THE DRAWINGS ARE STOLEN
“Well, this is a mighty serious state of affairs,” said the engineer as
they returned to their horses and prepared to remount.
“Yes, indeed, and from all appearances we have a real enemy to contend
with,” replied the lad.
“You are right, we have,” confirmed Mr. Ryder. “If our man with the
scarred foot is a member of the rurales, we are going to have the devil’s
own job locating him too. We cannot accuse at random and moreover we
cannot take our troubles to the captain, for the reason that where
there is one traitor there are likely to be many more. The captain may
be a revolutionist himself, and if he is, heaven help us when he finds
out that we have a way of identifying the trouble maker. We would be
murdered in less than a week. I think we had better feel our way very
slowly before we make an arrest.”
“But why should a rurale go traveling about in his bared feet at night?”
queried Jack, suddenly discovering a puzzling question.
“I thought of that myself,” confessed the engineer, “and the only reason
I can give is that the culprit is always afraid that the jingle of his
big spurs will attract attention and rather than remove them he removed
his boots instead and goes about his work silently. That sounds perfectly
plausible, doesn’t it?”
“By George, that’s capital reasoning! I believe you’ve hit it exactly
right,” exclaimed the lad enthusiastically.
“I see our three guards over on the river bank,” said Mr. Ryder, abruptly
changing the subject; “we’ll drive over and join them there, for I’ve an
idea that our horses could stand a drink before starting for the plant
again.
“And by the way,” he warned as they urged their mounts forward, “I
wouldn’t say much about our friend of the scarred foot in the presence
of the rurales either here or at the plant, for you never can tell just
how much English some of these fellows understand. I’m a little worried
over the impression that our search among the peons created, even though
I did tell the captain the falsehood about the suspected leper. Who
knows, perhaps the very man we are after was looking on all the time. In
that case our lives are in danger every moment. He would kill us rather
than run the chance of being identified.”
It was quite evident to Jack that the engineer regarded the business at
hand as rather hazardous and the lad from Vermont could not help feeling
slightly concerned about his own safety. He put on a bold front before
Mr. Ryder, however, for he did not care to have the engineer think that
he was the least bit worried.
The river’s course through the valley was broad and the stream ran
sluggish and shallow where it passed the village. Indeed, just below
the point where the women were washing on the rocks was a ford, with a
sloping sandy beach on either bank. Here it was that the pack trains
leaving the valley toward the north crossed the stream. On the bank
opposite, Jack saw several large alligators sunning themselves, and here
and there on the surface of the water he also saw the scaly backs and
heads of others that had come up to rest awhile and get a fresh supply of
air. Some of them were fully ten feet long.
But in spite of the presence of these reptiles, the horses did not
hesitate to wade belly deep into the stream and cool themselves while
they slaked their thirst. Jack noticed this and remarked about it to Mr.
Ryder.
“Alligators are not disposed to attack anything very large,” said the
engineer, “although sometimes they do make away with sheep and small
calves that come down for a drink. The ’gator is not as ferocious as his
cousin the crocodile and I have never heard of any natives being devoured
by one, in spite of the fact that the Indians wade the ford here daily.”
Mr. Ryder had hardly finished speaking when a young Indian appeared on
the opposite bank followed by a full-grown hound dog. The native was
clad only in abbreviated canvas trousers and slung across his back was a
tiny mail bag. Jack learned later that his first name was Miguel and that
his last name was almost unpronounceable, also that he was the official
runner, or messenger, of that section of the country, and that his
forefathers had been runners as far back as the days of Montezuma.
The native stood knee deep in the river a moment and emitted several
loud whoops at the same time churning the water furiously with his feet.
At this the alligators on the bank slipped into the water with a splash
and every scaly back and head disappeared. Then the Indian plunged into
the stream and waded across, at the same time coaxing the dog to follow.
