An hour later Billie and Pancho Villa stood before Gen. Sanchez. It was then ten o’clock and the sun would arise shortly before five. Neither Billie nor Villa had any doubt that Don Rafael would carry out his threat to execute the two young Americans. It was in keeping with his previous actions and with the so-called laws of the revolution.
They had encountered some difficulty in getting through the city lines, but Villa was equal to the occasion and they reached the Federal pickets in safety. Here they gave their names and were quickly escorted to Gen. Sanchez’s headquarters.
The general had lain down to take a few minutes’ sleep, but had left word to be awakened if anything was heard from the boys.
Briefly Billie told his story.
“What can be done to save my friends?” he asked.
Gen. Sanchez looked grave.
“It is a hard problem,” he replied. “We have been trying all day to force our way into the city, but have not yet succeeded, as you know. It seems hardly possible that we should be able to carry the lines between now and dawn.”
“Still there is a way,” said Villa.
The general regarded him with considerable surprise.
“How?” he asked.
“By the bed of the river.”
“What do you mean?”
“The river,” explained Pancho, “runs right beside the walls of the barracks. The water on this side is not so deep but that it is possible for men to march right up to the walls of the barracks, if they know the channel. I know it. If I had a hundred men who were not afraid I could carry the barracks.
“But,” he continued, “in order to lead this force to the barracks unobserved, it would be necessary for you first to attack the city from the opposite side. While the fighting is going on fiercely over there and the revolutionists are striving to prevent you from entering the city on the east, I will lead this hundred men into the barracks. As soon as we have rescued the Americans we will attack the revolutionists in the rear! You know what the result will be?”
“Undoubtedly!”
“Then you agree?”
“Yes; but I hardly know how to withdraw a hundred men from any one place on our attacking line. Our force is small as it is.”
“I wish some of the rangers were over here,” exclaimed Billie. “They’d help, I know.”
“Yes,” replied Gen. Sanchez, “but that is impossible. If any American soldiers were to help us it would be almost as bad at this particular time as though they helped the other side. We shall have to do the best we can. I will promise you fifty, and a hundred if possible. Return at 3:30 o’clock and I will give the order.”
“I need a hundred men,” declared Villa as he and Billie left the general’s presence, “and I don’t see how I can do with less.”
“I’ll tell you!” suddenly exclaimed Billie. “Maybe the rangers cannot come as rangers to help rescue Donald and Adrian, but they can come as friends of mine and I believe they will. I have at least five hours to get across the river and bring them back. I am going to try. It is the only way. I wonder if we can find a horse!”
“Cierto!” replied Villa. “We’ll take the first good one we see!”
This they did, and ten minutes later Billie was again headed for the American shore.
Billie had been over the ground between Presidio and Presidio del Norte so many times that he thought he knew it perfectly, and as a result, although the night was dark, he put spurs to his mount and was quickly beyond the Federal outposts.
But the horse Billie was riding was not Jupiter. He was undoubtedly a good horse, as the speed at which he went fully testified. But it is one thing to have a horse that understands English and another to have one that understands only Mexican, as Billie soon discovered.
The horse which Billie had mounted at Pancho’s suggestion was Mexican clear through. He had never been across the Rio Grande, nor had he the slightest knowledge of the ground over which he was running. He had come from the south only twenty-four hours before, and, despite all that Billie could do, he insisted in bearing away from the river. Time and again Billie forced him back into the right direction, as he thought, but after half an hour’s hard riding, which should have brought him to the spot where the boys had landed from the boat, there was no river in sight.
“By George!” exclaimed Billie aloud, as he finally drew rein and peered into the darkness, “I wonder where that river has gone to. It ought to be around here somewhere!”
He turned his horse sharply to the left and for several minutes rode slowly along, looking all about his narrow horizon.
“Don’t you know where you are?” he asked of the horse; but not understanding English, there was no answering movement of the animal’s ears and no sense of that companionship which a horseman should feel from his mount.
“If I’d had Jupiter under me I wouldn’t be in this fix!” thought Billie, and for a brief moment he was almost overcome with a sense of loneliness.
But there was no time to waste. The lives of his companions depended upon his success, and he hastily pulled himself together and spurred forward.
For another five minutes he galloped along, when all at once his horse went down upon his knees and only the saddle kept Billie from going over his head.
Quickly gathering himself, he tried his best with the reins to lift the animal to his feet; but his efforts were in vain and he was obliged to dismount.
One look at the ground beneath his feet was sufficient. He had ridden into the midst of a prairie dog village and his horse had fallen into one of the holes.
