TO THE RESCUE!
It was some time before Jack and the rest of the Americans were able to
make the wounded comfortable in the makeshift hospital. When the task was
accomplished, however, Phil Underwood and Lance Carpenter were put in
permanent charge of the toolhouse. Their first action was to bar everyone
else from entering the building and disturbing their patients.
Since nothing remained for Jack to do but obey these orders, the lad soon
left the place and sought employment with the men who were engaged in
eliminating the evidences of the recent battle from the vicinity of the
power house. In the meantime, however, he kept careful track of the time
and constant watch for some message from Mr. Ryder and the repair crew.
As a result of the industriousness of the regulars, the dead and wounded
were fast being removed from the valley. Those who still showed signs of
life were carried to the toolhouse to be cared for by Phil and Lance. The
dead men were carried into the forest to the west. This puzzled Jack for
he could not understand why graves were not dug in the open. Indeed, he
became so curious about the whole thing that he finally asked Lyman what
the regulars did with the bodies.
“In Mexico,” explained Lyman, “they don’t bother to bury dead men after
a battle. They merely gather them all in one pile, saturate them with
kerosene and touch a match to them. You see, bodies must be removed
quickly in the Tropics or serious disease will be spread immediately. The
funeral pyre is the quickest and best method of avoiding this danger.”
“Goodness, but that’s a gruesome way of caring for the dead. But then, I
suppose, it is best from a sanitary standpoint and it certainly is far
better than leaving the remains for the vultures.”
“Si, señor, it es best zan ze vultures,” said some one in broken English,
and Jack and Lyman turned to find Captain Alvarez, of the rurales,
addressing them. “I hear your remarks what you say about dead mens and I
agree. Fire es best zan ze vultures. Oh; ze vultures zay are ah—what you
call—ah—higeous, eh!”
“Indeed they are hideous. They are the most repulsive creatures I have
ever seen,” said Jack.
“Ah, you are right, Señor Jack, but it is not of vulture I wish to see
you for. It is of my mans Alfonso Perro, the one wiz ze scar foot which
is in ze guardhouse now. We mus give him ze court-martial soon and ze
execution. Also his peon assistant must we shoot. Will you and Señor
Ryder be ready for ze court zis evening?”
“I think so,” replied Jack. “I will be ready and I think Mr. Ryder will—”
“Who is that,” interrupted Lyman, pointing across the clearing in the
direction of the trail that followed the transmission line.
Jack beheld a swarthy, long-haired individual clad only in white trousers
running toward the power plant, a dog loping along at his heels. The
man’s stride was long and regular, like that of an experienced distance
runner, and the lad recognized him immediately as the Indian messenger.
“Why, it’s the runner. I saw him here at the plant only an hour ago. I
wonder where he’s been? I’ll warrant he has word about Mr. Ryder.”
Together Jack and Lyman hurried to greet the messenger who by this time
had crawled under the barbed-wire fence and was swinging up the slope.
But while he was still some distance away he began to call in Spanish.
“What does he say?” queried Jack of Lyman, who had been listening
intently to catch every word.
“Quick, call out the rurales!” replied Lyman; “he says that the repair
crew has been taken prisoners by José Cerro himself!”
“But how does he know? How did he get the information?” demanded Jack.
“Don’t know, he must have slipped out and followed Mr. Ryder and his men.
Hurry, we’ve no time to lose. He will guide us.”
But Captain Alvarez had followed them down the slope and he needed no
persuading. He had understood everything the Indian said and even while
Lyman was urging him to hurry the officer drew a tiny silver whistle
from his pocket and blew three shrill blasts upon it. A moment later an
orderly appeared running toward the commander.
Brief instructions were given and the soldier hurried back toward the
plant again. Five minutes later the clear notes of a bugle echoed and
re-echoed through the valley, calling the troopers to saddle.
By the time the three arrived at the corral the rurales were ready. There
were other horsemen, too, eager to go to the rescue of Mr. Ryder, for the
news had been spread throughout Necaxa and all the Americans who could be
spared and who could find horses or mules to ride upon had gathered with
the troopers.
_Mozos_ found mounts for Jack and Lyman and the Indian runner, and in
less than twenty minutes after Miguel appeared upon the trail the troop
was galloping out of the enclosure and along the path that followed the
transmission lines. Captain Alvarez, the Indian, Jack and Lyman were in
the lead and the rest of the band was strung out behind, their position
depending entirely upon the speed of their horses. And as they galloped
toward the break in the transmission line the wounded Indian explained
how he had left the toolhouse hospital and followed the repair crew at
a distance, hoping to be of assistance in case of trouble. But soon
he began to find traces of the presence of rebels along the trail. He
tried to reach Mr. Ryder and warn him of the ambush, but he said that
the woods in the vicinity of the pole on which the men were working were
so full of José Cerro’s men that he could not get through their lines
without running the risk of being shot. Quietly he waited until he could
be certain of the direction José Cerro and his men would lead their
prisoners. Then he returned to Necaxa as fast as he could run.
[Illustration: “The horsemen in green swept down the valley”]
Half an hour after the rurales left the plant they arrived at the point
where the transmission line was down. Here the Indian dismounted and
looked over the ground carefully.
