Produced by Jim Ludwig
Bert Wilson at Panama
BY J.W. Duffield
Copyright, 1914, By
SULLY AND KLEINTEICH
Published and Printed, 1924 by
Western Printing & Lithographing Company
Racine, Wisconsin
Printed in U.S.A.
CONTENTS
CHAPTERS
I. The Hold-Up
II. The Pursuit
III. A Gallant Comrade
IV. The Captured Sentry
V. A Fiendish Torture
VI. The Execution of El Tigre
VII. Off for Panama
VIII. The Great Canal
IX. The Treacherous Bog
X. A Perilous Adventure
XI. The Deserted City
XII. Wah Lee's Boss
XIII. Marked for Destruction
XIV. Snatched from the Sea
XV. Cutting the Wires
XVI. The Foiling of the Plot
CHAPTER I
THE HOLD-UP
"Hands up! Quick!"
Now, in wild countries, such a command is never disobeyed, except by a
fool or a would-be suicide. As Dick Trent was neither, his hands went up
at once. And as he looked into the wicked muzzles of two bulldog
revolvers, he inwardly cursed the carelessness that had led him so far
afield, unarmed.
For that he had been careless there was not the shadow of a doubt. All
that morning, as his train wound its way through Central Mexico, there
had been unmistakable evidence on every side of the disturbed state of
the nation. From the car windows he had seen a fertile country turned
into a desert. The railroad line itself had been fairly well guarded by
strong detachments of Federal forces; but outside the direct zone of
travel there were abundant witnesses of strife and desolation. Smoke was
rising from the remains of burned villages, the fields were bare of
cattle driven off by marauding bands, harvests remained ungathered
because the tillers of the soil had either fled for safety to the larger
towns or been forced to take up arms with one of the contending factions.
There were at least four important leaders, backed by considerable
forces, who claimed to represent the people of Mexico, while countless
bands of guerillas hung on the flanks of the regular armies. These last
were murderers, pure and simple. It mattered nothing to them which side
won. They robbed and slaughtered impartially, wherever booty or victims
awaited them, and their ranks were recruited from the very scum of the
earth.
Only that morning a brisk action had taken place at a small town on the
line, and although the guerillas had been driven off they had managed to
inflict considerable damage. A desperate attempt to destroy a bridge had
been foiled, but one of the trestles had been so weakened that the heavy
train did not dare to cross until repairs were made. This caused a delay
of an hour or two, and, in the meantime, most of the passengers left the
train and strolled about, watching the progress of the work.
Among these had been Bert Wilson and Tom Henderson, Dick's inseparable
friends and companions. A strong bond of friendship united the three and
this had been cemented by many experiences shared in common. They were
so thoroughly congenial, had "summered and wintered" each other so long
that each almost knew what the others were thinking. Together they had
faced dangers: together they had come to hand grips with death and
narrowly escaped. Each knew that the others would back him to the limit
and would die rather than desert him in an emergency. By dint of
strength and natural capacity Bert was the leader, but the others
followed close behind. All were tall and muscular, and as they stood
beside the train they formed a striking trio--the choicest type of young
American manhood.
They were on their way to Panama to witness the opening of the Panama
Canal. That stupendous triumph of engineering skill had appealed to them
strongly while in course of construction, and now that it was to be
thrown open to the vessels of the world, their enthusiasm had reached
fever heat. All of them had chosen their life work along engineering and
scientific lines, and this of course added to the interest they felt
simply as patriotic Americans. They had devoured with eagerness every
scrap of news as the colossal work went on, but had scarcely dared to
hope that they might see it in person. A lucky combination of
circumstances had made it possible at the last moment to take the trip
together; and from the time that trip became a certainty they thought and
talked of little else than the great canal.
"How shall we go?" asked Tom, when they began to plan for the journey.
"Oh, by boat or train, I suppose," said Dick flippantly. "It's a little
too far to walk."
"Yes, Socrates," retorted Tom, "I had imagined as much. But bring your
soaring intellect down to earth and get busy with common things. Which
shall it be?"
"I'd leave it to the toss of a coin," was the answer. "I don't care
either way."
"I vote for the train," broke in Bert. "We've had a good deal of sea
travel in our trip to the Olympic Games and that last voyage to China.