After some minutes, Billie succeeded in getting the animal on his feet; but when he mounted and started to ride, he found that the broncho was so lame he could scarcely move.
While the accident was unfortunate in one way, it was a good thing in another. It served as a landmark to tell Billie where he was—for the very first day the boys had arrived on the Rio Grande they had noticed it and Billie was sure that it was the only dog village for miles.
“I must be about two miles from Don Pablo’s,” he mused. “That makes me fully six miles from the city and with this lame pony I don’t know how long it will take me to get there! I wish I could get hold of one of old Don Pablo’s mules.”
He gave the broncho a slap with the reata, not having the heart to use his spurs. The animal tried to go a bit faster, but the effort was a failure.
“I can walk faster than this,” was the lad’s next thought and without a moment’s hesitation he threw himself from the horse and started in the direction of the river on a run.
“If I can only find that river,” he muttered as he sped along. “I’ll stick close to it until I reach town. It can’t be so very far away!”
Billie was a good runner and he had learned in his months of experience on the plains how to run so as not to tire himself. It was vastly different from running along a beaten path, or even along a regular trail. The ground was covered with sand hummocks, and every once in a while he would run into a patch of sand so deep that it was impossible to do more than walk.
After some minutes Billie struck a belt of chaparral.
“Well!” he gasped, “this is encouraging, anyway. I am getting nearer the river.”
Through the brush he ran and finally, to his great delight, he emerged into a beaten path.
“Now I’m all right,” he thought. “This will lead me right down to the shore.”
Encouraged by the thought, he put on more steam and spurted ahead; but when, after five minutes’ running, he failed to come to the water, he stopped and looked around.
“I must be going in the wrong direction,” he exclaimed, and turning, began to retrace his tracks.
For nearly ten minutes he kept on his course and then again stopped, pretty well tired out.
“This is something fierce!” he said aloud. “I’m in as bad a fix as that chap you read about in mythology, who was lost in a labyrinth. I used to think that was a pretty fishy story, but here I find myself in the same fix. I wish the stars would come out!”
But the stars failed to appear and Billie stood perplexed.
As he stood thus undecided, his ears caught the sound of a strange little cough and a smile spread itself over his face.
“The prairie dogs are barking at the pinto,” he laughed. “Well, anyway, I know where I am as far as they are concerned. I must have gone pretty nearly in a circle. That wouldn’t be strange for me, but why should this path go in a circle?”
He took off his sombrero and wiped the sweat from his forehead.
“It’s mighty funny,” he continued, still thinking of the path.
Then an explanation came to him.
“It isn’t a circle!” he exclaimed. “It’s a loop and I would have gone straight across it if I had kept on the way I was going when I first struck it. There must be a bend in the river down here somewhere.”
Billie’s surmise was quite correct. It was a bend in the river, and in a few minutes more, pushing straight through the chaparral, he came in sight of the water.
“Well!” declared the lad as he drew a deep breath, “I’m certainly glad to see you! And now to get to the other side.”
He sprang down the bank in three long strides and peered out toward the American shore. It seemed a long way and the water was running at a good speed.
“What a fool I was not to stick to the broncho,” he muttered. “If he couldn’t walk, he could swim. If I was sure he was still there I’d go back and get him; but that’s altogether unlikely. No sir, I’ve just got to swim it alone and the sooner the better.”
He threw off his jacket and began to unbuckle his cartridge belt.
“If I could only find a log of some kind, it wouldn’t be so bad; but I don’t see any.”
He took a few steps along the shore, peering into the darkness, as he rolled his belt about his six-shooter and deposited them in his hat.
Then he turned again to the water, and, throwing off his boots—which together with his jacket he tossed up on the bank, as if perchance he might come back for them on the morrow—he waded in.
He had reached deep water, and was just about to strike out for the opposite shore, when his ear caught the sound of oar-locks. He paused in the act of launching himself into the current, and listened attentively. There was no mistaking the sound, and he waited anxiously to see what would appear.
He had not long to wait, for a couple of minutes later a batteau, very much like the one the rangers had captured the night before, came into sight, rowing slowly upstream. It contained three persons, two at the oars and the third standing in the bow of the boat, looking forward.
Billie sank himself into the water until nothing could be seen below his eyes. There was only one chance in fifty that he would escape detection, but he was in luck, and, as soon as the boat passed him, he struck out for it with all his speed.
Good swimmer though he was, he would never have been able to catch the boat had the men been rowing with any speed; but they were evidently looking for something, and were going so slowly that it was no trick at all to swim up behind and seize the stern with both hands.