“They are many peons,” he said laconically to Captain Alvarez as he
remounted and started toward the trail that led into the ravine. In
single file the horsemen followed their guide, for nearly an hour before
they reached the end of the rocky pass, from the mouth of which they
could look down into the broad valley that held Los Angeles. Off in the
distance Jack saw a line of soldiers winding its way toward the little
community.
“There, there, over there! Those are José Cerro’s men with their
prisoners!” exclaimed Captain Alvarez in Spanish. “Come! At them, men!”
The call of the bugle trumpeting the charge sounded through the
valley. José Cerro and his men heard it and began to hurry forward at
double-quick time. But they soon saw that escape was impossible, for the
horsemen rushed down upon them swiftly. All that remained for the peons
to do was stand and fight. Hurriedly they formed a circle about their
prisoners and with guns pointing on every side prepared to repel the
rurales.
The horsemen in green swept down from the ravine ’mid the thunder of
hoofs and the shouts of infuriated men! Indian fashion the squad split, a
wing skirting either side of the valley. On they came firing from their
saddles with carbine or revolver and menacing José Cerro’s men from every
side. But the little knot of peons were courageous. They loaded and fired
in lightning fashion and the rattle of their musketry sounded like a
battery of machine guns in action. They were making a last and desperate
stand and they fought doggedly!
Round and round the little group of men swept the cavalry, making the
circle ever narrower. Jack rode with the rest of them, lying close to his
horse’s neck and firing his revolver. But in the heat of it all he never
took his eyes from the prisoners in the center of the circle of rebels.
There were Mr. Ryder and his assistants exposed to the fire of the men
from the plant. Jack expected to see one of them topple from his horse at
any moment, pierced by the bullets of their friends.
But gradually the nerve of the fighting rebels began to go. Three of them
left their companions and tried to break through the line of horsemen.
Jack saw a rurale ride one of them down. The other two were shot before
they had gone a dozen yards. Two more tried to get through, only to
be trampled down by the flying horsemen. José Cerro and his men were
trapped. There was no way for them to get beyond the circle of horsemen.
Some threw down their arms and cried for mercy while others broke and
ran; ran as far as they could go before a bullet brought them to the
ground or a horse trampled them under foot.
Then in the midst of it all, while Jack was still keeping a watchful eye
on Mr. Ryder, the lad saw the engineer suddenly jerked down from his
mount, and in his place on the horse’s back appeared a wicked-looking
little Mexican. The man set spurs to the horse immediately and tried to
ride through the crush of humans about him. He cursed and shouted for his
men to make way and those who did not move fast enough he beat over the
head with the butt of his revolver.
“Look! look!” shrieked Jack; “their leader is getting away! José Cerro
is escaping!” Then rolling his spurs across his animal’s flanks he gave
chase. But others saw the escaping leader and more than one horseman
turned his mount down the valley after the fleeing rebel.
It was a short race. José Cerro had hardly time to get his steed down to
its pace before Jack and two rurales reached his side. One man seized the
horse’s bridle and threw the animal back up on its haunches. With a curse
the Zapatista drew his revolver. But Jack happened fortunately to be on
the right side of the rebel. His revolver spat fire twice before the
Mexican could raise his arm. José Cerro shrieked with pain. The revolver
dropped from his helpless fingers and he reeled in the saddle. The other
rurale caught him as he was falling and steadied him on the prancing
horse.
The fighting had ceased by this time for most of the peons, seeing
their leader in full flight, had surrendered. The Mexican linemen and
the Americans who were still tied to their horses had been liberated
immediately and the rurales were busy forming the remainder of the rebel
band in a double line and disarming them.
Jack and Mr. Ryder greeted each other warmly when the former drove up,
escorting the wounded leader.
“By George, boy, I’m mighty glad you got the rurales out when you did. It
began to look to us as if we were in for a rather disagreeable time with
José Cerro. José, you know, is a dangerous individual at best, and any
one who is unfortunate enough to become his prisoner is very liable to
suffer.”
“Yes, I am glad I arrived before it was necessary to superintend your
‘decent burial,’ but the credit is not due me. Miguel, our Indian runner,
once more appeared in the nick of time. He saw you leaving for the
mountains and all unknown to us he trailed you. He saw you captured and
hurried back to the plant and spread the news. Where is he now?”
“There he is yonder on his horse, looking like a bronze statue. I’m
going over and shake hands with him. He’s a brave boy,” said Mr. Ryder.
To have the great gringo engineer shake hands with him and compliment
him pleased the Indian runner a great deal in spite of the fact that he
became very self-conscious when Mr. Ryder told him how brave he really
was.
“I’m not brave,” he said in Spanish. “I merely repay a kindness. Also, I
am glad to see José Cerro captured. If he is not killed by the rurales I
myself will kill him for this.” The Indian pointed gravely to his wounded
shoulder as he spoke.
But Mr. Ryder did not hear all that the Indian said for the grounded
transmission line was worrying him. He looked at his watch then hurried
off to where Carroll and several men from the plant were standing.
“Come, we’ve still time to fix up that transmission line before
nightfall. Get the linemen together and we’ll start back through the
ravine. The Indian will lead us and if we hurry we will be able to put
things in condition so that Mexico City can have light to-night.”