ACROSS THE RIO GRANDE
Dave read the note from Ward Porton with intense interest, and then
passed it over to Roger.
"What do you know about that!" exclaimed the senator's son, after he
had perused the communication. "Do you think Porton tells the truth?"
"I don't know what to think, Roger. If he does tell the truth, then it
is quite likely that Tim Crapsey was trying to play a double game so
far as the Basswoods were concerned."
"It's pretty clever on Porton's part," said Roger, speculatively. "He
knows it would be very difficult for us to get hold of him while he is
in Mexico, with this revolution going on. And at the same time he is
close enough to keep in touch with you, knowing that you can easily
transact this business for the Basswoods--providing, of course, that
Mr. Basswood is willing."
Dave did not answer to this, for he was looking around for the Mexican
youth who had delivered the note. But the boy had slipped away, and a
search of the camp failed to reveal what had become of him.
"I guess he was instructed to sneak away without being seen," was our
hero's comment. "Porton knew that I wouldn't be in a position to
answer him at once, and he didn't want me to follow that boy."
Dave read the note again, and then went off to consult with Frank
Andrews and Mr. Obray.
"It's too bad you didn't capture that little greaser," observed the
head of the civil engineers. "We might have been able to get some
information from him. However, if he's gone that's the end of it. I
think the best thing you can do, Porter, is to send a night message to
this Mr. Basswood, telling him how the note was received and repeating
it word for word. Then the responsibility for what may follow will not
rest on your shoulders."
Our hero thought this good advice, and, aided by his chum, he
concocted what is familiarly known as a Night Letter, to be sent by
telegraph to Crumville.
On the following day came a surprise for our hero in the shape of a
short message from Ben Basswood which ran as follows:
"Yours regarding Porton received. Crapsey makes another offer.
Pair probably enemies now. Will write or wire instructions
later."
"This is certainly getting interesting," remarked Dave, after having
read the message. He turned it over to Roger. "I guess Ben is
right--Crapsey and Porton have fallen out and each is claiming to have
the miniatures."
"Well, one or the other must have them, Dave."
"Perhaps they divided them, Roger. Thieves often do that sort of
thing, you know."
"Do you suppose Ward Porton is really around that Bilassa camp in
Mexico?" went on the senator's son.
"Probably he is hanging out somewhere in that vicinity. I don't think
he has joined General Bilassa. He thinks too much of his own neck to
become a soldier in any revolution."
Having sent his message to the Basswoods and received Ben's reply,
there seemed nothing further for our hero to do but to wait. He and
Roger were very busy helping to survey the route beyond the new
Catalco bridge, and in the fascination of this occupation Ward Porton
was, for the next few days, almost forgotten.
"If the Basswoods expect you to do anything regarding that note you
got from Porton they had better get busy before long," remarked Roger
one evening. "Otherwise Porton may do as he threatened--destroy the
pictures."
"Oh, I don't believe he'd do anything of that sort, Roger," answered
Dave. "What would be the use? I think he would prefer to hide them
somewhere, thinking that some day he would be able to make money out
of them."
Four days after this came a bulky letter from Ben Basswood which Dave
and his chum read eagerly. It was as follows:
"I write to let you know that Tim Crapsey has been caught at last.
He was traced to New York and then to Newark, N. J., where the
police found him in a second-rate hotel. He had been drinking, and
confessed that he had had a row with Ward Porton and that one
night, when he was under the influence of liquor, Porton had
decamped, taking all but two of the miniatures with him. The two
miniatures had been sold to a fence in New York City for one
hundred dollars, and the police think they can easily get them
back. With the hundred dollars Crapsey had evidently gone on a
spree, and it was during this that Porton sneaked away with the
other miniatures. Crapsey had an idea that Porton was bound for
Boston, where he would take a steamer for Europe. But we know he
was mistaken.
"The case being as it is, my father, as well as your folks and Mr.
Wadsworth, thinks that Porton must have the pictures with him in
Mexico. That being the case, your Uncle Dunston says he will come
down to Texas at once to see you, and I am to come with him. What
will be done in the matter I don't know, although my father would
much rather give up ten thousand dollars than have the miniatures
destroyed. If you receive any further word from Ward Porton tell
him that I am coming down to negotiate with him. You had better
not mention your uncle's name."
"Looks as if Porton told the truth after all," announced Roger.
"Probably he watched his opportunity and the first chance he got he
decamped and left Crapsey to take care of himself."
"Most likely, Roger. I don't believe there is any honor among
thieves."
Ben had not said how soon he and Dunston Porter would arrive. But as
they would probably follow the letter the two chums looked for the
pair on almost every train. But two days passed, and neither put in an
appearance.
"They must have been delayed by something," was Dave's comment.
"Maybe they are trying to get that ten thousand dollars together,"
suggested Roger.
