let the scoundrel reach for any other
weapons."
Gato's rifle lay on the ground. Tom pushed it aside with one
foot as Harry turned the fellow.
"Get his hands behind him," muttered Tom. "I'll do the tying."
In a very short space of time Gato's hands had been securely bound
behind him. More cord was tied around his ankles, in such a way
that Gato would be able to take short steps but not run.
Suddenly Gato groaned and opened his eyes.
"You'll be more comfortable on your back, old fellow," murmured
Tom. "Wait. I'll turn you."
Gato stared blankly, at first. Evidently he did not realize the
situation all at once. At last a curse leaped to his lips.
"Go easy on that bad-talk stuff," Tom urged him. "Gentlemen don't
use such language, and men who travel with us must be gentlemen."
"You miserable Gringo!" wailed Gato, gnashing his teeth. "You
will always be full of treacherous tricks. Even when I had you
in front of me, and my eyes on you, you managed to knock me down."
"Oh, no!" laughed Tom. "The credit for this stunt belongs to
good little Nicolas!"
The servant uttered a protesting cry, but too late. Tom had spoken
indiscreetly.
"Nicolas! You? You little mountain rat of a _peon_!" growled
Gato. "Excellent! I am glad I know, for I shall destroy you."
Nicolas cowered and shivered before the baleful glare in the larger
Mexican's eyes. But Tom took a savage grip of one of Gato's shoulders,
digging in with his pressure until he made the scoundrel wince.
"You'd better go slow with that talk, Gato," Tom warned him.
"If you don't we'll turn you over to Nicolas to do with as he
pleases."
"All right," sneered Gato, not a whit dismayed. "He would dare
to do nothing to me. He would be too afraid of the vengeance that
he well knows stalks in these hills."
"It is all too true," shuddered Nicolas.
"Come, brace up, Nicolas, and be a man," Tom urged, slapping the
servant cordially on the shoulder. "Don't be afraid of any man.
Let Gato threaten you if he wants to. Nothing has happened to
you yet, and he who is afraid is the only man that suffers. Come,
Gato, you will have to get up on your feet. We can't let you
delay us."
"I shall not stir a step," declared the fellow, grimly.
"Oh, yes, you will."
"Not if you kill me for refusing. If you wish to take me anywhere,
Gringos, you will have to carry me every step of the way."
"We won't carry you, either," Tom continued, coolly. "Gato, a
few moments ago, you had the whip-hand. Now, we're carrying the
whip. We don't want any nonsense. If you carry matters too far
you'll discover that Hazelton and I have had more or less experience
as wild animal trainers. But, first of all, your head. It must
be attended to."
Tom wiped away the blood, which was now clotting, with his own
handkerchief.
"Help me to stand him on his feet, Harry," Reade then commanded.
Between them they dragged the heavy fellow to his feet, but Gato
promptly cast himself down again.
"We'll haul you up again," Tom went on, patiently. "Don't try
that mulish trick any more, Gato, or I promise you that you'll
regret it."
No sooner had he been placed on his feet than. Gato once more
threw himself down. As soon as he went down, however, Tom jerked
him to his feet.
A roar like that of an angry bull escaped the lips of the suffering
Mexican.
"He is trying to summon his men!" cried Nicolas, snatching up
the rifle.
No sooner was Gato upright than he threw himself down once more.
Again he was roughly jerked to a standing position.
The fourth time that Gato was placed on his feet he stood, though
he was shaking with fury.
"That's a little better," Tom nodded. "Now, Nicolas, I imagine
you know more than I do about where your countrymen carry their
extra arms. Search this fellow for weapons, and don't overlook
anything."
No pistol was revealed by the search, but a long, keen-edged knife
was brought to light.
"No gentleman has any occasion to carry a thing like that," mocked
Reade. Thrusting the blade into a cleft of rock close by, Tom
snapped the blade, rendering the weapon useless.
"Now, we're ready to go on," announced Tom. "Harry, will you
keep behind our guest of the evening and spur him on if he shows
signs of lagging?"
"Take this gun, Senor Reade," Nicolas hinted, trying to pass the
weapon to the young chief engineer.
"I don't want it," returned Tom, shaking his head and making a
gesture of repulsion. "I don't like guns. They always make me
nervous. I'm afraid of accidents, you see."
"You take the gun, then, Senor Hazelton," begged Nicolas, turning
to the other engineer.
