DON FERDINAND AGAIN.
Captain Cornell was first to emerge from the taxi which had lost its
left front wheel in the impact against the pole and canted downward like
a ship sinking by the head. He emerged as if shot from a cannon, for the
crazy door had been wrenched open by the shock, and he had been tossed
through the aperture. Alighting on hands and knees, he quickly got to
his feet and turned to see how his companions fared.
“Anybody hurt?” he sang out, peering inside.
From the heap, three muffled voices filled with various degrees of mirth
answered that their owners were not in desperate straits, and he
experienced a sense of relief. Any or all of his charges well might have
been seriously injured. But as he saw them struggling to untangle
themselves, he grinned through a split lip caused by his face brushing
the sidewalk.
“Lucky for me,” he thought. “Wouldn’t have dared face their fathers.”
Then he felt someone plucking his sleeve and whirled about. A mixed
crowd of Mexicans and tourists drawn by the crash hemmed him in, and
over the heads of the crowd he could see several be-spangled dance hall
girls from a nearby resort standing on tiptoe to behold.
The tug came from his taxi driver.
“Hey, you hurt?” asked the flyer, rubbing futilely at the smudged knees
of his—or, rather, Bob’s—white flannels.
“Naw, except lost a little breath,” said the latter, a hardened night
hawk. “Wheel stopped me,” he added. “But, say, who pays for this? If you
don’t wanta pony up yerself, better help me ketch the old hombre what
rammed us. There he goes.”
He pointed to a high-powered, long-snouted touring car of midnight blue,
with shining German silver trimmings, gleaming in the street. A
uniformed driver had just finished inspecting his car for possible
damage, and was climbing back to the driver’s seat. From the rear, a
shrill voice in broken English shrieked adjurations to the chauffeur to
hurry.
“Old billy goat in the back’s all excited,” explained the jehu. “Been
a-chasin’ somebody, I gather, an’ rammed us in ’is hurry. Payin’ no
attention to us.”
“Here, that won’t do. We want an explanation, anyhow,” declared the army
flyer, firmly.
“Wait here, I’ll be back,” he said.
And thrusting aside several Mexicans who stood in his way, he made a run
for the big car just as it got into motion. The crowd stared in
astonishment. One or two tourists raised a cheer. The jehu leaned on his
tilting taxi with a sour grin riding his features. Bob emerging from the
taxi at that moment, one hand raised to caress a considerable-sized bump
on his head, saw Captain Cornell make a flying leap and land on the
running board of the other car, just as the chauffeur picking up speed
stepped on the gas and it leaped ahead.
“Hey, where you goin’?” yelled Bob.
But if any reply was vouchsafed by the doughty flyer, the speed with
which the big car got under way neutralized it. Bob made a step forward
into the street in astonishment, but the jehu’s hand on his arm arrested
him.
“Easy, pal,” said the latter. “I wanta be paid for me damage. Stick
around.”
Bob laughed. “You’ll be paid. Don’t worry. But where did Cap—where did
our friend go?”
The jehu explained. Frank and Jack, little worse for the accident, with
the exception of minor body bruises, joined Bob on the sidewalk, and
likewise received the benefit of the explanation.
“Old fellow was in a tearin’ hurry to git some body seems he was
a-chasin’, far as I could make out,” said the jehu.
“Well, Cap’ll be back,” laughed Bob. “Nothing to do but wait.” He gazed
at the crowd surrounding them, half a hundred or more, and sighed.
“Worse than Fifth Avenue,” he said. “I guess any time an accident
happens, no matter where it is, a crowd gathers.”
The crowd parted to make way for a Mexican policeman, swarthy,
medium-sized, heavy-mustached, swinging a long nightstick and with the
handles of two six-shooters protruding at his sides. He started to
question them haltingly in broken English, but at his first words Jack
addressed him in Spanish. The policeman’s face lighted up, and he nodded
violently as Jack continued in a voice so low that the crowd could not
hear. Then he turned and with voice and club-thrust began to scatter the
crowd.
The tourists seeing the show was over, so to speak, turned away, and the
Mexican barflies shuffled off. Finally, the crowd was dispelled, and the
policeman returned and Jack shook hands with him gravely, only a slight
twitching at the corners of his mouth betraying to his companions that
he nursed a secret sense of amusement. Then, swinging his stick in a
jaunty salute, the policeman made off with a “Mil’ gracias, senor,” to
which Jack responded with “Buenos noches.”
“How much d’ye give ’im?” asked the jehu, leering wisely and spitting
into the street.
Jack was inclined to resent the familiarity, but shrugged and replied:
“Five dollars.”
“Huh.” The jehu shrugged. Then he straightened out of his slouch as his
roving eye caught sight of something in the street, and he pointed.
“Say. What d’ye know? Bringin’ him back.”
