OFF FOR PANAMA
It had been a day of tremendous strain from start to finish, and there
was a general sigh of relief, as they gathered up their traps and
prepared to leave the camp. Not since their fight with the pirates, had
the boys had a closer "shave." It had been a case of touch and go, and
they had barely escaped with their lives. But they had won out, after
all, and, as Tom said, "a miss was as good as a mile." And their hearts
warmed at the sense of comradeship, that had once again been tested to
the limit and proved equal to the emergency. They had risked their lives
for each other, and the "fortune that favors the brave" had not deserted
them.
For Melton, their feeling was too deep for words. His was a heart of
gold. Without the slightest personal end to be served, and prompted
solely by his great, big, generous soul, he had come to their aid in the
moment of deepest need, and fought shoulder to shoulder, in their effort
to save their friend. Again and again they sought to voice their thanks,
but the hardy old frontiersman would have none of it.
"Cut it out, boys," he laughed. "I didn't do a thing that you wouldn't
have done for me, if you knew that an American was in trouble. Some day
perhaps, you can pay me back, if you insist on considering it a debt. I
only hope, if I ever do get in a scrape, I'll have some young fellows of
your brand behind me."
As none of them could read the future, they did not know that there was a
touch of prophecy in his words, and that the time was coming, when, in
his own native Rockies, the boys would pay the debt with interest.
From the loot found in the hut of the bandit chief, Dick had recovered
his watch and money and clothes, and declared that he felt like a human
being again for the first time since he had been trapped by the guerilla
band on the morning before.
They shuddered, as, on their way through the camp, they passed the bodies
of the snakes, still tethered to the posts. They lay, quiet enough now,
like the human fiend whose venom had been as dangerous as their own.
"The snakes and the Tiger," mused Bert. "They both lost out."
But now the cavalry were mounted and ready for the start. The horses of
the guerillas had been released from their hobbles, and were led by ropes
behind a number of the soldiers. One was assigned to Dick, while Melton
and the boys mounted three, that they were to use temporarily, until they
had recovered their own that had been left further down the trail.
As they were gathering up the reins, Bert felt a touch on his leg. He
looked down and saw the Chinaman, who in the hurry of preparation had
been overlooked.
"Great Scott!" he exclaimed. "The Chink! We forgot all about him."
The poor fellow's eyes were full of dread at the thought of being left
alone in the wilderness.
"Of course we'll take you along, John," Bert continued, "though I don't
know what on earth we'll do with you. But we'll settle that later on."
Dismounting, he gave the Chinaman a leg up on one of the led horses. The
Oriental had never been on a horse in his life, and he made a comical
figure, as he bobbed up and down. After threatening to fall off at any
moment, he finally abandoned all effort to sit upright, and, leaning
forward, threw he arms around the horse's neck and held on for his life.
"It's rather hard lines," laughed Dick. "But when he thinks of what he's
getting away from, I guess he won't worry much about getting shaken up a
little."
Soon they reached their own horses, and were proceeding to make the
exchange, when they remembered the sentry who had been captured on that
spot. They looked at each other with a little touch of perplexity.
"We can't leave him there to starve," said Tom. "On the other hand, if
we remind the captain, he'll simply send one of his troopers to put a
bullet in him."
"He's our captive," said Bert, "and I guess we'd better tend to this on
our own account. We didn't actually promise him his life, and no doubt
he's deserved death many times over. We got some valuable information
out of him, though, even if it was at the point of a bowie, and I think
we ought to untie him and let him go."
As there was no dissent from this, they went to the tree where they had
left the sentry. They found him nearly dead from terror. He had heard
the sounds of the fight and the cheers of the soldiers, and knew pretty
well how the struggle had ended. Now, as the boys approached, he tried
to read their purpose in their eyes. He knew how he would have acted,
had the case been reversed, and he did not dare to hope for mercy. But,
to his astonishment, they took the gag from his mouth, untied his hands
and told him he was free. He shook himself and then staggered away in
the underbrush, trying to get out of sight before his deliverers should
change their minds. They watched him till he vanished, and then retraced
their steps to where Melton was waiting.
