A STRANGE DISCOVERY
As nearly as Dave and Roger could calculate, there were about two
hundred of the Mexican guerrillas--dirty and fierce-looking
individuals, led by an officer wearing an enormous hat and a long,
drooping mustache.
The entire crowd looked disreputable in the extreme, and the youths
could not help but shudder as they gazed at the cavalcade.
"My gracious, Dave! do you call those revolutionists?" remarked Roger,
after the last of the horsemen had disappeared down the roadway.
"They may be revolutionists, Roger. But to my mind they look more like
bandits than anything else. Under the pretense of aiding Mexico they
probably steal whenever they get the chance."
"I'd hate awfully to fall into their clutches. I think they'd rob a
fellow of every dollar he had."
"Well, never mind those Mexicans, Roger," pursued Dave. "Come on, let
us see if we can't locate Ward Porton."
"He went over into one of yonder buildings."
"I know it, and I've got an idea," answered our hero. "Let us see if
we can't sneak across the roadway without being seen and then come up
to those buildings through the thick grass and behind that chaparral.
If we expose ourselves Porton will, of course, keep out of our sight
or run away."
With extreme caution the two chums worked their way through the
tall grass to the edge of the roadway. Then, watching their chance
when nobody seemed to be looking, they dashed to the other side and
into the grass again. Then they began to work their way cautiously in
the direction of the group of buildings into which the former
moving-picture actor had disappeared.
The buildings belonged to a Mexican ranch; but the place had evidently
been the scene of a fight at some time in the past, for one of the
buildings was completely wrecked and several of the others much
battered. There were no horses, cattle, pigs, or chickens anywhere in
sight; and the youths came to the conclusion that the ranch had been
abandoned by its owner.
"Probably some of those guerrillas came along and cleaned him out,"
observed Dave, "and after that he didn't think it would be worth while
to stay so long as the country was in a state of war."
In a few minutes more Dave and his chum gained the first of the
buildings. Here they paused to listen and to look around.
"You want to be on your guard, Roger," whispered our hero. "Porton may
be watching us and he may have some of his friends here. For all we
know this may be his hang-out."
"I'll be on guard, don't fear," answered the senator's son, and
brought forth his pistol.
"Don't use that gun unless you have to," warned Dave, who did not
favor any shooting, even in an extreme case like this.
"I'll not give a rascal like Porton the chance to shoot me first,"
retorted Roger. "That fellow ought to be in jail, and you know it."
To this our hero did not answer. He felt in his pocket to make sure
that his own weapon was ready for use.
Not a sound from the other buildings had reached them, nor did any one
appear to be in sight.
"Looks to me as if we were in sole possession, now that those
guerrillas have gone," announced Roger. "Wow! I hope they don't come
back,--at least not until we are safe on our side of the Rio Grande,"
he added grimly.
"Come on, we'll take a look through the buildings," answered Dave.
"Don't make any noise if you can possibly help it."
Leaving the building which they had first entered--an abandoned
stable--they moved through a broken-down cow-shed to a long, low
structure which had evidently been used by the helpers on the ranch.
This building was also deserted, and all that remained in it was some
filthy bedding alive with vermin.
"Come on, let us get out of here," remarked Roger, as he looked with
disfavor at the squalor presented. "How can human beings live like
this, Dave?"
"I don't know, Roger. This place ought to be burned down--it's the
only way to get it clean," Dave added, shaking his head in disgust
over the sight.
Less than fifty feet away was the corner of the main building of the
ranch. Peering out cautiously, to make sure that no one was watching
them, the two chums hurried across the open space and crouched down
beneath a wide-open window. Then Dave, pistol in hand, looked in
through the opening.
The room beyond was deserted, and a glance around showed him that it
contained little besides some heavy pieces of furniture which the
looters had evidently been unable to remove. On a table rested several
empty liquor bottles, and also a number of cigar and cigarette stubs.
On the floor were scattered newspapers and some playing cards.
"The fellows who were here evidently got out in a hurry," remarked
Dave.
"Are you going to go in?" questioned Roger.
"I guess so. What do you think about it?"
"I'm with you, Dave. Now we have gone so far, we might as well finish
the job."
It was an easy matter for the two chums to climb through the low
window. Once in the room, they advanced toward a doorway leading to an
apartment that opened on the _patio_ of the ranch home--an open
courtyard which had once boasted of a well-kept flower garden, but
which was now neglected and overrun with weeds.