The boys gazed in the direction indicated. There rolling up behind them
was the big car which had bumped them and which had been boarded by
Captain Cornell. They turned to it eagerly, as it rolled to a halt at
the curb. Then the biggest surprise of all greeted them, for out stepped
first Captain Cornell and after him an even more familiar figure—at
least to Jack. The latter could hardly believe his eyes. He halted a
moment in astonishment, then sprang forward with a cry of:
“Don Ferdinand.”
“You know this hombre?” demanded Captain Cornell, eyes popping.
Don Ferdinand, for he it was, stared a moment, then threw himself at
Jack. Throwing his arms about the big fellow, he clasped him with Latin
exuberance, then backed off.
“If you are acquainted with this man, Senor Jack,” he said excitedly,
pointing to Captain Cornell, “tell him I will pay for any damage, but he
must let me go. It is necessary. Ah, alas, though,” he groaned, “I fear
it is now too late. That devil has escaped again.”
Jack was bewildered. Finding Don Ferdinand here, in Nueva Laredo, when
the last heard of him he had disappeared from his home! All he could do
was to stare in astonishment. But Don Ferdinand who had spoken to Jack
in Spanish was wringing his hands in despair. Jack could not understand
why.
Bob and Frank, who had not seen the old Spanish aristocrat for a number
of years, had been slow to recognize him. But the conversation and
Jack’s use of the older man’s name brought back recollection. They
crowded forward and greeted him. He seemed like a man in a daze.
Then understanding suddenly came to Jack. Don Ferdinand had declared
“that devil has escaped again.” The light dawned. He had been chasing
that fellow in pursuit of whom he had left home and gone to the mine.
What was his name? Ramirez! Yes, Ramirez, that was it!
“Was it Ramirez, Don Ferdinand?” he demanded eagerly, elbowing Bob aside
to face his friend.
“Ssh.” Don Ferdinand put his finger to his lips. “Too late,” he said,
low-voiced. “He has escaped me. But let us not talk about it here. Come,
get into my car. But first I’ll pay this gentleman for his taxi,” he
said, pulling out a wallet. “Only,” he added glaring at Captain Cornell,
“he is a violent man. He put a revolver into my face and commanded me to
order my driver to return here.”
“Sorry,” apologized the flyer. Remembering his conversation with Jack at
the ranch regarding Don Ferdinand and his trouble at the mine with “that
devil Ramirez,” he also was putting two and two together out of the
conversation between the old aristocrat and Jack.
“Oh, I say, you two must be friends,” declared Jack, proceeding to
introduce them. “As for the damage to the taxi—” And leaving the
sentence unfinished, he reached for his own wallet.
But Don Ferdinand forestalled him. He thrust into the jehu’s hands a
sheaf of bills the size of which made the latter’s eyes bulge.
“Is that sufficient?” he snapped in English.
The taxi bandit made a grotesque bow.
“For that price,” he said, “the ol’ boat’s yourn.”
Don Ferdinand never even smiled, but beckoning the four young fellows to
follow, climbed into his car. Bob and Frank hung back, whispering. Then,
just as Jack was about to enter behind Don Ferdinand, they halted him.
“Say, Jack, we haven’t seen anything yet of the town,” explained Frank.
“And we’d like to. No use running away when we just came. As for the
taxi we can always get another to take us back across the Bridge, I
guess. Explain to Don Ferdinand, and then let the four of us knock
around as we intended to do.”
Jack considered, turning to Captain Cornell with a question in his eyes.
The latter nodded. He was young enough to enjoy a sightseeing tour and,
since they had all escaped unscathed from the crash, saw no reason to
return with their original purpose unfulfilled.
So Jack explained the situation to Don Ferdinand, adding that they were
staying at the Hamilton Hotel on the American side of the River, with
Mr. Hampton and Mr. Temple. He urged that Don Ferdinand, if he intended
to return across the River, call on those two older men—both of whom
were friends.
“Tonight I cannot, Jack,” said Don Ferdinand. “I am staying with friends
who expect me. This is their car. But tomorrow I shall give myself the
pleasure of calling upon you.”
“Good,” said Jack. “But”—as an afterthought—“come to the hotel before
three o’clock tomorrow afternoon, as we all would like to come back here
to see the bull fight.”
The old Don agreed to do so. Then with a bow all around, he gave the
word to his chauffeur, and the latter pulled out into the street, backed
and headed for the International Bridge.
Jack stood at the curb, gazing thoughtfully after the departing car.
“Now I wonder what brought him here, and I wonder about this mysterious
Mr. Ramirez,” he said.
He had told Bob and Frank before dinner about the mysterious events
transpiring at Don Ferdinand’s mine and about the latter’s
disappearance. Captain Cornell likewise knew. So Jack’s remark was
understood.
“Well, we’ll find out tomorrow,” said big Bob, stretching. “Come on,
lads. Let’s saunter a bit and take in the sights. There’s a hot dog
stand just ahead here, and I’m hungry enough to eat a kennel. That
little bounce seems to have given me an appetite. Step up, me byes, and
order your dogs, with mustard or without.”