For several minutes after he had secured a hold he made no move, being content to let the boat tow him along; but, after a few minutes, he began silently to use his feet and legs and to turn the boat’s head toward the American shore.
At first the oarsmen did not notice what was happening. Then the one on the American side of the boat exclaimed:
“Caramba, hombre! Don’t pull so hard! Can’t you see you are pulling us out of our course?”
“Yes,” echoed the man in the bow, “don’t get too near the American shore tonight. We may be watched.”
“I’m not pulling hard,” replied the other oarsman. “It’s Emilio who is weak. If he would pull harder, there’d be no trouble!”
Hearing the controversy, Billie sank lower into the water, and let the boat hold its course. Then, after a couple of minutes, he again diverted the little craft, being more careful, however, to do it gradually.
Several times he performed the feat, until the boat was past the middle of the stream.
“I guess I’m near enough now,” he thought to himself, “so I won’t have any trouble,” and was about to release his hold and let the boat go on her way, when the man at the bow called out sharply:
“Where are you going? Do you want the gringo patrol to get you?”
The words were spoken in a much louder tone, evidently, than had been intended, and must have been heard from the American shore, for immediately thereafter there came a challenge in English:
“Boat ahoy! Who goes there?”
There was no answer from the boat, only an answering tug from the oarsman, who pulled lustily to turn his boat from shore, while Billie, using himself as a rudder, strove his best to keep the boat in an opposite direction. The result was that the boat kept straight ahead.
“Who goes there?” again came the challenge. “Answer, or I’ll fire!” A threat which was carried out a moment later when no reply was forthcoming.
The patrol must have caught a glimpse of the boat, for the bullet whistled through the air close to it.
“Caramba!” shouted the man in the bow. “Why don’t you pull?”
“We are pulling!” exclaimed the oarsmen, “but the evil one must have the boat in his grasp, Don Pablo! We can’t turn it!”
“Don Pablo!” exclaimed Billie to himself, “so that’s who it is!” And he struggled harder than ever to turn the boat toward the shore, while the patrol, evidently reinforced by two or three comrades, poured a sharp fusillade in the direction of the sound of the voices.
“The evil one, verdad!” exclaimed Don Pablo. “The evil one must have hold of you, Emilio. Pull!”
But, instead of pulling, Emilio dropped his oar and pitched forward into the boat, pierced by a rifle ball from the shore patrol, which now seemed to have the range of the boat.
As the bullets whizzed overhead and all about the boat, and as Billie saw the oarsman pitch forward, he had two thoughts in his mind—one to keep from being hit by the bullets, and the other to capture Don Pablo, whom he considered as the real leader of the gun runners.
It took some quick thinking to know what to do, but Billie was learning how to do that very thing.
Seizing the oar which had fallen from Emilio’s hand, he dragged it out of the rowlocks, at the same time calling out with all his might:
“Cease firing!”
The command, given in excellent English, had its effect upon the soldiers on the shore. The firing ceased, and a voice called out:
“Who are you?”
“I’m a messenger from Americans who are in danger in Presidio del Norte,” replied Billie; “but there are Mexicans in the boat. You have hit one of them, and I’ve captured the boat!”
“Then bring the boat ashore,” called the patrol.
“I can’t!”
“Why not?”
“They won’t let me!”
“I thought you said you had captured the boat!”
“So I have,” replied Billie, “but I haven’t captured the Mexicans!”
“No,” shouted Don Pablo, who was now slowly making his way toward the stern of the boat, “nor will you. Your hour has come!”
“Don’t be so sure!” called the voice from the shore, and a shot rang out, which came so close that Billie could hear it sing above his head. Don Pablo ducked into the bottom of the boat, as though to dodge a bullet which was already yards away.
“Did I hit him?” called the patrol.
“No, but you came pretty close,” replied Billie. “But you hadn’t better try it again. You might hit me. I’m in the water.”
“What, swimming?”
“Yes! I’ve got hold of the stern of the boat; but I’ve got to let go,” he added hastily, as he saw Don Pablo again rise to his feet.
“What for?”
“They’ll get me!”
“If we fire high enough can’t we keep ’em down till you can push the boat to shore?” asked the patrol.
“You might try it!”
And they did, with the result that Don Pablo again ducked to the bottom of the batteau, while Billie worked with all his might to push the boat toward shore.
It is one thing to swing a boat under headway, and another to push a boat of the size of the batteau even obliquely against a current. Thus it was that, while Billie had been talking, the boat had slowly drifted downstream and the patrol had been obliged to run along the bank.
“I’m afraid I can’t do it!” Billie finally shouted. “I guess I’ll have to give up!”
