“SHOOT! SHOOT!”
It was long after sunrise next morning when the cavalcade of horsemen
and their prisoners appeared at the station. Though the wires had been
restrung and service started at nightfall the previous evening, the
rescuers and rescued as well were too tired even to make the four-mile
ride back to the plant. They had all been without sleep for practically
forty-eight hours and even while the lines were being repaired many
of the rurales tossed themselves on the ground and promptly became
unconscious. The result was a night camp along the transmission line
trail with no guard except that maintained over the prisoners, and this
was hardly necessary for the rebels had been awake as long, if not
longer, than the men from the power house, and were equally as tired.
Necaxa was not awake either when the rurales arrived. Aside from the few
regular soldiers who were doing sentry duty, no one seemed to be stirring
about the little town. The night men, who had been forced to stay awake
longer than the rest, had already left the station and crawled into bed
thoroughly weary. But the clatter of hoofs and the shouts of the soldiers
greeting the returning fighters awakened many of them and attracted the
attention of the men at work in the power station. Soon the community
was alive with curious soldiers and workmen, all eager to hear of the
adventures of Mr. Ryder and his repair crew. But when they saw the line
of prisoners and beheld José Cerro, helpless on a stretcher made of one
of the rurale’s blankets, they cheered lustily, for the capture of the
rebel leader meant that the country was rid of one of its most vicious
bandits.
Arthur Strong, the day operator, was one of the first to greet the
engineer. The moment he heard the soldiers arrive he left the control
room in charge of his assistant and hurried downstairs.
“By Jove, we were mighty pleased to get your telephone message last
night,” he said to Mr. Ryder. “We thought that Cerro had done away with
all of you. I am glad to see you again. You too, Jack, old boy.” Strong
shook hands with his superior as he spoke. “And, say, perhaps you don’t
think we’ve had one fine time around here since you left yesterday
afternoon,” he continued, to Mr. Ryder. “Things nearly went to the devil
until we locked that man Nedham up.”
“Nedham,” exclaimed Mr. Ryder; “what’s he been doing?”
“Doing?” exclaimed Long; “why the man’s been drunk on _pulque_! You know
what that stuff will do with you. I hadn’t seen him since the battle
until last night after the rurales cleared out. About eight o’clock he
came stumbling into the control room. His eyes were bulging out and his
face was red and ugly. I was on duty and I had about made up my mind to
stick through the night, since Lyman had gone with the rescuers. Nedham
came staggering in just when I was busiest. He said _he_ was going to
run the plant for the night. I could see that he was in no shape to run
anything nor to issue orders either, so I told him to get back home and
sleep it off. Then he got ugly. But I knew he was drunk so I did not
bother with him. Then he became insistent and noisy and when he tried to
punch me I had to call in two soldiers. They took him to the guardhouse.
He was in there all last night. This morning I let him out. I think he is
up at his cottage now, very much the worse for his spree.”
“What a fine assistant I have!” said Mr. Ryder sarcastically. “Tell Lyman
to go and rout him out. I want to talk with him.”
While the engineer and the operator were talking, Captain Alvarez and
his rurales arranged their prisoners in line along the south wall of the
power station. This scene had interested Jack far more than the recital
of Nedham’s drunken actions for it began to look to the lad as if a
wholesale slaughter was about to take place.
“Heavens, I hope Captain Alvarez doesn’t intend to execute them all,”
said the youth to Mr. Ryder when the day operator ceased talking. “That
would be hideous. It would be brutal murder. You can’t countenance such
actions, Mr. Ryder?”
“Indeed I can’t,” said the engineer, hurrying toward Captain Alvarez,
“and besides I want to have a word with Cerro before any execution takes
place. I think that man knows some things that will help clear up the
mystery that surrounds all our recent trouble.”
To do justice to the Mexican commander it must be said that he had not
intended to have a wholesale execution. He explained this to Mr. Ryder
quite frankly and stated that he merely intended to make the rebel leader
face the firing squad while his followers looked on. He thought that
it would be a capital way of teaching a lesson. After the execution he
purposed sending the whole horde of prisoners to Mexico City, where they
would be turned over to General Rodriguez to be confined in the military
prison.
“If it is all the same to you,” said Mr. Ryder, “I would like to have a
few words with Cerro before he is shot.”
“Certain,” said the officer, “only et ez not so easy to mek him to talk,
he is ah what you call—ah—to handle hard you know.”
The rebel leader was lying on the ground near the entrance to the
guardhouse. His wounds had been bound up the evening before by one of his
followers, but in spite of all efforts to ease him, it was quite evident
that the man was suffering a great deal.
