HELD FOR RANSOM
Four unsatisfactory days passed. The Americans were allowed every
privilege save one, that of boarding the _F 8_ and taking their
departure. Regularly once a day General Roza made a fresh and more
liberal offer for the services of the dirigible’s crew. By the fourth
day the proposed pay of the commissioned officers had advanced to
three hundred and twenty-five pesos a month. Mr. Weeks was courteous
in his refusals, but it became evident that the general was losing
patience. On the third day a detachment of travel-worn and ragged
troops came into Perdero from the northwest, bringing three wretched
peon prisoners. These, the Americans learned, were accused of giving
information to the enemy, in this case the Federalists. They were a
sorry, degraded trio, and if their plight worried them they failed to
show it. Very stolid they looked, as, guarded by two soldiers, they sat
on the ground outside headquarters and smoked corn-husk _cigarillos_.
Later, it appeared, there was some sort of trial, and the poor men were
hustled across to the little _cárcel_ in which military and civilian
offenders were jailed.
Now and then a small scouting party set forth or returned, and once a
very stout _cabellero_ on a diminutive buckskin horse galloped
dramatically into town and pulled up before General Roza’s headquarters.
Once there, however, instead of throwing himself from his steed and
dashing into the house, he rolled a cigarette leisurely and lighted it.
Then, dismounting unhurriedly, he gave the horse over to a soldier, set
his _sombrero_ carefully over his eyes, adjusted his belt and at last
disappeared indoors. Jack and Hugh, who had watched his arrival, agreed
that he bore tidings of much importance. But nothing happened to prove
them right. No commotion ensued. No orderly rushed forth to summon
officers to a council. No bugle sounded “To Arms.” After ten minutes of
waiting they wandered off, disappointed.
“Guess it must have been a false alarm,” said Hugh. “These Mexicans are
a queer lot, aren’t they? They make war about the way a gang of kids
would play it!”
For the Americans nothing of moment occurred during those days of
waiting, with the exception of one incident that for a time strained
diplomatic relations. For awhile they had wondered where the airplane
that had peppered them was located, for nothing that looked like a
hangar had met their sight. At last, however, Lieutenant Gandell solved
the problem. Cruising about the outskirts of the town in company with
one of the affable Mexican officers one day, he had come on a structure
of tent-cloth. The khaki-colored canvas so closely resembled the
yellow-drab desert that the improvised hangar was easily overlooked.
The Lieutenant’s companion very proudly exhibited the contents, two
French biplanes. One was evidently out of commission, for its engine
was strewn about the ground in sections and a few mechanics were
half-heartedly messing around it. The second machine, doubtless the
one that had visited them several days ago, appeared to be all right.
Of the flyers none was visible. The Mexican officer spoke grandly of
“our Air Squadron,” but Lieutenant Gandell was not vastly impressed.
Relating the discovery afterwards to his companions, he remarked that
it might be a good idea to go over to the hangar some dark night and
“fix” the good machine so that, if they should happen to get away
in the _Fate_, it couldn’t pursue them. No one, however, took the
suggestion seriously, and no one thought much more of the matter save
Mate Wason.