"You did right, boys," he said. "Although," he added, "a good many might
think it was a case of misplaced sympathy. While I was waiting, I was
reminded of the story of the little girl, looking at a picture of the
early Christians attacked by lions in the arena. Her mother saw that she
was crying, and was pleased to see that she was so tender-hearted. 'It is
sad, isn't it?' she asked. 'Yes,' sobbed the child, 'look at this poor
thin little lion, that hasn't any Christian.'"
The boys laughed, as they sprang into the saddle.
"Of course," concluded Melton, "it's rough on any lion to compare him to
a fellow like this. Perhaps we'd better say a hyena, and let it go at
that."
With hearts light as air, they cantered down the trail. Once more, life
was smiling. They passed in quick succession the various land marks they
had such good reason to remember. Here was the place where they had
passed the night, and where Melton had come upon them, bringing cheer and
hope. There was the stream, in which the outlaws had walked their
horses. Most memorable of all was the curve in the road, where Dick had
come upon the guerillas. Nothing in nature had changed since yesterday.
But what a gulf lay between their tortured sensations of the day before
and the joyous elation of the present!
It was long after dark, when they rode into Montillo--too late to see
the consul and the mayor that night. They bade a cordial good night to
the captain, and, with a gay wave of the hand to the troopers, went to
the leading hotel of the place. Here they found their baggage, which,
thanks again to the thoughtfulness of Melton, had been taken from the
train and sent there to await their coming--that coming which had been
so doubtful a little while before. They saw to it that the Chinaman had
food and drink and a place to sleep. Then a good supper, a hot bath, and
they piled between sheets, to await the coming of the morrow.
It was long after sunrise the next morning, when they awoke. They had
slept soundly, and, if any haunting recollection of their experience had
taken form in a dream, there was no trace of anything but jubilation, as
they dressed and breakfasted to an accompaniment of jest and laughter.
Melton, who had risen earlier and was smoking on the veranda, rose and
threw away his cigar, and after a hearty handshake, went with them to the
office of the consul.
"Thank God, you're back," he cried fervently, as he shook hands with
Melton. "And these, I suppose," he went on, as he turned toward the boys
and greeted them warmly, "are the young rascals who have given me so many
anxious moments lately. By Jove, I can't tell you how glad I am to know
that you got out of that scrape all right. There aren't many who have
fallen into the hands of El Tigre that ever came back to tell the story.
Sit down now and tell me all about it."
He was a fine example of Uncle Sam's representatives abroad, keen,
strong, determined, and the boys warmed toward him at once. He listened
intently, while Melton told all that had happened, and his eyes lighted
up, as he learned how they had rushed the camp.
"It was splendid," he exclaimed. "It's almost a miracle and I wonder
that you pulled through alive."
"It was a narrow squeak," admitted Melton, "and, at that, I'm afraid we
wouldn't have got away with it, if the troopers hadn't come up just when
they did. The bandits had got over their surprise and were surrounding
us. I tell you, that squad of soldiers looked mighty good to me."
"So I imagine," rejoined the consul. "And that reminds me that we ought
to go round and see the mayor. You can thank your friend here," he went
on, turning to the boys, "that the mayor got busy at all in this matter.
It was that 'hand on the hip pocket' idea that did the trick. It scared
him stiff. He thinks a good deal of that precious skin of his, and he
didn't like the idea of having it shot full of holes. I don't believe he
ever hustled so much before in his life. No doubt by this time he has
had a report of the affair from the captain of the squad, and he'll be
strutting around like a turkey-cock."
The consul's prediction was confirmed, when, a few minutes later, they
were ushered into the mayor's office. He was fairly bursting with self
importance. He greeted them with ineffable politeness, strongly dashed
with condescension.