As Dave gazed out across the _patio_ he saw a movement in a room on
the opposite side of the ranch home. The face of a man had appeared
for a few seconds. Behind him was some one else--who, however, Dave
could not make out.
"My gracious, Roger!" gasped our hero in a low voice. "Did you see
that fellow?"
"I saw some one."
"It was William Jarvey!"
"Jarvey! Are you sure?"
"I am certain of it. Now what do you think of that!"
"I'm sure I don't know what to think, Dave. Maybe he is making his
headquarters here, the same as Ward Porton."
"I am going to try to find out. Come on."
Our hero made a quick mental calculation as to the ground plan of the
ranch homeland then he and Roger began to work their way from one room
to another, and then through a long, narrow hallway, until they
reached the other side of the building. Here they paused at the end of
the hallway to listen.
From a room close at hand came a murmur of voices. By straining his
ears Dave made out the tones of William Jarvey. The former bookkeeper
for the Mentor Construction Company was evidently talking to another
man, but what was being said was not distinguishable.
"It's Jarvey all right enough," whispered Dave.
"Yes. But that isn't Ward Porton with him," returned Roger.
"I know it. It's some man."
Both continued to listen, and presently heard William Jarvey give a
sarcastic laugh.
"You've got another guess coming, Packard Brown, if you think you are
going to get that much out of the deal!" he cried. "Remember, you
haven't done a thing to help us."
"That's all right, Bill Jarvey," retorted the man called Packard
Brown. "When we left the U. S. A. and came over here it was understood
that we were to share and share alike in everything."
"Yes, but I didn't think this new thing was coming up," growled
Jarvey. "We were to share equal on what we happened to get out of the
greasers. This is another thing entirely."
"I admit that. Just the same, I think I'm entitled to my share."
"Well, you help us all you can and you'll get a nice little wad out of
it, Brown."
What more was said on this subject did not reach the ears of Dave and
Roger, for just then the latter pulled our hero by the sleeve.
"Somebody's coming!" he whispered. "Maybe it's Porton."
Dave did not answer. At the end of the semi-dark hallway there was a
closet which in years gone by had been used for the storage of guns
and clothing. Into this closet the two youths went, closing the door
carefully after them.
"It's Porton all right enough," whispered Dave, who a moment later was
crouching low and looking through a large keyhole devoid of a key.
"There he goes into the room where the two men are."
"Then those two men must be in with him," returned the senator's son.
"Say, Dave, this is certainly getting interesting!"
"It's going to make our job a pretty hard one," answered our hero. "If
Ward Porton was alone we might be able to capture him. But I don't
see how we are going to do it with Jarvey and that man named Brown
present."
"Maybe if we offer Jarvey and Brown a large reward they will help us
make Porton a prisoner," suggested Roger. "More than likely Jarvey is
on his uppers and will do anything to get a little cash."
The two youths came out into the semi-dark hallway once more, and on
tiptoes crept toward the door of the room occupied by Ward Porton and
the two men.
"I went all around the buildings, and looked up and down the roadway,
but I couldn't see anything of them," the former moving-picture actor
was saying. "I guess they got cold feet when they saw those soldiers.
Say, those greasers certainly were a fierce-looking bunch!"
"I don't believe they were any of General Bilassa's army," returned
William Jarvey. "They were probably some detachment out for whatever
they could lay their hands on," and he chuckled coarsely. Evidently he
considered that such guerrilla warfare under certain circumstances was
perfectly justifiable.
Following this there was some talk which neither of those outside the
door could catch. Then came a rather loud exclamation from Ward Porton
which startled our friends more than anything else that could have
been said.
"Well, now, look here, Dad!" cried the former moving-picture actor.
"You let me run this affair. I started it, and I know I can put it
through successfully."
"That's right, Jarvey!" broke in Packard Brown. "Let your son go ahead
and work this deal out to suit himself. He seems to have made a
success of it so far--getting the best of that fellow Crapsey," and
the speaker chuckled.
Dave and Roger looked at each other knowingly. Here indeed was a
revelation. Evidently Ward Porton was the son of the man they knew as
William Jarvey.
"My gracious! I remember now!" burst out our hero in a low tone. "When
we went to Burlington to see that old man, Obadiah Jones, about Ward
don't you remember that he told us that Ward was the son of a
good-for-nothing lieutenant in the army named Jarvey Porton? That man
Pankhurst who was captured declared that Jarvey was living under an
assumed name and had been an officer in the army. It must be true,
Roger. This fellow is really Jarvey Porton, and he is Ward Porton's
father!"