Dan’s resentment still smoldered, it seemed, and the next day, quite
alone, he set forth to find the hangar. What happened was never
entirely clear, for Dan knew no Spanish and so was not able to give
an accurate account of the conversation that he held with the dashing
aviator he discovered in the tent. But according to the mate’s version
of the incident, he asked the flyer if he was one of the “fresh guys”
who had trained the machine gun on the dirigible crew. The flyer,
polite as you please, smiled agreeably and said “_Si, si, señor!_” Dan
knew that to mean yes. Whereupon he inquired, not nearly so courteous
as the airman, what the latter had done it for. By this time an
audience of half a dozen was smilingly grouped around. Not knowing what
the American was saying, but polite to the last, the flyer again smiled
and said “_Si, si!_” even more enthusiastically. Despairing at last of
getting a sensible reply, let alone a decent apology, Mate Wason shot
out a large competent fist and knocked the aviator flat. Confusion and
excitement ensued. Dan declared that he had never seen “a bunch of guys
act as crazy as those did!” Two of them pulled guns and Dan had to
knock them down as well. After that retreat looked not dishonorable and
he made his escape. Only the fact that the marksmanship of the outraged
enemy was utterly discreditable allowed him to gain the shelter of an
adobe hut. Bullets hit the ground on all sides, but never came very
close to the mate, and, once around the first house, the rest was
easy. A few minutes later he lolled into the quarters looking somewhat
heated but very much pleased and satisfied. It required much diplomacy
on the part of Mr. Weeks to appease the general and his staff, to say
nothing of the assaulted aviator, who, it turned out, was a major and
a flyer of much renown in the country. General Roza at last suggested
that an apology to the major was in order and that if it was made he
would consider the honor of the Army of Liberty satisfied. Whereupon
Lieutenant Commander Weeks replied that as soon as an apology was made
to him for firing on them he would apologize to the major. The general
waved aside the idea of an apology, although graciously acknowledging
that the incident had been unfortunate, and Mr. Weeks firmly refused to
be satisfied. The affair reached a deadlock. In the end, tiring of the
whole business, General Roza shrugged, spread his hands and ordered
his dinner.
But the matter apparently convinced the general that further efforts
to enlist the sympathy and services of the Americans in the cause of
Mexican liberty were useless, and the next day he again summoned Mr.
Weeks before him and, as the commander put it, “talked turkey.” The
dirigible was confiscated by the Army of Liberty under the laws of
the Independent State of Coahuila. Its personnel had been tried and
found guilty of invading a friendly country under force of arms. The
penalty was very severe, but the Court was inclined to be lenient
and had decided to impose fines instead of imprisonment. Therefore
the commander was fined fifty thousand pesos, the other commissioned
officers twenty-five thousand pesos each and the remaining offender
fifteen thousand pesos. Pending the payment of the fines, the Americans
were to be kept prisoners.
“When did this trial take place, general?” asked the commander.
“An hour since, señor.”
“Is it not required by your laws that the accused shall be represented
by counsel?”
“Assuredly, señor.”
“But we were not so represented!”
“Pardon, señor, I myself appointed counsel for you.”
“Oh!” The commander smiled slightly. “I see, General. Well, since
all formalities were properly complied with, I have nothing to say.
Doubtless the trial was quite fair, although in my country it is
customary to allow the accused to be present at it. But that is only a
detail.”
“Absolutely, señor. Can you say when you expect the fines to be paid?”
“Certainly, general. I expect them to be paid――never!”
“Never! The señor jokes, _si_?” The general frowned, his sharp eyes
searching the commander’s face.
“No, general, I do not joke. The fines, as you choose to call them,
will not be paid unless I advise it, and I surely shall not advise it.
Your position is untenable, as you very well know. Our detention is
unlawful, the confiscation of our airship is unlawful, this imposition
of fines is unlawful. For your own sake I advise you strongly to let
this matter go no further. Release us and our dirigible at once and,
so far as I am concerned, there shall be an end of it. Proceed on your
most ill-advised course, General Roza, and much trouble will come of
it. That I promise you. You cannot put such indignity on officers of
the United States Navy, sir, and escape unpunished.”
“Señor, I am well within the law of my country. What you say does
not trouble me. I regret the unfortunate circumstances, but my duty
is plain. It is my intention to dispatch a messenger at once to the
_telégrafo_ at Rosita Blanco. The consul of your country at Monterey
will be appraised of your conviction and of the amount of the fines
imposed by the court.” Perhaps the general caught a flicker of
satisfaction in the commander’s eye, for he added quickly: “But be
convinced, señor, that the place of your detention shall not be made
known. On receipt of the fines by my agent at a certain town which
shall be specified you will be released and given safe conduct to the
border.”
“I see,” answered the other thoughtfully. “You think that such a
message, with no confirmatory word from me, would result in the payment
of this money?”
“Certainly, _Señor Comandante_. Why not?”
“Because my government, friends, whoever might be moved to pay this
ransom, would not know whether it was true. Ninety-five thousand
dollars is a large sum of money, General. One doesn’t let go of it so
easily.”
The general looked doubtful, a trifle worried. “What, then, do you
advise, señor?” he asked.