He was delighted beyond measure to see his dear Americano friends again.
But there--it was a foregone conclusion. Nothing could withstand his
soldiers. He had already telegraphed to Mexico City, of the rescue, and
of the complete destruction of the band of El Tigre. What no other mayor
had been able to accomplish, _he_ had done in one fell swoop. It would
probably mean--ahem--a decoration, possibly--ahem--political
promotion. He trusted that his good Americano friends would report the
matter at Washington. It would show how sternly the Mexican government
protected the lives of foreigners in its borders.
And so he went on, in a steady stream of self laudation, that so strongly
stirred the risibles of the boys that they did not dare to look at each
other, for fear that they would laugh outright. But they were, after
all, deeply indebted to him, no matter what his motives, and they
maintained their gravity and thanked him heartily for the aid he had
rendered. Only after they had reached the street, did their features
relax.
"Hates himself, doesn't he?" laughed Tom.
"He sure does," responded Bert. "He ought to be nothing less than
president, if you should ask him."
"He's certainly throwing himself away to stay here as mayor," added Dick.
"But, considering all that's happened, I don't mind if he does pat
himself on the back. But here comes the man to whom we owe an awful lot,
too. I like him clear down to the ground."
It was the young captain who approached, and they greeted him heartily.
He also had reason for elation, both in having avenged his brother and in
having accomplished a military feat that would surely add to his
reputation. But he was modest, and stoutly disclaimed that the boys owed
him anything. He had simply done his duty and it was all in the day's
work.
"He's the right stuff," said Tom, as they separated, after mutual
expressions of esteem. "He ought to be an American." Which from
patriotic, if somewhat prejudiced Tom, was the highest praise.
And now, after warmest farewells had been taken of the consul, there was
nothing to keep them in Montillo. Yes, there was one thing, as Dick
suddenly remembered.
"The Chink," he said. "What about him?"
"Oh, give him a little money and let him stay here," suggested Tom. "He
can easily get something to do."
The matter thus disposed of, they sauntered on, but as they neared the
hotel, they saw the Celestial evidently waiting for them.
"Hello, John," said Bert, pleasantly.
"Hello, slelf," was the smiling answer. Then he went on calmly: "Me glo
with you."
"What's that?" cried Bert, startled. "But we're going to Panama."
"Me glo too. Me glot flends, Panama."
"But have you got any money to take you there?"
"No. You glot money. Me play back," and he beamed on them blandly.
The boys looked helplessly at each other.
"How nice," murmured Tom.
"Well, of all the nerve," exclaimed Dick.
"Me glo with you," reiterated the Chinaman, kindly but firmly; and the
benevolence of his smile was beautiful to see.
The bewilderment in Bert's face was too much for the others, and they
burst into a roar of laughter.
"No use, Bert," said Dick, as soon as he could speak. "He's got the
Indian sign on us, and we might as well give in."
"No," echoed Tom, "there's no getting away from that smile. If I had it,
I could borrow money from the Bank of England."
"I throw up my hands," responded Bert. "He's adopted us, and that's all
there is about it. We'll take him along as handy man, till he gets to
his 'flends in Panama.'"
They put him to work at once, getting ready the baggage, and when this
was completed, they sought out Melton to say good-bye. They wrung his
hand until he laughingly protested that they wanted to cripple him.
"We'll never forget you, never," they declared with fervent sincerity.
"Same here," he replied with equal warmth, "and some day I hope to see
you on my ranch. I'd like to show you what is meant by a Western
welcome."
"Will we? You bet. Just watch us," came in chorus, and then they
reluctantly tore themselves away from the great hearted specimen of
Nature's noblemen, whose place in their hearts was secure for all time.
"Panama, after all," exulted Dick, as they stood on the station platform.
"Yes," chimed in Tom, "they couldn't cheat us out of it."
"The quickest route to the coast for us," added Bert, "and then the rest
of the way by boat. I'm wild to set my feet once more beneath the Stars
and Stripes."