THE WATCHER
The Señorita da Cordova, had suddenly leaned forward in an animated
manner and spoke to her father indicating at the same time someone who
was standing under an awning on the other side of the thoroughfare.
Whether the man's presence caused her fright, or mere excitement it was
hard to tell.
"There he is, there he is!" she was heard to exclaim.
Jim followed the direction of her glance, and immediately he jumped to
his feet.
"Come on, Berwick," he cried, "we want that fellow across the street."
Berwick was puzzled but he knew that Jim was no alarmist who would start
on a wild goose chase, without rhyme or reason. He saw the figure across
the way but did not recognize who it was. Thrusting a bill into the
waiter's hands, a procedure the waiter did not resent, he followed Jim
out of the restaurant. As their sudden departure made a slight
commotion, the señorita turned her head and got a fair look at Jim. A
flush of surprise came into her face, and her dark eyes opened wide.
"Why, Father, look at the tall American going out," she whispered; "it
is the señor who saved me from the bandits."
"There are other tall Americans," he said with a smile; "there was a
resemblance but that happens frequently in life, my daughter, the other
man bore no resemblance to his brothers." The señorita shook her dark
head with emphasis.
"It was not nice of Señor James to run away from us, as though we had
the plague; it was certainly very far from nice, and I shall make him
pay some day."
"Señor James," exclaimed her father, a slight frown on his brow; "you
certainly have a remarkable memory, Marie."
"It is not at all wonderful, Father," replied the girl with much spirit;
"did he not save me from that terrible Señor Jenkins and his band? I
shall remember him as long as there is the breath of life in my little
body."
"His memory does not seem to be as retentive as yours," said her father
with quiet sarcasm. The señorita's face flushed at this thrust and she
sat moodily silent for a while, then something happened which changed
the current of her interest.
"Look," she cried, "the man across the street is running. What can be
the matter?"
"It is your friend, Señor James, and his comrade is the matter,"
remarked her father.
Sure enough the two were in fast pursuit of, "the man across the
street," and then they turned a corner but crossing to the further side
of the thoroughfare they were still in view.
"Oh, dear!" cried the señorita, "I wish I could be informed as to what
all this commotion is about and know who will win."
Let us follow them, and perhaps we shall find out. I daresay the astute
reader has already guessed the name of the gentleman who caused this
distinct and sudden interest and flung consternation and activity into
two separate groups. As James Darlington followed the glance of the
young girl, he had recognized the dwarfish figure of the Mexican who had
robbed him of his treasure and who had previously led him and his party
into dire trouble--hence his excitement, but why the interest of the
Señorita da Cordova?--Ah! that is another tale, but now to tell the
story of the chase, for upon the result much would depend.
"Take your hat and coat, Jim!" warned John Berwick, as the two rushed
from the restaurant.
"I won't bother with my overcoat!" shouted Jim; "I'm going to catch that
fellow now!"
"Take care of his coat!" cried Berwick to the boy in the lobby, tossing
him a quarter.
Then the two friends were outside in the foggy street, where phantom
street cars and passersby were moving through the thick white density
that had rolled in from the Pacific.
"Just wait here, James," said the engineer, as they stood sheltered by
the corner of the building from observation. "He don't know me from Adam
and I'll just saunter up and collar him."
"No, John," said Jim decidedly, "I'm just aching to get my hands on
him!"
Another reason which he was too wise to give, was that this same Mexican
was a most dangerous animal to handle even if taken unawares, and he
preferred to run the risk himself.
"I don't wish to spoil your game, Jim," replied Berwick, "so I will just
saunter along this side, and capture him if he escapes your clutches."
"All right," said Jim, "but he is a wary old fox and some of his pals
may be on the lookout too, so you had better stay here until you see me
on the other side of the street; I am not going directly across."
Jim was too old a campaigner to make a wild rush at his quarry and thus
run a chance of losing him in the shuffle. Then, too, he had a wholesome
regard for the cunning of his enemy, who was not to be easily trapped.
Accordingly Jim, instead of crossing the street, went down around the
next block.
In a short time Berwick saw a tall figure, with a black sombrero, emerge
from the fog down the street, walking casually along as if not
particularly interested in any of the landscape, but out of the corner
of his eye he watched the short, sinister-looking fellow he was after.
By some obscure instinct the Mexican scented danger and started up the
street, and Jim quickened his pace, as Berwick came around the corner
where he had been concealed. Instantly the Mexican took the alarm and
started on the run, but Jim was like a lion unleashed for his prey; in
another leap he would have felled the rascal to the earth, but the
Mexican, handicapped as to speed, knew the city as hand to glove,
especially every by-way, crooked lane, or devious alley.
His knowledge stood him in good stead now; he swerved into a narrow
passageway between two buildings, that was shut off from the street by
a wooden gate, which at this moment was left unfastened; this was not
by accident, either. Before Jim could turn, the fellow had turned the
wooden button fastening the door.
Jim was furious at this escape, almost under his fingers, and his
pleasure was not increased when he heard a gentle voice from the other
side of the gate: "Good-by, Señor Gringo, I cannot wait here all the
afternoon. I have some money to spend." Jim with one bound threw his one
hundred and eighty odd pounds against the obstruction. There was a
splintering crash, and then Jim tore into the alleyway followed a moment
later by his comrade.
At the sound, a fat policeman a block away started on a waddling run to
find the cause of the outbreak, and the father and daughter who were
watching from the window of the restaurant were more than interested.
"Ah, Mother of Mercies!" cried the girl, "he will be killed." Then she
could not help exclaiming in admiration, "What strength! It is Señor
James, as I told you, Father."
"You may be right, my daughter," he admitted; "this Americana is very
brave and strong, but I trust he will not get himself disliked by
killing this Manuel del Garrote, who is of importance not in keeping
with his size."
"He had not better come into my presence if he harms the Señor," said
the Señorita da Cordova with a bitter emphasis, which her dark eyes
endorsed.
"You must learn, my daughter, that in great enterprises we cannot always
choose our associates."
* * * * *
When Jim tore through into the passageway between two brick walls, he
saw the Mexican dodging around the corner of one of the buildings about
a hundred and fifty feet ahead. It did not take Jim many seconds to
reach the same corner, and although the rascal was nowhere in sight, the
way of his escape was plain.
Opening from the areaway back of the buildings was another gate, that
the fleeing Mexican had not time to close; beyond was the blank wall of
fog filling the side street with soft gray density. In much less time
than I write it, James was out through the gate on to the lustrous black
sidewalk, polished with the moisture. But once again the man made his
escape and it seemed this time that it was for good. There was a
four-wheeler standing near the curb, into which the fellow plunged, and
the driver, without a word, gave his two rusty blacks the whip and away
they dashed.
Jim was just in time to see the dwarf jump into the coupé. He did not
stop with his mouth open, but set out undaunted to overtake the
fugitive; neither was he distanced, for Jim had not stayed in the effete
East long enough to get pursy and to lose his wind.
Now it was different with the engineer, John Berwick. He was lithe and
active enough, and at a hundred yards, was no doubt faster than his
friend Jim, but he knew that he was not equal to a cross-city run of
several miles in the wake of a four-wheeler drawn by two sturdy
mustangs.