THE SITUATION BECOMES DIFFICULT
They had halted beside a dense patch of chaparral. Carlitos had scarcely
thrown his verbal bomb when Tom Hotchkiss slid out of his seat and dived
into the thicket beside the narrow road like a wood-chuck into its hole.
No fat man ever disappeared more quickly.
Janice and Marty were too disturbed by the announcement of the
automobile driver, and too startled withal, to note Hotchkiss'
departure. The bandits, headed by Dario Gomez, swung into the trail and
charged immediately down upon the stalled automobile.
The band consisted of nearly forty--an unusually large and important
_commando_, as the Mexican banditti rove the country mostly in small
parties, preying on whomever may have anything worth taking, and keeping
up a desultory warfare against the troops of whatever de facto
government may at the time be in power in Mexico City.
"Hi tunket!" exploded Marty. "What are we going to do now?"
Carlitos shrugged his shoulders, sat down, and began to roll the ever
present cigarette. "As the young se[~n]or says, ''I tunkeet!'" quoted the
Mexican. "What can we do but submeet?"
"Submit to what, Carlitos?" whispered Janice. "What is the danger from
these men?"
"_Qui['e]n sabe?_" drawled the driver of the car. "We are in the hands of
God, se[~n]orita."
The leader of the fierce-looking band was a man with long, waving
_mustachios_, a regular piratical-looking hirsute adornment. He carried
a white, ugly scar across his right cheek--evidently the memento of a
more or less recent saber wound. He spoke first of all in Spanish to
Carlitos while his wildly riding followers--plainly _vaqueros_
all--dragged their mounts back to a dramatic halt about the stalled car,
surrounding the party with a cloud of dust.
Carlitos drawled a reply and gestured toward his remaining passengers.
Dario Gomez exclaimed:
"_Americanos_--and in the habit of friends? What means this?"
He spoke very good English. His eyes flashed, but his mustache lifted at
the corners as though he laughed.
Marty was tongue-tied for the moment. The threatening aspect of the
cavalcade and especially of Dario Gomez himself was too much for the
nonchalance of the boy. Even the hidden weapon in his sash gave him no
comfort, for these "forty thieves" were all armed to the teeth.
It was a difficult situation. Carlitos evidently had no help to offer.
Indeed he seemed to feel no particular responsibility, though he was not
closely associated with these lusty vagabonds.
"What means this masquerade, se[~n]or and se[~n]orita?" Dario Gomez repeated.
It was Janice who stepped into the breach--and stepped from the car as
well. She approached the charger ridden by the bandit chief, putting
aside the veil that had half hidden her face.
"Se[~n]or," she said earnestly, "will you not help me get to my father? The
car has broken down and we are still a long way from San Cristoval--are
we not, Carlitos?"
"Huh? By goodness, yes!" replied the amazed driver.
"My cousin and I," pursued Janice Day, "have come across the States to
find my father--from far beyond Chicago--from beyond New York. I must
find him quickly, sir. He is wounded--perhaps dying! Will you help me?"
"Who is your _padre_, se[~n]orita?" Dario Gomez asked. "How was he
wounded?"
"Mr. Broxton Day is my father. He is chief at the Alderdice Mine, beyond
San Cristoval."
"Ah! beyond the town, you say? We have no power there, se[~n]orita. Not
_now_. Old Whiskers rules up there once again--and with a strong arm."
Janice did not know to whom he referred as "Old Whiskers"; possibly to
some petty chief like himself. She remembered the name of a rebel leader
who had been her father's friend in the past and she urged:
"I am sure my father would not have been attacked at all had Se[~n]or Juan
Dicampa been still alive. He was my father's friend."
"Ha! the Dicampa? He was _my_ friend, too," returned Gomez. "But he
joined forces with the conqueror--and was shot for his treachery."
"Oh!"
"Juan Dicampa ended as so many deliverers end--as an apostle of 'the
loaves and fishes.' Ha!" ejaculated Dario Gomez. "I and my followers, we
are as yet poor enough to be honest. God keep us so!"
"But my father has surely done nobody harm," cried Janice. "I am sure
his name must be known for justice and kindness in the Companos
District."
"It is true, _mi general_," said one of Gomez's men softly. "I am
acquaint' weeth the Se[~n]or B-Day. He is a _gran hombre_."
Dario Gomez pushed back his sombrero and ran a hand through his thick,
graying hair, laughing with twinkling eyes and uplifted mustache into
Janice's face.
"Shall we, then, play modern Robin Hoods to this so-beautiful se[~n]orita
in distress?" he demanded.
"Who ees thees Rob'n 'Ood, _mi general_?" asked another of his
followers. "A brave _compadre_?"
"You've said it," ejaculated Gomez, in good American slang. "Very
famous."
"What more than we can _he_ do?" asked the lesser bandit.
"True. Your wisdom is of the ancients, Pietro. What say, _hombrecitos_?
shall we lend assistance to the so-beautiful se[~n]orita--the daughter of
Se[~n]or B-Day?"