"I don't believe my Uncle Dunston will offer Porton any such money
right away," returned our hero. "He'll see first if he can't work it
so as to capture the rascal."
On the following morning Roger was sent southward on an errand for Mr.
Obray. When he returned he was very much excited.
"Dave, I think I saw Ward Porton again!" he exclaimed, as he rushed up
to our hero.
"Where was that?" questioned Dave, quickly.
"Down on that road which leads to the Rio Grande. There was a fellow
talking to a ranchman I've met several times, a Texan named Lawson. As
soon as he saw me he took to his heels. I questioned Lawson about him
and he said the fellow had come across the river at a point about a
quarter of a mile below here."
Dave listened to this explanation with interest, and immediately
sought out Mr. Obray. The upshot of the talk was that our hero was
given permission to leave the camp for the day, taking Roger with
him.
The two chums went off armed with their pistols, not knowing what
might happen. They first walked to where Roger had met the ranchman,
and there the senator's son pointed out the direction that the young
man who had run away had taken. They followed this trail, and
presently reached the roadway which ran in sight of the river. There
were comparatively few craft on the stream, and none of these looked
as if it might be occupied by the young man they were after. But
presently they reached a small creek flowing into the Rio Grande, and
on this saw two flat-bottomed rowboats.
"There he is now!" exclaimed Dave, suddenly, and pointed to the first
of the rowboats, which was being sent down the creek in the direction
of the river.
The sole occupant of the craft was the fellow at the oars, and the two
chums readily made out that it was the former moving-picture actor. As
soon as he made certain of Porton's identity, Dave pulled Roger down
in the tall grass which bordered the creek.
"There is no use in letting him see us," explained our hero.
"Do you suppose he is bound for the Mexican shore?" questioned the
senator's son.
"More than likely, Roger." Dave looked questioningly at his chum. "Are
you game to follow him?" he added.
"What do you mean?"
"We might take that other rowboat and go after him. I see it contains
a pair of oars. Either of us ought to be able to row as well as
Porton, and if we can catch him before he lands maybe we'll be able to
drive him back to the United States side of the river."
"All right, I'll go with you," responded Roger, quickly. "Come ahead!"
and he started on a run for the rowboat.
The craft was tied fast to two stakes, but it was an easy matter for
them to loosen the ropes. This done, Dave took up the oars, shoved
off, and started to row with all the strength at his command.
Evidently Ward Porton had not expected to be followed, for he was
rowing leisurely, allowing his flat-bottomed boat to drift with the
current. He was much surprised when he saw the other boat come on at a
good rate of speed.
"Get back there!" he yelled, when he recognized the occupants of the
second craft. "Get back, I tell you, or I'll shoot!"
"If you do we'll do some shooting on our own account, Porton!" called
back Roger, and showed his pistol.
The sight of the weapon evidently frightened Porton greatly. Yet he
did not cease rowing, and now he headed directly for the Mexican
shore.
The river at this point was broad and shallow and contained numerous
sand-bars. Almost before they knew it the craft containing our friends
ran up on one of the bars and stuck there. In the meantime Ward Porton
continued his efforts to gain the shore.
"What's the matter, Dave?" cried Roger, when he saw our hero stop
rowing.
"We are aground," was the answer. "Here, Roger, get to the stern of
the boat with me, and we'll see if we can't shove her off again."
With the two chums in the stern of the craft, the bow came up out of
the sand-bar, and in a few seconds more Dave, aided by the current of
the stream, managed to get the rowboat clear. But all this had taken
time, and now the two chums saw that Ward Porton had beached his boat
and was running across the marshland beyond.
"I'm afraid he is going to get away," remarked Roger, dolefully.
"Not much!" answered Dave. "Anyway, I'm not going to give up yet," and
he resumed his rowing.
"Here, let me take a turn at that. You must be getting a little
tired," said Roger, and he insisted that Dave allow him to do the
rowing.
Soon they reached the Mexican shore, at a point where there was a wide
stretch of marshland with not a building in sight. They had gotten
several glimpses of Ward Porton making his way through the tall grass.
The trail was an easy one to follow.
"Come on! We'll get him yet!" muttered Dave, and started off on the
run with Roger behind him.
They had just reached an ill-kept highway when they heard shouting in
the distance. They saw Ward Porton running wildly in the direction of
a set of low buildings, evidently belonging to some sort of ranch. As
the former moving-picture actor disappeared, a band of Mexican
cavalry swept into view.
"Quick, Roger! Down in the grass!" cried Dave. "We don't want those
soldiers to see us! They may be government troops, but they look more
like guerrillas--like the rascals who raided the Tolman ranch!"
"Right you are," answered the senator's son. And then both lay low in
the tall grass while the Mexican guerrillas, for they were nothing
else, swept past them.