“Don’t,” called back the soldiers. “Hang on and we’ll come out after you. One of the boys has gone for a boat.”
“All right,” called Billie. “Hurry up!”
“If they don’t,” muttered the lad, “I’ll have to give up.”
Then he thought of his mission, which had momentarily been driven from his mind by the excitement.
“I can’t give up,” he thought. “I must get into the boat.”
Holding on to the gunwale with one hand, he reached up and took his six-shooter from under his hat, letting both the hat and cartridge belt fall into the river. Then, as the shots continued to fly over the boat, he slowly pulled himself aboard, at the same time calling out to those on shore:
“Cease firing! I’ve boarded her!”
Having boarded the batteau, the next thing for Billie was to make himself master of the craft, an act which he at once recognized was somewhat difficult, seeing it was two to one, and at least one of the two was probably just as well or better armed than he.
However, there was no backing out, nor had our hero any idea of such a thing. He knew if he would succeed in the mission which he had undertaken there must be no such word as fail. Therefore, the first weapon at hand was strategy, and strategy Billie at once employed by putting himself in a position where the oarsman served as a shield for any bullet Don Pablo might see fit to fire at him.
This was comparatively easy, as Don Pablo, in his endeavor to get at Billie, had left the bow of the boat and gone astern, while Billie had executed a flank movement by swimming around and boarding the craft from the bow. This put the oarsman between him and Don Pablo, with his face toward the latter.
At the sound of the lad’s voice, the oarsman arose and turned his head to see what had happened.
“'Bout face!” exclaimed Billie, covering the man with his Colt. “If you move I’ll fire!”
The oarsman turned his face quickly, only to find himself looking into the muzzle of Don Pablo’s revolver, that nimble old gentleman having arisen from the bottom of the boat as soon as the firing on shore had ceased, with the intention of taking a shot at Billie before he could put himself on the offensive.
Finding himself thus between two fires, the oarsman let out a yell that would have done credit to a bunch of football players.
“Don’t shoot!” he cried. “For the love of the saints, don’t shoot, Don Pablo! You will hit me instead of the gringo!”
“Sit down!” commanded Don Pablo.
“Don’t you dare,” countermanded Billie, “unless you want a bullet in your back!”
“I’ll shoot you if you don’t,” said Don Pablo.
“I’ll shoot you if you do,” declared Billie.
“Mercy! Mercy! Señores!” cried the oarsman. “I have done nothing for which I should be shot.”
“You are protecting the gringo!” said Don Pablo.
“You are protecting Don Pablo!” repeated Billie, who, now that he had shaken the water out of his eyes and had secured a firm footing, could fully appreciate the strange condition of affairs.
If Don Pablo should carry out his threat to shoot the man, he would leave himself at Billie’s mercy. Should Billie shoot first, and his bullet fail to reach Don Pablo, he would be at the mercy of the Mexican.
But Billie seemed to have the best of the situation, for all he wished to do was to hold Don Pablo at bay until the boat from the American shore should come to his rescue. As a result he was satisfied to let matters remain as they were. Especially did he feel that he had the better of the situation when he heard the sound of oar-locks from out the darkness.
“You won’t have to stand long,” he said to the oarsman, “I hear them coming after us. As soon as they arrive you can sit down.”
“They shall never get us!” exclaimed Don Pablo. “I’ll die first!” and he pulled the trigger of his revolver.
Had the old man fired without speaking, there is no knowing what damage he might have done; but, from his words, Billie guessed exactly what he proposed to do, and ere Don Pablo could pull the trigger, he rocked the boat. As might have been expected, the shot flew wild, as Don Pablo sought to maintain his balance.
“Now I’ve got you,” said Billie. “Surrender or I’ll fire.”
Almost at the same instant the form of another batteau loomed up in the darkness, and a voice exclaimed in Spanish:
“Look out! There’s a boat ahead!”
The cry was followed by a wild attempt of those in the oncoming boat to check its progress; but the effort was in vain and the two boats came together with such force as to cause Billie to lose his balance. He made a vain attempt to regain his equilibrium, but without avail, and so, in order to make the best of a bad situation, he plunged, rather than fell, into the river.
It might have been expected that, as Billie plunged into the water, his chief thought would have been regarding his safety. But such is the vagary of the human mind, that safety was the least of his thoughts. The question he asked himself as he dove from the boat was:
“Now, who do you suppose they are, and where did they come from?”
In order to answer the question it is necessary to make a word of explanation.