The hound stood whining at the water’s edge, however, and the messenger
reached the opposite shore before the animal found sufficient courage to
follow. Finally, after much coaxing, he took the plunge and swam toward
his master. But he had scarcely passed the middle of the stream when he
began to whine again, half raising himself out of the water with his
frantic efforts to swim faster. The next instant there was a swirl just
behind him and an ugly head appeared on the surface. The dog fairly
leapt out of the water at this but he could not avoid the reptile whose
dripping jaws closed upon one hind leg.
The native shouted wildly and plunged back into the river again to rescue
his pet. But before he had gone two steps, Jack, with great presence of
mind, whipped out his revolver. Twice he fired and each bullet found its
way into the scaly body. Instantly the water was lashed into foam by the
death struggle of the monster. The great jaws opened wide and the reptile
awoke the echoes in the hills with a bellow like that of an angry bull.
Then it sank out of sight.
Half drowned and with one leg dangling limp and useless the hound
dragged itself from the river. The young Indian lifted it in his arms
and caressed it gently, at the same time talking effusively to Jack. Of
course the American could not understand the messenger, but it was quite
evident from the expression on the red man’s face that he was very
grateful to Jack and that he admired his quick and accurate shooting.
“What is he saying?” asked the Vermonter, turning to Mr. Ryder.
“He says that you are a very good marksman and that you have a warm heart
for a gringo. He promises never to forget your kindness.”
Jack smiled his acknowledgment and prepared to remount his horse,
which with the others had withdrawn from the river when the struggling
alligator began its frenzied lashing of the water.
It was past midday when the five riders started on their return journey
toward the power plant, and the heat was intense. However, as soon as the
horses had climbed out of the valley the trail led through a dense forest
where huge trees and thickly matted vines shut out all sunlight and all
heat as well. Travel, under such circumstances was thoroughly enjoyable,
and the five riders swung along in single file until they reached the
open country in the vicinity of the great hydro station again.
“Well,” said Jack as he reined in beside Mr. Ryder at the gate in the
barbed-wire barricade, “I thought you said the woods were full of rebels.
We haven’t seen a sign of one all day long. What do you make of it?”
“It is more than likely that they are off in some other section of the
hills, burning and pillaging. But don’t think that they haven’t an eye on
us, for they have and you’ll see signs of them again before long, I’ll
warrant.”
The soldier on guard at the gate had unfastened the intricate lock by
this time and the cavalcade entered. The rurales hurried off at top speed
to their long low barracks hall where they hoped to find the remains of
the noonday mess. And as for Jack and the engineer, they were not slow
in reaching the cottage, for they knew that faithful old Tom Why had
something tempting waiting for them.
A _mozo_ met them as they reined in before the door and when they had
dismounted he took charge of the horses. The few hours in the saddle had
been rather tiresome to the lad, for he was not accustomed to that form
of exercise. Indeed, the shaking up he had received on horseback and the
lack of sleep the night before had made him so thoroughly fatigued that
even the cartridge belt and holster weighed heavily on his hips and as
he walked toward the cottage he started to unbuckle the leather girdle.
Just as he was mounting the steps the buckle opened suddenly and the belt
swung free, upsetting the holster and toppling the revolver to the ground.
Hastily Jack stooped to pick it up. But as he reached down he caught
sight of a naked footprint in the dust! He bent closer, hardly able
to believe what he saw! The footprint bore the mark of a deep scar
diagonally across the heel!
“Hi! Mr. Ryder! Look! Our man with the scar paid a visit here as well!”
he shouted to the engineer, who had already entered the cottage.
Mr. Ryder hurried out and examined the footprint with Jack.
“By George, you’re right! What could he have wanted up here!” exclaimed
the engineer.
Jack did not wait to answer the question. He bolted into the house and
rushed to the flat-topped desk, for he had suddenly thought of the
precious blueprints. Eagerly he drew open the top drawer into which he
had seen Mr. Ryder drop the yellow envelope the evening before. But the
compartment was empty! The drawings were gone!