TO THE RESCUE.
Two taxicabs and the big touring car from the aviation field, his
friends in them and anxious to go, stood at the curb as Captain Cornell
with Hannaford beside him, came down the steps.
“Snap into it, Cornell,” called Captain Murray, impatiently. “Get into
one of the taxis. We’re loaded.”
He stepped on the starter and the big car began to roar. Captain Cornell
cleared the sidewalk in one jump, and landed on the running board. “Stop
your engine. I’ve got news.”
“News?”
“You bet.” The excited Captain Cornell turned toward the two taxis and
waved their occupants to approach. The three boys who were in the nearer
taxi were by his side in a moment, for they sensed from his manner that
he had something important to divulge. The three older men who were in
the farther taxi were slower to approach. Yet they, too, hurried their
pace on noting Captain Cornell’s air of suppressed excitement.
“Fellows,” he said, low-voiced, as the tense group gathered around him
and Hannaford, “I know where Ramirez is. And we’re going for him right
away.”
Quickly he explained what Hannaford had just revealed to him.
“And don’t worry none about bein’ legal,” said Hannaford. “I’m a deputy
sheriff, and bein’ as how you got somethin’ on Ramirez which makes it
all right for us to go after him, I’ll swear you all in as members o’ my
posse.”
“All right, Hannaford, step on it,” said Captain Murray. “Climb in with
us, and show us the way.”
Hannaford was bundled into the foremost car, Captain Cornell joined the
boys in the first taxi, and both cars got off to an almost equal start.
That bearing Mr. Hampton and Mr. Temple and Don Ferdinand was slower in
getting under way, but kept the others in sight.
“This shoulder of mine has felt better in its time,” grunted Mr. Hampton
to his companions. “I planned to wait until we got to the flying field,
where I could have the flight surgeon examine and treat it, and wouldn’t
have to make embarrassing explanations. But, maybe, this Doctor Garfield
can fix me up.”
Several minutes later found the three cars drawn up together on a
deserted side street near the International Bridge. Hannaford had called
a halt. Doctor Garfield’s home and office lay in the next block, and the
old ex-Ranger felt it was necessary to prepare a plan of campaign before
going farther.
“Doc Garfield was in a hurry when he phoned,” said Hannaford. “I know
where his phone is—in a little room separated from his office. He was
speaking low and hurried, while Ramirez waited. Doc couldn’t tell me
much, only that Ramirez come in a car which he left standing at the
curb, and he thinks there’s a woman in the car and a couple or three
men.”
“This doctor, his office it is in the next block?” asked Don Ferdinand.
Jack Hannaford nodded. “It grows dusk,” said the old Don, “but,” he
added, in a tone of conviction, “but I am certain that ees my friend’s
car I see.” He pointed.
Twilight had come. Purple dusk lay over the quiet street. Graceful
pepper trees lining the curbing enhanced the shadows beneath them. Yet
it was not so dark but what those who had seen it before felt pretty
certain that the car parked at the opposite curb in the next block was
that borrowed from his friend by Don Ferdinand and stolen from the
latter by Ramirez. The shadows were growing deeper, yet the lines of the
car and the occasional glimmer of polished trimmings could not be
mistaken. Hannaford gave confirmation.
“That’s where Doc Garfield’s house is.”
“Look here,” said Jack, taking the initiative. “We’ve got the advantage
of surprise. They won’t be expecting us. Let’s dash up beside them, and
demand their surrender. We’ll be on them before they can know what is
happening. Mr. Hannaford, who knows the house, can lead a group inside
in a dash that ought to bag Ramirez without trouble, especially as he’s
got a busted arm.”
Nobody could suggest any better plan.
“Furthermore,” said Jack, addressing the aviators, “the car you fellows
are driving better fall to the rear. Ramirez’s men have seen it.”
Arrangements were quickly made, a number of aviators transferring to the
taxi previously occupied by the older men, while Captain Cornell took
his place in that occupied by the three boys. One was to range up
alongside the stolen car, the other to draw up behind it, whereupon its
occupants could pile out and take the gangsters on the other side. As
for Hannaford and his group, who were to enter the house, they were to
go up a side street and approach from the rear.
“Ramirez may see what’s going on out front, and take to his heels out
the back door,” said Hannaford. “If he does, we’ll bag him.”
This arrangement was satisfactory to everybody except the three older
men. Mr. Hampton was regretful because his wounded shoulder would keep
him out of action. Mr. Temple was plainly nervous and disinclined to
have the boys running into danger. And Don Ferdinand bounced up and
down, demanding a revolver, so that he could take a hand in the fray.
But there was none to spare, and he and his two companions were to stay
in the aviators’ car. As for the drivers of the two rented taxis, they
were not without experience in affrays of one sort and another in this
tempestuous community, and their fares were sufficient guarantee that
they would be compensated for any damages sustained. Moreover, they knew
Jack Hannaford, whose word with them was law.
“Let’s go,” said Captain Cornell, impatiently.
The discussion of details, quickly though the latter had been arranged,
had consumed several minutes. Dusk was deepening. Jumping into the
leading taxi, Captain Cornell seated himself beside the driver, a
position which fortunately would put him next to the car ahead. The boys
were in the rear compartment, Jack crouching by the door and ready to
throw it open and leap out at the crucial moment.
In such tense moments, it is emotion, not reason, which sways one.