"Don't you believe it," retorted Harry, gruffly. "I'd lose caste
forever with Tom if I carried firearms. Tom says that nobody
but a coward will carry firearms. You keep the gun yourself."
"_Muy bien, senor_," (very good, sir) agreed Nicolas, meekly.
"It is better that I should carry the weapon then, for I am truly
worthless. I am but a _peon_."
"Oh, confound you!" choked Harry. "I didn't mean that. You're
one of the best fellows on earth, Nicolas, for you're a man that
can be trusted. Better unstrap that belt of cartridges from Gato,
too."
The big Mexican ground his teeth and cursed in helpless rage while
the little servant stripped him of the belt and adjusted it about
his own waist.
"Now, let's get along," Reade urged. "We've been losing a lot
of valuable time. Besides, we don't know when we'll run into
some of this mountain pirate's choice friends."
Tom strode on ahead. Nicolas ran to his side, walking with him.
Then came Gato, urged on by Harry Hazelton.
"See here, you Nicolas," remarked Tom, protestingly, "why on earth
didn't you stay put? We left you behind to-night so that you
wouldn't run into trouble with Don Luis."
"Don Luis himself told me to wait on your excellencies night and
day, as long as you remained in Bonista," Nicolas affirmed, solemnly.
"Don Luis hasn't yet changed those orders, and so I must remain
with you. But I had flattered myself that just now I was of enough
service to you so that you wouldn't be displeased."
"Displeased? Not a bit of it," muttered Tom. "But we didn't
want you to get yourself into trouble on our account. Now, you've
gone and written your name in Gato's bad books for certain."
"I have, senor," the _peon_ admitted. "Gato will take delight
in cutting my throat for me one of these days."
"Great Scott!" Reade gasped, shivering. "That's cheerful."
"So that, perhaps, senor," suggested the _peon_, slyly, "you will
be willing to take me with you to your own country. Perhaps there,
also, you will be able to give me work as your servant."
"Rest assured of one thing, Nicolas. If we can get you safely
over on to the American side of the border we'll look after you
properly."
"I am very grateful, senor," protested Nicolas, humbly.
"But we're a long way from the American border as yet," Tom went on.
"You will get there safely, senor," predicted the _peon_. "You
are a great man, and you know how to do things."
"Well, for simple faith you're the limit, Nicolas, my boy. For
one thing, though, it strikes me that our getting over the border,
which is some hundreds of miles away, might be hindered if we
have the tough luck to run into any of Gato's armed pals along
this route."
"You do well to remind me, senor!" cried Nicolas, in a low tone,
but one, nevertheless, which was full of self-reproach. "So much
have I enjoyed my talk with you that I have been forgetting to
look after your safety. Pardon me, senor. I will vanish, but
I shall watch over you with the wide-open eyes of the panther."
In another instant Nicolas had vanished from the trail. Tom,
however, did not worry. He knew that Nicolas was not far away,
and that the little _peon_ was doubtless as valuable a scout as
their expedition could have.
"I wish I had asked him to unload that gun, though," Reade muttered
to himself. "He's likely as not to hurt some one else beside
the enemy with a stray bullet or two."
Three miles further on Tom, Harry and their prisoner halted, for
on the rough road they were now becoming winded.
"I am near, senores," whispered a familiar voice, though Nicolas
did not show himself over the rocks that concealed him.
"Yes," sneered Gato, harshly, "you are indeed near--near death,
you silly little fool. Always before you have been safe because
you were not a fighting man. But now you have taken to deeds
of arms, and you shall take your chances whenever you stir in
these mountains. For that matter you will surely be cut down
before the dawn comes."
"That reminds me," muttered Tom. "We want to be farther from
Don Luis before dawn arrives. Gato, oblige us by rising and joining
in the hike."
Though Gato snarled, he allowed himself to be hoisted to his feet.
Then, with alert Harry behind him the villain allowed himself
to be ordered along the trail.
When dawn came Nicolas informed the young engineers that they
were now within about four miles of the nearest telegraph station.
The food that they had brought along was opened; even Gato had
his share. Then Nicolas vanished once more, and the march was
resumed.
The sun was well up, and beating down hot and fiery when Nicolas,
standing on a jutting ledge of rock, pointed down into the valley
at a little clump of wooden buildings, roofed with corrugated iron.
"That third house is the telegraph station," said the _peon_.
"You will know it by the wires running in."
"Shan't we all go down?" asked Harry.
