COMMANDEERED.
Bob and Captain Cornell bounded down the long stairway at a breakneck
pace, but one which, fortunately, did not succeed in mishap, and
emerging upon a rutted dirt roadway on the shaded side of the huge
amphitheatre, paused to catch breath and take their bearings.
Through the lucky circumstance of having been on the topmost row of
seats, they had been enabled to reach the stairway ahead of Ramirez and
Ramon. They had brushed by the guard at the head of the stairs without
that barefooted swarthy devotee of the bull fight even being aware of
their departure.
The army man was first to reach the outside, and he was taking a rapid
survey of the surroundings when Bob came to a halt beside him. Big Bob
was still chuckling over the neat way in which he had managed to take a
hand in the adventure, knowing well that a moment more and Mr. Hampton
would have laid on him an injunction to stay which he would not have
cared to disobey, and fully and keenly aware, besides, that right now
Jack and Frank were filled with envy of him.
What they saw was a broad straggling roadway encircling the amphitheatre
which stood on the edge of town. The last houses of Nueva Laredo lay to
their left and some distance away, too far to afford cover in case they
wanted to hide while spying on the movements of the two Mexicans who any
moment would appear behind them.
Across the roadway, however, were parked hundreds of automobiles whose
owners, Americans and Mexicans, were somewhere in the crowd watching the
bull fight. Captain Cornell’s roving glance fell on these cars, and he
made a quick decision.
“Come on.”
He raced diagonally toward the parked cars, running toward the right in
order to get out of the range of vision of anyone descending the stairs.
First casting a quick glance behind him and noting that Ramirez and
Ramon had not yet come into view, Bob followed. Captain Cornell ducked
in behind the first of the cars, a disreputable member of a universally
known family, and halted. Bob was hard on his heels.
“What now?” asked Bob, with a laugh.
Without waiting for the other’s reply he ran an appraising eye over the
parked cars. They presented a far different sight from an orderly
automobile park in any American city, for they were scattered about the
uneven hummocky surface of a sandy field in what looked like
inextricable confusion. Nor were any caretakers in sight. As a matter of
fact, all male human beings and a good many of the other sex who were
anywhere near that amphitheatre were inside of it. Who cared to watch
automobiles when he could watch a bull fight, instead!
At that moment a renewed outburst of cheering signalized the advent in
the arena of the bull which Juan Salento would be called on to fight,
and big Bob heaved a sigh.
“Golly, listen to that. Did we come out here on a wild goose chase? I
don’t believe those two rascals are going to appear, after all. And
we’ll go and miss the fight.”
But hardly had he completed his lament than Captain Cornell’s warning
voice ordered him to stoop below the side of the car, and Bob crouched
down. None too soon, if he wanted to escape being seen, for two figures
emerged from the exit and stood looking about. There was no mistaking
them.
Bob was too busy watching through eyes which just topped the side of the
car that hid him from view, to talk. He wondered what they would do, but
was not long left in doubt. Apparently satisfied, after a long look
behind him up the stairway, that he was not for the moment pursued,
Ramirez started to cross the road.
He did not head directly toward the position where the two Americans
crouched in hiding, but, instead, made an almost straight line from the
exit. This enabled the two in hiding to keep the body of the car between
them. Ramirez would reach the parked cars, however, not twenty-five feet
away.
Captain Cornell did some rapid thinking. How to keep his quarry in sight
would be a problem if, as he suspected, Ramirez got into his own car.
The two Mexicans would drive off, and—
“Hey,” whispered Bob, “if they have a car here, we’ll be out of luck,
unless—”
“Unless what?”
“Unless we steal one and follow. This flivver right here isn’t locked.
And you can start her battery with almost any old key,” said Bob.
“Good boy,” approved the army man. “We may have to do that very thing.
Some poor devil would be out a car, but, of course, we could square
that. And there’s not much chance,” he added, thinking fast, “that he’d
discover his loss and start the police on our track before the end of
the bull fight. By which time we ought to be all right, hey?”
“Wonder what’s the matter now?” Bob whispered, disregarding the other’s
remarks. He raised his head a trifle, cautiously, staring toward Ramirez
and Ramon.
Captain Cornell did likewise.
The two Mexicans had halted in front of a car of midnight blue,
long-snouted, with German nickel trimmings. It stood on the edge of the
parked cars, indicating its owner had arrived early at the bull fight.
Late comers had been forced to go farther along the road or to burrow
deeper into the field. Here, with one foot on the running board and a
hand extended to grasp the handle of the left front door, Ramirez paused
and, facing about, appeared to be scolding his companion.
“He’s certainly giving that old fellow, Ramon, fits about something,”
whispered Bob. “Wish I could hear what he’s saying.”