Besides, I'd like to see Mexico and Central America. It's the land of
flowers and romance, of guitars and senoritas, of Cortes and the
Aztecs----"
"Yes," interrupted Dick grimly, "and of bandits and beggars and greasers
and guerillas. Perhaps you'll see a good deal more of Mexico than you
want. Still, I'm game, and if Tom----"
"Count me in," said Tom promptly. "A spice of danger will make it all
the more exciting. If the Chinese pirates didn't get us, I guess the
Mexicans won't."
So Mexico it was, and up to the time they stopped at the broken bridge no
personal danger had threatened, although it was evident that the country
was a seething volcano. How near they were to that volcano's rim they
little dreamed as they sauntered lazily down to the bridge and watched
the men at work.
The damage proved greater than at first thought, and it was evident that
some time must elapse before it could be thoroughly repaired. Bert and
Tom climbed down the ravine a little way to get a better view of the
trestle. Dick chatted a while with the engineer as he stood, oil can in
hand, near the tender. Then the impulse seized him to walk a little way
up the road that ran beside the track and get some of the kinks out of
his six feet of bone and muscle.
It was a perfect day. The sun shone hotly, but there was a cooling
breeze that tempered the heat and made it bearable. Great trees beside
the road afforded a grateful shade and beneath them Dick walked on.
Everything was so different from what he had been accustomed to that at
each moment he saw something new. Strange, gaily-plumaged birds
fluttered in the branches overhead. Slender feathery palms rose a
hundred feet in the air. Here a scorpion ran through the chapparal;
there a tarantula scurried away beneath the dusty leaves of a cactus
plant. Up in the transparent blue a vulture soared, and made Dick think
of the abundant feasts that were spread for these carrion birds all over
Mexico. And just then as he rounded a curve in the road, his heart
leaped into his throat and his hands went up in response to a quick,
sharp word of command.
"Fool, fool," he groaned to himself. Then he rose to the emergency. He
took a grip on himself. And his cool gray eyes gave no sign of his
inward tumult as he looked steadily at his captor and returned gaze for
gaze. And as he gazed, the conviction grew that his life was not worth a
moment's purchase.
Before him, surrounded by his followers, stood a man of medium height,
but evidently possessed of great muscular strength. He wore a
nondescript costume of buckskin, studded with silver buttons and
surmounted by a serape that had once been red, but now was sadly faded by
wind and weather. A murderous machete was thrust into a flaunting sash
that served as a belt and a black sombrero overshadowed his face.
That face! Dick had never seen one so hideous except in nightmare. A
sword cut had slashed the right cheek from the temple to the chin. The
mouth from which several teeth were missing was like a gash. His eyes,
narrowed beneath drooping lids, were glinting with ferocity. They were
the eyes of a demon and the soul that looked through them was scarred and
seamed by every evil passion. So the old pirates might have looked as
they forced their victims to walk the plank. So an Apache Indian might
have gloated over a captive at the stake. Dick's soul turned sick within
him, but outwardly he was as cold as ice and hard as steel, as he stared
unflinchingly into the cruel eyes before him.
Perhaps that level gaze saved his life. The bandit's hand was trembling
on the trigger. One dead man more or less made no difference to him and
he could rob as easily after shooting as before. Something told Dick
that, had he weakened for a moment, a bullet would have found lodgment in
his heart. He braced himself for the strange duel and as he looked, he
saw the savage eyes change into a half-resentful admiration. It had been
a case of touch and go, but Dick, by sheer nerve had won a brief
reprieve. Without lowering the revolvers, the bandit called to one of
the scoundrels, of whom twenty stood near by with carbines ready:
"Search him, Pedro," he commanded.
The fellow come forward quickly. Every movement showed the awe and fear
in which the chief was held. He went through every pocket with a skill
born of long experience. Dick's watch and money were taken from him,
and, at a sign from the leader, his coat and shoes were also added to the
loot.
"Now tie him and put him on one of the horses," said the captain, "and
we'll be off. There may be some more of these accursed Americanos near
by."