"I'm afraid it wouldn't be wise," Tom answered. "We can't turn
our prisoner loose. On the other hand, if we took him with us,
roped as he is, it might stir up a lot of questioning and make
some trouble. But Nicolas will know better. What do you say,
my boy?"
"I say that Senor Reade is right."
Tom therefore started down into the valley alone. A few half-clad
natives lounged in the street. They stared curiously at this
stalwart-looking, bronzed young Gringo who walked toward them
with alert step.
Two or three of the children, after the custom of their kind,
called out for money. Tom, smiling pleasantly, drew forth a few
loose American coins that he had with him and scattered them in
the road. Then he hastened on to the telegraph station, a
squalid-looking little one-room shanty. But the place looked good to
Tom, for its wires reached out over the civilized world, and more
especially ran to the dear old United States that he was so anxious
to reach with a few words.
Tom passed inside, to find a bare-footed, white-clad Mexican soldier
at a telegraph desk. The soldier wore the chevrons of a sergeant.
"Sergeant, may I send a telegram from here?" Tom inquired in Spanish.
"Certainly, senor," replied the sergeant, pushing forward a blank.
As this telegraph station was a military station, it was under
the exclusive control of the soldiery.
Tom picked up the blank and the proffered pencil. He dated the
paper, then wrote the name and address of the manager of his and
Harry's engineering office in the United States. Below this Reade
wrote:
"Hazelton and I are now endeavoring to reach railway and return
immediately. If not heard from soon, look us up promptly through
Washington."
"Our man will know, from this, if he doesn't hear from us soon,"
Tom reflected, "that there has been foul play, and that he must
turn the matter over to the United States Government at Washington
for some swift work by Uncle Sam on our behalf. Once this message
gets through to the other end, Harry and I won't have to worry
much about being able to get out of Mexico in safety."
The sergeant read the English words through carefully.
"Will the senor pardon me for saying," ventured the telegrapher,
"that this message reads much as though yourself and a friend
are trying to escape?"
The man spoke in English, though with a Spanish accent.
"What do you mean, Sergeant?" Tom queried, quickly.
"Why should you need to escape, if you are honest men, engaged
in honest business?" demanded the sergeant, eyeing Reade keenly.
"Why, it isn't a felony to try to get out of Mexico, is it?" Tom
counter-queried.
"That depends," said the sergeant. "It depends, for instance,
on why you are leaving."
"We're leaving because we want to," Tom informed him.
"You are Senor Reade, are you not?" pressed the sergeant, after
eyeing the telegram once more. "And your friend, who does not
appear here in person, is Senor Hazelton? Unless I am wrong,
then you are the two engineers whom Don Luis Montez engaged.
How do I know that you have any right to leave Mexico? How do
I know that you are not breaking a contract?"
"Breaking a contract?" Tom retorted, somewhat indignantly. "Sergeant,
we are not contract laborers. We are civil engineers--professional
men."
"Nevertheless," replied the sergeant, handing back the telegram
into the hands of bewildered. Tom Reade, "I cannot undertake
to send this message until it is endorsed with the written approval
of Don Luis Montez, your employer."
"Does Don Luis own this side of Mexico, or this wing of the Mexican
Army?" Tom inquired, with biting sarcasm.
"I cannot send the telegram, senor, except as I have stated."
Whereupon the sergeant began firmly, though gently, to push Tom
out of the room. Comparing the size and muscular development
of the two, it looked almost humorous to see this effort. But
Tom, who now realized how hopeless his errand was, allowed himself
to be pushed out. Then the door was slammed to and locked behind
him.
"Nothing doing!" muttered Reade, in chagrin and dismay. "In fact,
much less than nothing! Harry and I will simply have to tramp
fifty miles further and find the railway. Great Scott! I doubt
if the conductor will even let us aboard his train without a pass
signed by Don Luis. Hang the entire state of Bonista!"
Deep in thought, and well-nigh overwhelmed by the complete realization
of his defeat, Tom stalked moodily back up among the rocks.
As he turned a sharp, jutting ledge, Tom suddenly recoiled, as
a brisk military voice called:
"Para! Quien vive!" (Halt! Who goes there?)
Reade found a Mexican military bayonet pressing against his chest,
behind the bayonet a rifle, and to the immediate rear of the rifle
a ragged, barefooted young soldier, though none the less a genuine
Mexican soldier!
Further back other soldiers squatted on the ground. In their
centre sat the scowling Gato, handcuffed and therefore plainly
a prisoner.
Harry and Nicolas were also there--not handcuffed, yet quite
as plainly prisoners.