FOUR AGAINST MANY
The carefully planned conspiracy had worked as well as any had dared
to hope for. It had been decided that the commander and Mr. Jordan
were to get aboard if possible, but neither had expected to succeed.
The distance from their posts at the cables to the ladder had been
too great, and that Lieutenant Jordan had so nearly reached his goal
was a tribute to his dexterity in the use of his fists, for it had
been agreed that no shots were to be fired save in defense of their
lives. Mr. Traine and Mr. Jordan had momentarily held the Mexicans at
bay while their comrades had severed the ropes, but, that done, their
automatics had been thrust back into holsters and in the mêlée that
followed their fists alone had served them as weapons. Fortunately for
them, their opponents had no liking for such fighting, and after three
or four of the Mexicans had measured their lengths on the ground the
rest held themselves at respectful distances. Rifles were clubbed or
bayonets were thrust, but the blows usually fell short and, judging
from the occasional howls that arose above the confusion, the bayonets
did more damage to friends than foes. Fighting, step by step the
four Americans drew together, and by the time the dirigible was well
above the earth they were back to back, facing the enemy with leveled
automatics. The Mexicans fell away from them and more than one rifle
was at the shoulder when Captain Fosdes shouted an order. Instantly
the soldiers turned their attention to the escaping dirigible and shot
followed shot. To the four Americans it seemed a miracle that none
of the bullets did apparent damage to balloon or passengers. Perhaps
firing almost straight overhead was too novel a performance for the
soldiers, or perhaps the sunlight bothered them. In either case,
although the fusillade was continued long after any chance of success
remained, and long after the sound of the shots had ceased to reach
the boys in the car, the dirigible mounted upward untroubled, the sun
gleaming on her great silver body. At last the order to cease firing,
many times repeated, was obeyed, and the chagrined officers gave their
attention to the four prisoners. As for the soldiers, the sport of
shooting, even unsuccessfully, at the balloon had restored their
good-temper, and they were laughing and joking merrily now. The loss of
the dirigible meant nothing to them.
But the Mexican officers, six in number, and shortly to be reinforced
by most of the remaining members of the general’s staff, who, hearing
the shooting, were already hurrying toward the scene, were not so
amiable. Captain Fosdes was smiling gently, but the smile was not
cordial, while as for the two young lieutenants who had been so
unceremoniously dumped over the side of the boat, they were fairly
beside themselves with anger. But while all flourished revolvers and
threatened in their choicest Spanish, none seemed inclined to draw the
first shot from the business-like automatics of the little group of
Americans. Doubtless what they said, all talking at once, was quite to
the point, but, since none of the hearers could understand them, they
might just as well have saved their breath.
“Watch the fat one,” said Commander Weeks calmly to the others. “He’s
handling that gun of his too nervously for my happiness.”
“I’ve got him covered,” growled Mr. Jordan. “If he crooks that finger
another fraction of an inch――――”
“They don’t mean to shoot,” said Mr. Traine. “They’d rather have the
money we’ll fetch, what? Great Scott, aren’t they ever going to shut
up?”
Captain Fosdes, who had retained rather more calm than his brother
officers, stepped nearer and addressed the commander in his precise
English, and after a few final sputters the others subsided.
“Señor,” said the captain, “you have performed one of your Yankee
tricks very successfully, but you will regret it. Myself, I admire
courage and smartness, but my general――――” He shrugged his shoulders.
“We shall see! Señors, you are under arrest. Have the kindness to throw
your side-arms on the ground here.”
“Not so fast, captain,” replied Mr. Weeks. “Let’s understand each other
first. What we have done we had the right to do. Our detention was
illegal. We――――”
“Señor, you were tried by military tribunal and your dirigible was
declared confiscate to the government. In conniving at its escape you
made yourself liable to punishment. But I will not waste our time in
talk. Be so good as to deliver your revolvers, señor.”
“Only on condition that we receive fair and respectful treatment,
Captain Fosdes. We will consent to return peaceably to our quarters and
remain there under guard until we are either rescued or ransomed, but
we must have your solemn word of honor that we shall be unharmed and
properly fed during our detention.”
“I have no authority to bargain with you,” replied the captain coldly.
“If you do not yield your arms I will order my men to shoot.”