In a twinkling a lariat was dragged from the saddlehorn of the broncho,
and Dick's arms were roughly tied behind his back. The rope cut cruelly
into his flesh, but, with such an undaunted prisoner, they were
determined to take no chances. Then he was lifted to the saddle and his
feet tied beneath the horse. A bandit leaped up behind him and grasped
the reins with one hand, while he held Dick with the other. Not till he
was thus securely trussed and unable to move hand or foot, did the chief
lower the revolvers with which he had kept the prisoner covered. A sharp
command, a quick vaulting into the saddles, and the guerilla band was off
to its eyrie in the mountains.
Events had passed so rapidly that Dick's brain was in a whirl. It seemed
as though he were in a frightful dream from which he must presently
awake. Scarcely ten minutes had wrought this fearful change in his
fortunes. A quarter of an hour ago he was free, serene, apparently
master of himself and his fate. Now he was a captive, stripped of money
and goods, tied hand and foot, in the power of a desperate scoundrel,
while every step was carrying him further away from happiness and friends
and life.
For he did not disguise to himself that death probably yawned for him at
the journey's end. Whatever the whim that had saved his life so far, it
was unlikely to continue. He tried to figure out why the revolver had
not barked when it had him so surely at its mercy. It was absurd to
think that this human tiger had been deterred by any scruple. He was of
the type that revelled in blood, who like a wild beast lusted for the
kill. Perhaps he had not wanted to leave the evidence of his crime so
close to the victim's friends, whose fury might prompt to bloody revenge.
The noise of the shooting might have brought them like hornets about his
ears. Or did some idea of ransom, if it could be managed, appeal to his
avarice? Or, possibly, he might be held as a hostage to be exchanged for
some precious rascal now held by the enemy. In these last suppositions
there were some glimmerings of hope and Dick drew from them such comfort
as he might; but underneath them all was the grim probability that would
not down that he was probably bound on his last journey.
His tortured thoughts turned back to Bert and Tom. He could see them now
in his mind's eye, chatting and laughing on the edge of the ravine, while
the men shored up the tottering trestle. Presently they would turn back
and idly wonder what had become of Dick. A little longer and their
wonder would change into a certain uneasiness. Still they would not
permit themselves to think for a moment that anything could have happened
to him. They would guess that he might be in the smoker or the buffet
and would saunter leisurely through the various cars. Only then when
they failed to find him would they become seriously alarmed. And he
could see the look of fierce determination and deadly resolution that
would leap to their eyes when they realized that he must have met with
disaster.
For they would come after him. He had no doubt of that. Some time, some
way, they would come upon him, dead or alive, unless their own lives were
lost in the effort. He knew that they would stick to the trail like
bloodhounds and never falter for an instant. They had faced too many
perils together to quail at this supreme test when his life was at stake.
Dear old Bert! Good old Tom! His heart warmed at the thought of them
and a mist came over his eyes.
But what chance did they have of finding him? They were in a strange
land where even the language was unknown to them, and where the natives
looked with suspicion on everything American. The country through which
they were passing was of the wildest kind, and the hard sunbaked trail
left little trace. The woods were thick and at times his captors had to
use their machetes to cut a way through the dense under growth. In
places where streams were met, they walked their horses through the water
to confuse the trail still further. They were evidently familiar with
every foot of ground, and no doubt their camp had been located in some
place where it would be practically impossible for pursuers ta come upon
them without abundant warning. The chances of success were so remote as
to be well nigh hopeless. There was no use in deluding himself, and Dick
pulled himself together and resolutely faced the probability of death.
He did not want to die. Every fibre in him flamed out in fierce revolt
against the thought. Why, he had scarcely begun to live. He stood at
the very threshold of life. Some lines he had read only a few days
before, curiously enough came back to him:
_"'Tis life, of which our nerves are scant,
O life, not death, for which we pant,
More life and fuller that we want."_
Yes, that was it. He wanted life, wanted it eagerly, wanted it
thirstily, wanted it desperately. Never before had it seemed so sweet.
An hour earlier it had stretched before him, full of promise. The blood
ran warm and riotous through every vein. He had everything to live
for--health, strength, home and friends. And now the ending of all his
dreams and hopes and plans was--what?
A shadow fell across him. He looked up. It was the vulture, circling
lower now, as though its instinct told it of a coming feast. Dick
shuddered. The air seemed suddenly to have grown deadly chill.