That a disagreement of some sort had arisen between the two Mexicans was
plain. Old Ramon stood with hanging head, just out of reach of Ramirez,
while the latter berated him in a voice too low for the words to carry
to the eager ears of the two watchers.
Bob strained his ears to hear, but that Captain Cornell’s thoughts were
otherwise engaged was evidenced when he suddenly emitted a sharp
exclamation under his breath, and then squeezed Bob’s arm.
“Doesn’t that car look familiar to you?” he demanded.
“Why, I don’t know.” Bob was puzzled. There was something vaguely
familiar about the appearance of the big car beside which Ramirez stood,
yet he could not identify what it was.
“Well, it looks familiar to me,” said the flyer in an excited undertone.
“That’s the car your friend Don Ferdinand was riding in last night when
he bumped us, or I miss my guess. Look again.”
“Golly,” breathed Bob, “you’re right.”
“You bet I’m right.”
“But how—”
“Yes, how? How does this rascal Ramirez happen to be driving it today?
Didn’t Don Ferdinand say he was visiting friends and either tell us
outright or else leave us to infer that the car belonged to those
friends?”
“That’s what.”
“Well, then, how does Ramirez happen to be here in it? Say, young
feller, this is certainly worth investigation. The plot thickens. I
wonder—” The flyer suddenly ceased talking.
“Wonder what?” asked Bob, who did not take his eyes from the two
Mexicans, and was interested to note that Ramirez had advanced
threateningly toward Ramon who, in turn, had backed away.
“Why, I wonder if your friend, Don Ferdinand, really is playing a deep
game, and is in cahoots with this Ramirez.”
Bob shook his head. “Oh, that’s a bit too thick, Captain, if you don’t
mind my saying so.”
“Yes,” admitted the Captain, “you’re probably right. But what then? How
account for that car?”
“I don’t know. Maybe Don Ferdinand is in trouble, captured, killed.”
Bob’s voice grew troubled. “He’s such a reckless old firebrand. And this
fellow Ramirez looks like a bad hombre.”
“He is a bad hombre,” said the army flyer. “There.” His hand gripped
Bob’s arm. “Look at that. By George, I can’t let that—”
And without finishing his sentence, he whipped out his service automatic
and would have darted into the open, but for the fact that Bob by main
strength restrained him.
“Hold on, you hot head,” said Bob. “He’s putting up his gun already.
Ramon is giving in. You sure would have spilled the beans.” And he wiped
his face, on which the perspiration had suddenly broke forth.
Captain Cornell looked a trifle shame-faced, yet defiant, as he slid his
weapon back into its scabbard.
The little drama which had so roused him was over. Although unable to
hear what was said between the two Mexicans, the watchers guessed at the
meaning of the tableau which had just played itself out. Ramon
apparently had been reluctant to accompany Ramirez further. The latter
had argued. Then he had whipped out a revolver. It was this which had
caused Captain Cornell to start to take a hand. But Ramirez had needed
only to display his weapon. Ramon had yielded. Already he was in the
front seat, and Ramirez was climbing to his seat behind the wheel.
“Hate to steal a car,” said the flyer grimly, as Ramirez started his
motor. “But I reckon we’ll have to do it. Of course, we can find the
owner later and square it with him. But Ramirez mustn’t escape, with the
fate of your friend, Don Ferdinand, undecided.”
Bob nodded, his lips grimly compressed.
With a roar, the big blue car pulled out into the rutted road, and
started away in the opposite direction from them—the direction toward
town. So worn was the road that Ramirez apparently was keeping the car
in low gear and not making much speed. It was that fact which decided
Bob. There would be a possibility of keeping the fugitive in sight.
He vaulted into the flivver.
“I’ve got a key here that I think will switch on the juice,” he said,
bending toward the dash board of the ancient vehicle. “You get around
front, Captain, and crank her. No self-starter on this model. Must be
the vintage of ’76. Hurray,” he shouted the next moment, caution
forgotten, “the switch is on. Now give her a twirl, and look out for the
kick.”
Captain Cornell leaped to the front, seized the crank and began to spin
it. One turn, two, without result. He cast a glance of dismay toward the
disappearing car bearing Ramirez and Ramon away. Then he gave the crank
another desperate turn. This time the response was instant. There was a
sputter. Bob fed more gas. Then the engine broke into a roar, and the
old car shook and rattled as if with ague.
“All aboard,” sang out Bob, who was now in the grip of the spirit of
adventure, and had cast scruples to the wind. They needed a car, and
Captain Cornell was an American Army officer. They could commandeer this
flivver, if they wanted to! While Bob was thus consoling himself, he was
at the same time steering the car out into the road.
Captain Cornell leaped into place beside him, just as the big blue car
rounded the distant curve of the amphitheatre.
“Give her the gas,” shouted the flyer. “Let’s go.”