“Captain, that order would result in unnecessary and regrettable
accidents to you and your friends,” answered the commander sweetly.
“I should not hesitate to shoot you, señor, at the first word of that
command, and my companions will fire just as quickly. If you will
pardon the conceit, Captain Fosdes, we are all very accurate shots.”
The captain did not flinch, but the sense of the commander’s
announcement appeared to have reached the others, and there was a
perceptible desire amongst them to become small and to retire each
beyond another. One, he who Mr. Weeks had disrespectfully termed “the
fat one,” even detached himself from the group and unostentatiously
backed away, followed, however, by Mr. Jordan’s revolver. It was at
that moment that reinforcements arrived. Major Demedina, Colonel Rodas
and a handful of other officers, followed by a fair portion of the
town’s population――much of it was already on the scene――came hurrying
along the street. To the colonel, Captain Fosdes gave a rapid story of
the incident. The eyes of the newcomers grew large as they stared at
the empty space once occupied by the dirigible and from there to the
lessening shape that traveled northwestward against the blue sky. Then
all broke into exclamations of incredulity, of dismay, of wrath. Fists
were shaken, revolvers were drawn. Colonel Rodas became as red of face
as a boiled lobster. Of the number, Major Demedina alone seemed not on
the verge of hysteria, and afterwards Mr. Gandell stoutly affirmed that
he had seen the soldier of fortune laughing heartily! In the end, when
the later arrivals had convinced themselves that the captain really
spoke the truth and that their prize had escaped them, they conferred
at some length, gesturing constantly, darting black looks at the four
Americans, and presently the captain made known their decision.
“Señors, you will return your revolvers to their holsters and proceed
to headquarters. You will not be molested. I give you my word of honor
as an officer and a gentleman. There General Roza will hear your case
and make decision. That is agreeable?”
“Quite, captain,” answered Mr. Weeks. “Your word is sufficient. Our
revolvers will not be drawn unless we are attacked.” Suiting action
to word, the commander returned his automatic to his belt and the
others followed suit. Two-by-two, Mr. Weeks and Mr. Jordan leading,
they started back along the wide, sandy thoroughfare through staring,
unfriendly groups. Already word had been hurried to the general and
when they drew in sight of headquarters a squad of unkempt soldiers
was drawn up in front of the mud-walled house. Beside and behind the
Americans walked the Mexican officers, back of them came the population
of Perdero.
“Have you seen Dan Wason?” asked Mr. Weeks of Lieutenant Traine as they
drew near the general’s headquarters.
“Not a sign of him,” was the answer. “They must have nabbed him.”
“I’m afraid so. If they have, and he failed at his stunt, we’ll soon
know it. The poor old _Fate_ will last about two minutes under fire of
that airplane of theirs!”
“If they give her enough of a start――――”
“They’d catch her, I guess. The most we can hope for is that Wason did
his work before they got him. Maybe it was a crazy plan, after all. I
hate to think of those two kids all alone in that balloon. Even if they
escape the airplane, Ben, they’ll never get over the border. I’m afraid
I’ve done no more than sacrifice their lives without saving the balloon
or helping the rest of us. Maybe the wisest plan would have been to
sit quiet, after all.”
“Don’t you believe it,” answered the other stoutly as they passed
through the group of scowling soldiers outside the house. “And don’t
trouble about the lads, Bob. They’ll make it if it’s possible. They’re
a plucky, long-headed pair, and――――”
Mr. Traine stopped because the commander had laid a detaining hand on
his arm, pausing on the threshold of the house. “Listen!” said the
commander sharply. Above the chatter of the rabble pressed close behind
them sounded the drone of an engine, and even as their gaze sought
the sky above the huts to the east an airplane soared into sight.
Heads turned and a sudden chorus of approval and triumph arose from
the throng. With the sunlight on her yellow wings the airplane banked
and, ever climbing, came speeding overhead, the clamor of her engines
loud in the clear air. Straight into northwest it headed. A hand waved
from the observer’s seat and an answering shout went up from below. At
lightning speed the air craft shot past them. The drone of the engines
died away, the yellow bird-like form melted indistinctly into the
distance. Mr. Weeks sighed.
“It’s all up with the _Fate_!” he muttered.