THE WIRES ARE DOWN
The news was staggering! Mr. Ryder stood blinking at the man for fully
a minute before he could comprehend the situation. Then as he realized
that his one desire, to keep the current flowing uninterruptedly into
Mexico City, had been thwarted, his face grew very white and tense, but
instantly this expression changed to one of determination.
“We’ll put these lines back again in the face of every obstacle,” he
thundered. Then, turning, he addressed the men in the room.
“Boys, the lines are down! For the first time since I’ve been in charge
of Necaxa, Mexico City is without juice! I’m going to open the service
again! Who is going to help me!”
“I am!” came the chorus and every man who could stand crowded about the
engineer and pleaded to be taken along. Even some of the wounded men
raised themselves on their elbows and begged to be permitted to help in
the crisis.
Quietly and methodically Mr. Ryder went about picking out his assistants.
Two burly Mexican linemen were the first selected, then Harvey Carroll of
the maintenance department under whose jurisdiction came all the repair
work along the transmission line, and last of all a swarthy rurale, known
among the men as the best rider and best marksman of all the Necaxa troop.
“You five will be enough. Carroll, you and the linemen get your
repair kits and have the _mozos_ saddle five horses. We’re to start
immediately.” Then as the men were turning to go, the engineer called
them together again.
“Perhaps I should warn you boys of the dangers that face us. I have
an idea that this breaking down of the transmission lines is nothing
more or less than a trap. Where we find the trouble we will also find a
swarm of rebels ambushed. They may shoot us from the poles just as they
would shoot so many pheasants. In fact, the more I think of it the more
confident I am that they have pulled the wires down for the very purpose
of luring some of us out into the mountains so that they can square
accounts. Considering the situation in that light, do you all feel just
as enthusiastic about going?”
“You bet we do,” came the hearty response and the five men hurried out to
get their equipment together.
“Fine,” said Mr. Ryder, then turning and addressing the rest of the men
in the toolhouse he said:
“It will be up to you fellows to guard the place from an attack until we
return. I know your number is small now and some of our best fighters
are out of commission, but just the same you must hold the place against
any further assault. I don’t expect you’ll have much trouble after the
way we treated José Cerro and his rebels this morning, but nevertheless
you can’t afford to have your eyes closed. Clear up the place and get
everything shipshape and ready for instant action.
“And as for you,” he continued, turning to Jack Straw, “you’ve acquitted
yourself well to-day and I must compliment you. Now, to top off all
this, I want you to keep your eyes on the clock. It is exactly eleven
o’clock. If we are not back or you do not get word from us by three this
afternoon, arrange with Captain Alvarez, of the rurales, to have the
whole squad ride the transmission line in search of us. They may get
there in time to find our dead bodies, but anyway we can feel certain of
a decent burial, can’t we, my boy?”
“You’re right you can, but I certainly hope that we’ll be able to locate
you before burial is necessary, if we have to look for you at all,”
replied Jack.
A few moments later the four other members of the repair squad rode up
to the door of the improvised hospital, leading Mr. Ryder’s mount. The
engineer shook hands with all his friends and bade them good-by while his
assistants did likewise. Then when all were mounted and ready, word was
given and the five horses went racing across the enclosure, through the
gate and on to the trail that followed the line of transmission cables.
For half an hour they pushed ahead at a steady canter, keeping a careful
watch on the shrubbery and underbrush for signs of the enemy. They saw
any number of dead rebels. All along the trail were bodies of men who had
been wounded in the recent battle and who had followed their companions
until they dropped from sheer exhaustion.
About four miles from Necaxa they located the break. The four large
cables were completely down, but fortunately the parallel telephone wire
was still in service. At first Mr. Ryder was at loss to know just how the
peons had done the work until he examined the cable and discovered bullet
marks.
“I have it,” he exclaimed suddenly; “the greasers have pumped shot into
the cables and insulators until the lines simply couldn’t stay up. I
guess the telephone wire was too small for them to hit. I’m mighty glad
they are such poor shots. They have done very little damage for the
cables are not cut to amount to anything. All that is necessary is some
new porcelain insulators on the poles and a little patchwork on the lines
and we will be able to give Huerta his service in an hour. Come, boys,
up the poles there and get the insulators in place. Cut in on the ’phone
line and tell the station we’ll have the work done in an hour.”
The men became active immediately, even the rurale taking a hand in the
work. From the four repair kits enough insulators were secured to equip
the pole. The two linemen were sent aloft to install these while Mr.
Ryder, Carroll and the rurale stayed on the ground to repair the lines.
They were all so thoroughly busy and so absorbed in their work that none
of them heard the soft patter of naked feet on the trail and in the
underbrush about the pole. Indeed, they were surprised almost to the
point of speechlessness when a wicked-faced little Mexican, revolver in
hand, stepped into full view before them and requested them in Spanish to
hold up their hands.
Mr. Ryder and the rurale jumped up simultaneously and reached for their
guns but the ugly-looking Mexican merely smiled as he turned his revolver
to cover them completely.
“Ah, Señor Ryder, I would not try to shoot if I were you, the woods are
full of rifles,” he said very politely in Spanish. And it was true. Mr.
Ryder could see a peon behind every bush and tree.
“It is José Cerro,” hissed the rurale as he put his hands above his head.
“Yes, it is I, José Cerro,” answered the Mexican calmly. Then turning to
the engineer he said, “I hoped to get some of you in this trap, but I
never expected to have the good fortune of capturing Señor Ryder, I am
sure. I am indeed honored to have you as my prisoner. I am also pleased
for other reasons, for your capture means three thousand pesos to me and
perhaps more, who knows.”
“Three thousand pesos! Who will give you that amount?” demanded the
engineer.
“Ah, señor, would it be loyal of me to reveal the name of my benefactor,
especially when he does not want his identity known?” asked Zapata’s
lieutenant suavely. Then he answered the question himself by saying, “No,
no, that would not be kind. I cannot tell you, Señor Ryder, but I can
tell you that you must come with me. You must hurry too, before your
rurales hear of this trap. For my force is far too small as it is, thanks
to the excellent fighting of you gringoes. Ho! men! come, take these
monkeys from their perch on the pole. We must away with our prisoners.
Come!”
A horde of battle-scarred peons appeared immediately, and with
threatening speech and gestures managed to persuade the two Mexican
linemen to climb down from the pole. Each of the five prisoners
was commanded to mount his horse, then according to José Cerro’s
instructions, peons bound their feet together under the horses’ stomachs
and tied their hands behind their backs. This done the leader gave a
few brief commands and the band started to move, striking off at right
angle to the trail that followed the transmission line. They seemed to be
following an invisible path through the thicket that led into a narrow
ravine between the mountains in the direction of the broad valley where
Los Angeles was located.
But they had hardly left the tiny clearing about the pole when the
figure of an Indian and a tawny hound crept out of the bushes. The redman
was clad only in canvas trousers that were rolled up to his knees, and
his left arm and shoulder was swathed in bandages. A moment he paused
while his black eyes searched the ground and the surrounding shrubbery.
Suddenly he caught sight of the narrow trail left by the cavalcade.
“Ugh,” he grunted, “they have gone toward the sunrise. They have no
horses. We shall easily catch José Cerro.” He paused a moment longer to
examine the trail, then, standing erect, he mused:
“I am right. Only so many horses as I have fingers, no more. Those are
Señor Ryder’s.”
And he disappeared as silently as he came.