As stated before, the batteau to which Billie was clinging had gradually drifted downstream, even while he was shouting his story to the patrol. After Billie climbed into the boat, and ceased his effort to direct its course, it drifted even more rapidly than before. The result was that, when struck by the other boat, it had drifted back nearly to the bend in the river where Billie first took to the water.
When Billie arose to the surface, after his dive, he looked about to see what had become of the boats. There they were, not twenty feet away, side by side! One might have thought they had met on purpose, rather than by chance, so friendly was their appearance.
And this was exactly the case, although that purpose came very near being thwarted by Billie’s activity.
“Well,” thought Billie, as he shook the water from his eyes, “seeing that I am here, I might as well find out what is going on.”
Slowly he approached the boats, and now that he was bareheaded, he could not be distinguished from the water.
“He must be somewhere around,” he heard one voice declare.
“Unless he has been drowned,” suggested another.
“No such good fortune,” said a third, which Billie recognized as belonging to Don Pablo.
“Do you know who he was?” asked another voice, this in English.
“He said he was a messenger,” replied Don Pablo, also in English. “He said something about going for help for some Americans who are in danger.”
“There are plenty of them in danger, for that matter,” replied the voice, “but they are not likely to get any help from him, whoever he was. If he didn’t drown, he has probably made for the shore. I don’t see any use of our worrying about him any longer.”
“He may be clinging to the boats, as he did before,” said Don Pablo.
“We can soon find out,” was the answer. “You look all around my boat, and I’ll look around yours.”
The oarsmen slowly swung both boats, so that those in one could obtain a view of the other. There was no Billie in sight, and each speaker so reported. But, in spite of the report, Billie was right there, just the same.
Any boy who can tread water knows how easy it is to stand still, and, with little or no effort, allow a boat to which he might have attached himself to turn, without turning with it. That is just what Billie did. He practically went clear around the boat without moving. The boat did the moving instead.
Having satisfied themselves that they were alone in the middle of the river, the occupants of the boats drew them close together, and began an animated conversation in English, so that the oarsmen could not understand.
“What was all that shooting going on upstream?” asked the newcomer.
“It was the patrol. The American drew their fire,” was Don Pablo’s response. “They pretty nearly finished Emilio.”
“No great loss,” muttered the other.
“Not to you,” replied Don Pablo bitterly. “You foreigners seem to think that a Mexican more or less is a small matter.”
“Oh, come now, Don Pablo,” replied his companion, in a changed tone of voice, “don’t get a wrong impression. There is a whole lot of difference between Mexicans. You know as well as I do that a peon more or less makes little difference, even to you. Men like you are the real support and strength of Mexico.”
“Whether they are or not makes little difference. But now to the matter we came here to discuss: How much will you give me if I bring about an invasion of American territory by our people?”
“Who do you mean by our people?”
“I mean the Mexicans.”
“There are two kinds of Mexicans since this morning,” was the reply.
“How so?”
“There are now Maderists and revolutionists,” said the newcomer. “I wouldn’t give you five cents to bring about an invasion by the revolutionists.”
“Why not?”
“Because they are not the government.”
“Not yet!” said Don Pablo.
“When they become the government it will be time to discuss them,” was the curt reply.
“Then what do you want?” asked Don Pablo.
“This is what I want,” said the other. “I want you to bring about some action that will cause the United States to intervene in Mexican affairs.”
“For what purpose?”
“So that our property in Chihuahua will be protected. There will never be a real government in Mexico until the United States makes it. If your revolution——”
“Sh-h-h!” exclaimed Don Pablo. “These peons might understand.”
“What do you care? It is your revolution, isn’t it?”
“No! No! It is the people who have arisen.”
“All right. Have it your own way; but whose ever revolution it is, if it succeeds in bringing about intervention by the United States, the purpose will be accomplished and you will be well paid. If this revolution fails to bring about the result, then we must keep having revolutions till we do succeed. Do you understand?”
“Perfectly.”
“We will furnish the money. You do the rest.”
“We!” thought Billie to himself, as he followed the conversation. “I wonder who we are?”
Then again, after a moment’s thought: “Great Scott! This must be the party whom Lieut. Grant wanted us to locate. Don Pablo and Don Rafael are only tools. This man is the real power. How am I going to land him?”
While he was still turning the matter over in his mind, he heard the stranger say:
“Here are drafts on the Bank of England for ten thousand pounds. See that the money is used to the best advantage if you ever expect any more. You’ll hear from me when I want to see you again.”
Then to his oarsmen: “All right! Let’s go home!”