“You already have my advice, General,” replied the commander gravely.
The other shrugged impatiently. “But, señor, supposing that I do not
choose to heed that? What then, I ask you.”
“Allow me to consult with my companions, sir,” said Mr. Weeks after a
moment’s thought. “It is late now. Doubtless to-morrow will do as well
as to-day for the sending of the message. Give me until to-morrow,
General, to consider the matter.”
“By all means, señor! There is, as you say, no need for haste.
To-morrow we will talk again. _Adios, señor._”
Back at the little adobe hut that bade fair to be home for a long time,
the commander told his story. His companions listened in silence, save
for occasional grunts of derision, and when he had finished it was the
irrepressible Lieutenant Jordan who made the first comment.
“Where does he get that stuff?” he asked in pretended indignation.
“How’s it come I’m worth only twenty-five thousand? Looks to me like
that’s a fighting insult!”
“He’s plain dippy,” said Mr. Traine impatiently. “Who’s going to plank
down a couple of hundred thousand dollars to get us out of here, what?”
“Only ninety-five, I make it,” corrected the commander soothingly, “at
the present rate of exchange.”
“Well, it might as well be one as t’other! I can see the Navy doing
it――not! Oh, he’s crazy!”
“Tell you what I’ll do,” said Mr. Jordan. “When I get back home I’ll
get a bill into Congress. It won’t take more’n a couple of years,
and――――”
“When _you_ get back!” cried Mr. Gandell, scornfully. “Who the dickens
do you think is going to pay twenty-five thousand pesos for you, you
sawed-off apology?”
“Me? The United States Government, sir! The Government will always
spend its money for good value. But, I say, Bob, was his nibbs talking
cash or terms? Maybe if we pay cash we can get a bully good discount!”
“Let’s cut the comedy stuff,” said Mr. Traine. “We’ve got to decide
what’s to be done, fellows. I’ve no intention of sticking around here
until the war’s over. Is there any way of double-crossing him, Bob?”
“I don’t see any. He wants to be paid in Mexican money, you see. If it
wasn’t for that we might work off a truck load of Confederate bills or
a bunch of oil mine stock on him.”
“You seem to think it’s a sort of a funny joke, too,” Mr. Traine
grumbled. “Wish I could!”
“Well, it is a joke,” replied the commander, “but maybe it isn’t
funny.” Silence followed until Hugh spoke.
“How does he mean to get word to our friends, sir, or whoever it is he
expects to ransom us?”
“Send a messenger to the nearest telegraph office and wire our consul
at Monterey.”
“Too bad we haven’t got our wireless working,” said Jack thoughtfully.
“It would save time, wouldn’t it?”
“Yes, and――” Mr. Weeks stopped and stared intently for a long moment at
the crumbling wall. “Look here!” He dropped his voice and they leaned
closer. “If we can get him to let us fix that wireless of ours and send
the message from here we might slip something over on him.”
“I’m afraid he’s too foxy,” said Mr. Jordan, doubtfully. “I don’t
believe we could do it.”
“We might, though,” said Lieutenant Traine. “Funny thing he hasn’t a
wireless of his own here, isn’t it?”
“If we could work a couple of code words into the message showing our
location,” began Hugh eagerly.
“But can the pesky thing be fixed?” demanded Mr. Jordan.
“I think so, here. It’s a case of making a new part. It might take some
time, though.”
“What Roza would do,” observed Mr. Gandell decidedly, “is just this.
He’d either dig up some one here who could send messages or he’d make
mighty sure that we didn’t play any tricks on him. Frankly, I don’t
think the scheme would pan out.”
“Guess you’re right, Pete,” said the commander. “Besides, even if we
managed to tell the Navy Department where we are I’m not sure they’d do
anything more than send Roza a note. So long as we aren’t at war――――”
“Then they deserve to lose the ship,” said Mr. Traine disgustedly.
“Maybe, but I don’t! At least, I don’t want to, and I don’t mean to!
Look here, now, here’s another idea. Wait a sec: let me think: maybe it
wouldn’t――――” The commander studied a minute. Then: “I believe it might
work, gentlemen,” he said. “How does this strike you?”