Certainly, Jack was in the grip of strong emotion. Certainly, the others
were, too, as they bore down upon the car ahead. But how different in
every case! Jack was filled with rage bordering upon despair as he
thought of the possibility that Rafaela might have come to harm through
the machinations of Ramirez. His whole idea was to lay hands on Ramirez
at the earliest possible moment and to choke the truth out of him, to
force him to confess where he had hidden Rafaela, if he or his
lieutenants had stolen her from her home during her father’s absence. To
none of the others, except Rafaela’s father, no, not even to Jack’s two
comrades, did the affair appear in the same light as to him. They
likewise were stirred by emotions, but only such as are incident to men
hunting a criminal, in whose evil-doing their own personal fortunes or
the fortunes of dear ones are not involved.
Only a very brief space of time was required to cover the ground
intervening between the last halting place and the field of action, and,
before the two taxis closed on the car ahead, the big car from the
aviation field, under command of Jack Hannaford, swung into the
intervening cross street. Mr. Hampton, who was among its occupants,
shook his head as he lost sight of his son. He knew, if nobody else did,
how Jack was shaken emotionally.
Hannaford pointed and, at his accompanying word of command, the young
aviator at the wheel swung the car to the curb. Then the grizzled old
Texan and the aviator—it was young Harincourt who had been detailed to
this task—leaped out. Quickly he outlined his plan.
They were at the mouth of an alley running along the rear of Doctor
Garfield’s house. Hannaford and young Harincourt would enter the house
from the rear. Mr. Hampton, Mr. Temple and Don Ferdinand were to keep
guard at the alley’s mouth. If Ramirez escaped Hannaford and came down
the alley, it would be their job to pot him. Don Ferdinand, raging,
protested. He wanted to be in the forefront.
“Two’s enough,” said Hannaford brusquely. “More would git in their own
way. You stay here. Come on, lad.”
And with Harincourt at his heels, the old ex-Ranger darted up the
deserted narrow alley, in which the shadows were deepening at the near
approach of night, as briskly as a boy.
Mr. Hampton shook his head in admiration, a little smile on his lips.
“A tough breed,” he commented.
In the meantime, up the shadowy street in front of the house, with its
air of Sabbath calm, sped the two taxis, while peal on peal of bells
from the tower of a nearby church floated down on the still air. What
irony, thought Jack, church bells and he and his comrades speeding on
such a mission! Yet their mission was of the best, he comforted himself.
And then all thought except of the matter in hand fled, crouching
against the door, ready to fling it open and spring out, his eyes, just
tipping the rim of the panelled glass, beheld the other car at the curb,
ahead, abreast. Now, now. As the brakes squeaked, and the taxi ground to
a stop so suddenly as to fling all its occupants about, Jack thrust the
door outward and sprang upon the running board of the other car, pistol
in hand. Beside him was Captain Cornell, leaping down from the driver’s
side, and at his back Bob and Frank, crowding close.
But what was this revealed in the depths of that other car? What, but
one man struggling desperately yet unavailingly in the grasp of another?
And of a third man cowering in a corner, with his upflung arms
protecting his face, while over him bent a fury in woman’s clothes, one
hand gripped in his hair and the other reaching talon-like for his
features?
Ramon, the Hamptons’ old cook, face distorted. “Senor Jack, queek or he
escape. I—cannot—hold—heem—”
And then Captain Cornell’s pistol butt falling on the head of him whom
Ramon clasped, and the other lying still and Ramon rising to his knees
with a sob of thankfulness.
And then, wonder of wonders, the fury faced about, and it was Rafaela.
Rafaela, her face appearing as through a mist to Jack’s unbelieving
eyes. And quick as thought he threw an arm about her and drew her close,
while all the fighting fury which had nerved her to the attack went out
of her, and she collapsed with a little trembling cry. And Bob and
Frank, over there, on the other side of the car—though how they got
there was a mystery to Jack!—sitting on the form of the ruffian whom
Rafaela had faced and outfaced and at their back, only half-seen in the
growing darkness, the other aviators from the second taxi.
“Is it all over? Anybody hurt?” the young aviators demanded.
But Jack could think of nothing except that here was Rafaela whom he had
thought far away, and safe in his arms, when he had feared she was in
Ramirez’s power. Safe in his arms—
For the first time he was aware of the broad grins upon the faces of his
two comrades, and the scarcely less-pronounced smiles of his Border
Patrol friends. He knew the reason, but he merely pressed Rafaela
tighter in the circle of his arm. It was she who pulled away, with a
“Thank you, Senor, but I can stand now.” And then—they were now in the
street between car and taxi—the little witch must needs add, as if
utterly surprised, “Oh, it is you, Jack.” And Jack, looking no more
foolish than he felt, could only add, “Yes, it’s I. Who—who did you
think it was?”
The grins became broader, someone laughed. Rafaela only shrugged.
Across the embarrassment cut Captain Cornell’s voice. “Tie ’em up, boys,
and into the house, quick.”
“Oh, but, Senor, not Ramon,” protested Rafaela, facing the group about
the volubly expostulating cook. The two other captives were sullen and
silent. “He have been of a help to me.”
“Senor Jack,” Ramon held out supplicating hands.
Jack hesitated, but the old cook’s appeal coupled with a glance from
Rafaela decided him. “I’ll answer for Ramon,” he said.
And Bob, remembering the old cook’s recalcitrance toward Ramirez outside
the bull ring that afternoon—was it only a few short hours before?—spoke
up with, “He’s all right. Let’s beat it into the house.”
A swirl and a whoop, a patter of running feet, and away dashed the
others, up the walk toward Doctor Garfield’s house behind a wide lawn.
The two hastily yet securely-trussed captives lay on the sidewalk, with
Ramon leering about them, lighting a cigarette. The taxi driver looked
down interestedly from his seat at the two young people standing so
close to each other between his cab and the other car.
“Aw, rats,” he muttered, but grinning as he spoke the words. “Ain’t they
the sweet young things.”
Then he climbed down stiffly and walked around on the other side of his
taxi to talk to his brother chauffeur in the other car.