Slowly the boats drew apart. For just a moment Billie was undecided which one to follow. Evidently the visitor was the very man he had started out to find, and yet, what would happen if he followed him? Would anyone believe his story without some other evidence—evidence which he did not have? But Don Pablo had the evidence—the drafts on the Bank of England. Those were what he needed and those he must have.
Without a moment’s hesitation he turned and grasped the stern of Don Pablo’s boat, which was slowly moving away under the power of only one oar.
After what seemed an age to Billie, although the time actually consumed could not have been more than fifteen minutes, the boat reached the shore at a spot with which he was most familiar. It was the end of the trail leading from the river to Don Pablo’s hacienda.
As soon as the boat touched the beach, Don Pablo sprang ashore and pulled it up onto the land and made it fast to a post. The oarsman followed more slowly, while Billie remained in the water until both men started up the trail.
Then he came ashore and silently followed after. He was barefooted and bareheaded. He was wet through and had no weapon; still he was undaunted.
He kept as close to the two men as he dared, fearing he might lose sight of them in the dark. He had no idea of what time it was, but figured that he must have been away from General Sanchez’ headquarters at least three hours. This gave him only three hours to finish his mission and return. His heart sank, as he thought what might happen in case he should fail, and a great sob welled up in his throat, as the faces of his chums came to his thoughts.
“I can’t fail!” he declared to himself. “I have just got to win.”
The men ahead of him walked rapidly, and in a comparatively short time reached the hacienda. Billie remembered it well—every spot he had noticed upon his first visit to the hacienda had impressed itself upon his memory.
Reaching the big gate, Don Pablo knocked lustily and the gate was quickly opened.
Here was Billie’s first real difficulty. How was he to enter? Once the gate was shut, he knew it might take him hours to find a way in. Something had to be done and done at once.
Picking up a good-sized stone, Billie let it drive with all his might at the boy who stood in the gateway holding the light. It was a good shot and struck the boy on the shin. With a cry of pain he dropped the lamp and grabbed the injured member.
“Caramba, what is that?” exclaimed Don Pablo, as he drew his revolver. “Are we attacked by thieves, or is the spirit of evil in the air?”
“It is neither,” replied the boy who had been hit. “It must be Juanito who threw the stone. He is jealous because I have a better place than he.”
“What is Juanito doing outside the hacienda at this time of night?” demanded Don Pablo. “Go bring him in, and do you, Luis,” turning to the oarsman, “give him a good beating. Then take three men and go and bring the body of Emilio to the hacienda.”
As soon as he had thrown the stone Billie had glided quickly to the adobe wall which surrounded the hacienda, and, as the boy and Luis went in search of the supposed Juanito, and Don Pablo passed within the gate, Billie darted in behind him and hid himself behind one of the bushes which he remembered seeing in one corner of the patio.
Stopping only for a moment to take a drink from a jar, which stood at the foot of the stairs, Don Pablo ascended to the second floor. A moment later, seeing that the way was clear, Billie followed, just in time to see Don Pablo enter one of the rooms which opened out onto the great corridor, for it must be said that the casa of Don Pablo was a large and handsome one.
Having located the room, Billie sat down in the dark to wait.
He did not have to wait long, for in a few minutes Luis and the boy returned, much chagrined over their inability to locate little John.
“What’s that?” asked Don Pablo, coming to the door in his shirt-sleeves, “can’t you find him?”
“No, señor,” was the reply. “It is too dark.”
“Well, let him go until morning. Then give him a good beating.”
“Who is that you are going to whip?” called a woman’s voice from somewhere down below.
“Juanito. He threw a stone and made us a lot of trouble.”
“Why, he couldn’t,” replied the woman. “He is here with me and hasn’t been out tonight.”
“What,” queried Don Pablo, “hasn’t been out tonight? Then there is something wrong! Quick, Luis, call some of the men and make a thorough search.”
The servant hastened to obey, while Don Pablo went back into his room. Through the open door Billie saw him take an envelope from the pocket of the coat which he had thrown over a chair and place it in the drawer of a great secretary. Then, seizing his hat, he ran quickly downstairs, closing the door behind him.
“I thought I would stir things up,” mused Billie, as he crept silently toward the room which Don Pablo had just vacated. “Now, if I can get that envelope and get out of here while the men are hunting for me, I’ll be all right!”
Reaching the door, he waited until the voices below told him that the men had gone out. Then he softly pushed open the door and entered.
It was a larger room than he had thought from the glimpse he had from without, but it lay just as he expected. Quickly he opened the drawer of the secretary and took therefrom the envelope. By the light of the oil lamp that hung from the ceiling he saw that it bore the name of a New York bank and he had no doubt it contained the evidence he sought.