Mr. Ryder bent over the prostrate form and spoke in Spanish. “José Cerro,
you are going to die. You will soon face the firing squad. Tell me who
would give you three thousand pesos for my capture.” But in spite of his
pain the little black-haired Mexican smiled grimly and shook his head.
“No,” he said. “I cannot tell, no, no.”
Mr. Ryder was about to press his question again, however, when Lyman
appeared, leading a very white and very nervous-looking individual whom
Jack recognized as Nedham.
“Here’s your assistant, Mr. Ryder; you said you wanted to see him,” said
Lyman.
But before the engineer could speak Nedham caught sight of the man on the
ground. He shrank back in terror and gasped.
“Oh, it’s José Cerro!”
Mr. Ryder looked searchingly at his trembling assistant, for he could not
understand what made the man so frightened at seeing the wounded rebel
leader. He did not have long to speculate on the reason for such strange
actions, for Captain Alvarez came to speak to him.
“You could no make José speak?” queried the officer.
“No, he refused to answer my questions.”
“Ah-ha, did I not tell you zay all are so like that.” Then turning to
José Cerro, he said in Spanish, “You are to die. Can you stand up to face
the firing squad or must we prop you against the wall?”
“I shall die standing,” said the rebel proudly, “and you shall not
blindfold me either.”
“All right, get up; we have not time to lose, two others are to be shot
after you. Perro, our traitorous rurale, and his peon companion die
to-day,” said Captain Alvarez brutally.
“Carlos! Jesus! come, help your leader to rise; he must die standing,”
called José Cerro to two of the peon prisoners.
The faithful followers left their places and raising the wounded man to
his feet, assisted him to the spot designated by the commander of the
firing squad. That his effort to walk was causing the rebel excruciating
pain was evident from the expression on his face. It took him some time
to limp across the space in front of the firing squad even with the help
of his men.
While he was taking his place before the five executioners, a hush
fell over the scores of men that stood about. Every one was tense and
silent. José Cerro’s attendants shook hands with him solemnly and left
him standing there alone. Slowly the five riflemen brought their guns to
position and took aim. Then just as the officer was raising his sword to
give the firing signal, José Cerro spoke.
“A moment,” he said in Spanish, “just a moment. I wish to speak—”
“No! No! Shoot! Shoot! Don’t let him speak,” screamed a voice in English.
It was Nedham, trembling and on the point of collapse. His face was
distorted with fear and he was forced to cling to Lyman to keep from
falling to the ground.
“So, Señor Nedham, you turn against me now,” hissed the rebel leader.
“You would have me shot without speaking my last words. You thought me
a traitor who would tell your plot. That was not intended. But now I
will tell. Come, Señor Ryder, listen. It was Señor Nedham who plotted
against you. He it was who offered three thousand pesos for your capture,
I—I—was—.” The sentence was cut off abruptly for the wounded man, weak
with the exertion of standing, suddenly pitched forward on his face.
The rebel leader’s two loyal followers hurried to his side to lift him
back up on his feet, but he was only semi-conscious and it was evident to
both that in a few moments more the firing squad would be cheated of its
work.
In the meantime, Nedham, regaining some of his shattered nerve, tried to
bolt through the crowd but Jack and Lyman seized him and threw him to the
ground.
“Hurry, Mr. Ryder, take off his left shoe,” cried Jack. “I have an idea
that this is the man who stole your drawings and tried to wreck the
plant.”
The shoe and stocking were quickly removed and much to the engineer’s
amazement a deep scar was revealed running diagonally across Nedham’s
heel.
“But—but—why I thought we had the man with the scarred heel under
arrest,” said Mr. Ryder thoroughly mystified.
“Yes,” said Jack, “but it flashed upon me a moment ago that the rurale’s
scar was on his right heel, while the scar mark in the dust was on the
left foot. Don’t you remember? Here comes the rurale now, go look for
yourself.”
Two men were leading Perro from the guardhouse toward the firing squad.
He was still barefooted for no one had been considerate enough of his
comfort to return his cavalry boots to him since his arrest.
“Let me see your left heel,” said Mr. Ryder in Spanish, and obediently
the rurale raised his foot.
“By George, there’s no scar there! Is it on the right foot? Let me see!
But it was not necessary for the rurale to raise his right foot for the
scar extended half way up the man’s ankle and was plainly visible from
the right side.
“Well, this came near being a fatal mistake,” exclaimed the engineer.
Then to the rurale in Spanish he said, “I’m glad to know you’re not a
traitor anyway, my man.”
And the Mexican grinned for he could see by the expression on Mr. Ryder’s
face that he was not to be executed.