There seemed to be a growl of approval. "To San Cristoval, _mi
general_," said one. "There may yet be pickings."
The leader turned immediately and with businesslike directness to
Carlitos. "What has happened to the automobile?" he asked.
"Oh, Se[~n]or Gomez!" stuttered the driver. "She done bust."
"And you can't make on with her?"
"No, se[~n]or."
"She's more than cast a shoe, then?" laughed Dario Gomez. "So we must
tackle horses to her, eh? 'Get a horse!' Horse power is surer than
gasoline I have always believed."
"By goodness, yes!" groaned Carlitos Ortez.
Janice hastily climbed back beside the astounded Marty. He stared at
her.
"Cricky!" he whispered. "Aren't you just the greatest girl that ever
was, Janice? Wait till I tell the folks at home about this!"
Carlitos had a rope. He passed it around the entire body of the car, and
straps and singletrees appeared for three horses. Evidently some of the
bandits' mounts had been seized while at work.
Just as the three excited horses, their riders plying the quirt, sprang
forward to drag the stalled car, Carlitos uttered a startling yell.
"There is a third, _mi general_!" he shouted to Gomez. "The thief and a
son-of-a-thief! he haf not paid me _mi dinero_!"
"What's that?" demanded Dario Gomez.
"Anothair passenger--by goodness, yes! He have escaped!" and he pointed
to the chaparral.
"What's this?"
"I forget heem till this moment," stammered Carlitos. "He is likewise of
_los Americanos_; but he is not a friend to these two," and he gestured
to Janice and Marty. "He afraid when you appear, _mi general_. He run."
"Ha!" ejaculated Gomez. "Perhaps he has cause for fear. We will find
him."
He gave an order and ten of his men separated from the rest and began to
encircle the patch of chaparral. The car was started again and, being
but a light load for three horses, they went forward along the road at a
gallop.
The bumping and jouncing Janice and Marty endured now was much worse
than that which had gone before. The car under its own power was bad
enough; but with the half-wild horses dragging it, the occupants of the
tonneau thought surely it would be shaken to pieces.
Carlitos clung to the steering wheel, yelling instructions that were not
heeded. These reckless _vaqueros_ of the _pampas_ (they were not
Chihuahua men; they did not pronounce the _s_, and were therefore from
the south) thought it rather good fun. But the rattle and banging of the
automobile, like nothing so much as a tin-shop with a full crew working
at high speed, urged the horses on and on.
"Believe me!" Marty managed to shout into his cousin's ear, "if I ever
get out of this alive I never want even to _see_ an automobile again.
I'm glad you sold yours, Janice."
They struck into a better and smoother road after a while, and the
journey was not so difficult. Janice wondered what had become of Tom
Hotchkiss, and spoke of him to Marty.
"I hope they catch him and make him work for them. They tell me that
these people have slaves down here just as though Abraham Lincoln had
never lived," Marty declared. "You heard what Carlitos said about his
grandfather.
"As long as we can't turn the fat chump over to the proper police, I
hope he just gets his!" added the boy, with venom in his tone of voice.
"I hope the money he stole will never do him any good. But, poor dad!
he's comin' out of the little end of the horn, I'm afraid."
Janice, too, was troubled about Uncle Jason's affairs. They had seemed
on the point of helping him by Hotchkiss' capture--and then had missed
it.
However, hope was growing momentarily in the girl's heart that she was
going to reach and rescue her own father. She had won over these wild
men so easily to help her that it seemed there could really be nothing
now to obstruct the way to the Alderdice Mine. They were already in the
Companos District, they told her.
Dario Gomez sometimes rode beside the car and shouted bits of
information to them. It was apparent that the chief was well versed in
English--had probably lived and been educated in the United States. He
was, after all, an anomaly in the company he was with. Janice wondered
in what spirit he had become chief with such wild companions for his
followers.
The haze-capped mountains seemed much nearer now and the road was almost
continually on a grade--either ascending or descending. At dusk they
came in sight of several groups of houses.
"San Cristoval," announced Dario Gomez. "Until we learn how matters
stand, yonder we may not drag your tin Leezie," and he laughed. "You
have had a ride, eh?"
"I never want another like it," growled Marty.
"But if I do not take them into the town, I get no pay," wailed
Carlitos, suddenly realizing his situation. "That fat _hombre_--he
escape. And these must ride into San Cristoval in the _tin Lizzie_ or I
get no _dinero_. Don Abreguardo say it."
"Ha! Don Abreguardo is a shrewd _hombre_," said Gomez.
"Don't worry!" Marty exclaimed. "We'll pay you, and we'll walk the rest
of the way. Won't we, Janice?"
"Of course," she agreed. "I--I shall be glad to walk--if I can," and she
got stiffly out of the car.
"_Bueno!_ Now we depart," said Gomez, laughing. "We go seek my
_compadres_ and the fat _hombre_ Carlitos tell me about. _Adios!_"
He wheeled his horse, waved his hand, and, with his troop clattering at
his heels, rode swiftly away.