He closed the drawer, and as he turned to leave the room caught sight of Don Pablo’s cartridge belt and revolver hanging on the back of a chair.
“I might need something like this,” he thought, and without a single qualm of conscience he buckled the belt around him, drew out the revolver, and loaded the empty chamber which Don Pablo had fired while in the boat.
With the revolver in his hand he was about to leave the room, when a soft voice—a voice which he never could forget—said quietly:
“Don’t you think, señor, that you are making yourself almost too much at home?”
At the sound of the voice, Billie turned as though shot.
“Santiago!” he exclaimed. “Where did you come from?”
If Billie had been surprised by the sound of the voice, Santiago was even more surprised when he recognized the visitor.
“Don Guillermo!” he cried. “Is it really you? I did not recognize you in that attire!”
“You mean in this lack of attire,” replied Billie quizzically, as he regarded his bare feet and drabbled condition.
“But why are you here?” asked Santiago.
In just as few words as possible Billie explained.
“And you have seen Pancho Villa?” queried Santiago.
“Yes, and things are just as I tell you. Don Rafael and Don Pablo are both enemies of Mexico. They are both working for their own advancement. You know that a war with the United States is the last thing honest Mexicans desire.”
“Undoubtedly. And you think the possession of these drafts will aid you in preventing it?”
“Unquestionably,” was Billie’s emphatic reply.
“Then go! I shall make no attempt to detain you, although I am powerless right now to aid you. This shall be a part of the reward I promised you. When you can come to me and tell me that Don Rafael is no more, you shall have the rest. Now go, before the men return. They are a wild lot. and now that the revolution has broken out, there is no controlling them.”
Billie started for the stairs; but, before he reached them, he could hear the men coming in, grumbling at their ill luck and in finding no one.
“Wait,” said Santiago. “I will go down and attract their attention, so that you may come down. Be careful.”
Suiting the action to the word, Santiago ran quickly down the stairs, as though just awakened.
“What is all the trouble?” he asked. “Have the Maderists attacked us?”
“Maderists,” laughed one. “Caramba, no! Don Pablo has been frightened by a shadow.”
“By his guilty conscience, more likely,” muttered another. “The idea of getting honest men up at this time of night to hunt goblins.”
“Look out! There he comes!” whispered another. “If he hears you, you will think of something besides goblins!”
While this conversation had been going on, Billie had managed to slip down stairs, and again took his place behind the bush in the patio. Then, as the men went back to the servants’ quarters, he edged around near the gate, watching an opportunity to slip through.
While he stood there waiting, he heard a clock strike midnight.
“It is not as late as I thought,” he said to himself. “There is still time if I am not detained.”
He glanced around and no one was in sight but Santiago. Outside all was dark, and he decided now was his chance.
Grasping the revolver tightly in his hand, he darted for the gateway, and bumped squarely into Don Pablo, who entered at the same moment.
For a moment the collision stopped Billie and sent Don Pablo reeling against the wall. Billie was much the heavier, but the old man was a bunch of sinews. Both gathered themselves for a spring as Don Pablo gave a cry that sounded like a wild beast and could be heard all over the hacienda.
“Gringo dog!” he exclaimed. “Now I have you!” and he made a dash at the boy.
Billie raised the revolver in his hand as though to fire, and then changed his mind.
“He must be unarmed,” he thought, “and I don’t want to kill him.”
He shoved his arm out sharply and the barrel of the revolver struck Don Pablo full in the face, knocking him to the ground.
With a yell which he had learned from the Wyoming cowboys, Billie sprang over the prostrate form and dashed away in the darkness.
So sudden had been Billie’s assault and escape that it was several minutes before those in and about the hacienda could understand what had occurred. But when they did at last comprehend, they started after him with a wild cry of revenge.
This time, however, Billie knew his ground and whither he was going. Straight as an arrow he ran, in spite of the darkness, and, several minutes before the pursuing Mexicans had reached the river, he had unfastened the boat and launched it into the stream. With the aid of one oar, which he used as a paddle, he was slowly disappearing in the gloom when he heard the pursuers upon the bank. Several shots were fired at him, but all went wild. In a few minutes he was within hailing distance of the American shore.
Thinking it wise under the circumstances, he called aloud as he approached land, and after two or three shouts received an answer from the patrol.
Guiding the boat by the sound of the voices, he was soon ashore, where he was surrounded by the United States soldiers.
“Who are you?” demanded the corporal of the guard.
Billie explained.
“Why didn’t you come in sooner?”
Again Billie explained.
“It doesn’t sound exactly right,” was the corporal’s reply. “We shall have to take you to headquarters.”
“That’s exactly what I want,” declared Billie, “and the sooner the better. If I don’t get help quick my friends will be executed.”
“What’s that?” asked the corporal, with added interest.
Briefly Billie explained.
“You’ll never get any help from the lieutenant,” he was told.
“I’m not expecting it,” was Billie’s response. “But I’ll bet the rangers will help me!”
The corporal shook his head. “It would be a breach of neutrality,” he declared. “The President wouldn’t stand for it, even if the commanding officer did. It would cost him his commission; maybe something worse.”
“We’ll see,” was Billie’s only reply. “Now will you rush me to headquarters?”
“You bet I will,” replied the corporal, emphatically, and in almost no time Billie was galloping toward Presidio in charge of a couple of troopers.
Lieutenant Grant had turned in when the galloping horsemen drew rein in front of his headquarters, half an hour later, but he quickly turned out again when the troopers made known their errand.
“Well, well,” he exclaimed, as he caught sight of Billie. “There must be something serious to have caused you to make a report at this time of night!”
“There is,” was Billie’s forcible reply. “The lives of my two companions depend upon my getting assistance to rescue them from the revolutionists!”
“Tell me about it,” said the lieutenant, and Billie did so in the shortest manner possible.
“What do you expect me to do?” asked the lieutenant, when he had finished.
“I don’t know. I was in hopes you could suggest something!”
“I’m afraid that even a suggestion from an officer of the United States might be looked upon as a breach of neutrality,” was the reply.
“Then how would it do if you should go to bed and go to sleep?” asked Billie. “Of course you could not violate your order of neutrality if you were asleep.”
“That’s true.”
“And then, again,” explained Billie, “there is a dangerous man abroad tonight, who needs watching.”
“How’s that?”
“I saw an English-speaking foreigner give a Mexican ten thousand pounds tonight to aid the revolution.”
“What!” almost shouted the lieutenant. “Ten thousand pounds?”
“Exactly.”
“How do you know he gave him that amount?”
Billie ran his hand inside his shirt and pulled forth the big envelope he had taken from Don Pablo’s secretary.
“I couldn’t swear to it yet,” he said; “because I have not looked inside this envelope; but, if I am not mistaken there is that sum in drafts on the Bank of England in this envelope.”
With trembling fingers he tore open the wrapper, and there, just as he had expected, were the drafts—ten, each for a thousand pounds!
“And who was the man?” asked Lieutenant Grant.
“I don’t know, but I had hoped that the name on the drafts might tell.”
The lieutenant examined them carefully. Then he shook his head. “No,” he said, “there is nothing to show by whom they were drawn. They are simply bank checks of one of the largest banks in New York on the Bank of England, with whom they doubtless have a large account. They are made payable to Pablo Ojeda, and, so far as the checks go to show, might have been purchased by Don Pablo himself. However, in the expert hands of the United States Secret Service, we may be able to find out whose money this really is.”
At this information Billie’s face fell.
“I thought I was doing a big thing,” he muttered. “Now I see I might better have followed the man.”
“You have done a big thing,” said the lieutenant; “and, to show my appreciation of what you have done, I am going to send all the pickets for half a mile down the river to hunt the man. If any of your friends should slip across the river at that point, I shall not know it. And now, I’d advise you to hunt up Captain Peak and go to bed—that is, unless you and he should decide to do a little more scout duty before daylight.”
Billie was not slow to take the hint, and started for the hotel. He had not gone twenty paces when the two troopers who had ridden in with him overtook him.
“Just tell Captain Peak,” said one of them, “that there’ll be ten of us waiting for you down below the custom house. We’ll be in our shirt-sleeves, as it wouldn’t do to be found dead in our uniforms if anything should happen.”
Billie’s heart gave a great bound. “I see,” he said. “You won’t have to wait long.”
Five minutes later he was in Captain Peak’s room telling his story. In another ten minutes the two of them emerged from the hotel and walked swiftly down the street. In still another ten minutes, men who looked like cowboys, but each carrying a Winchester, might have been seen going toward the river below the custom house. Half an hour later the streets again took on a deserted appearance, save for the two or three policemen who suddenly emerged from unknown quarters and resumed their beats.
Promptly at the appointed hour—the darkest hour in the whole twenty-four, the hour before dawn—Pancho Villa appeared at the door of General Sanchez’s headquarters. Almost simultaneously General Sanchez appeared in the doorway.
“Is everything in readiness?” he inquired, as he recognized Villa.
“Everything but the men, general.”
“They are also ready,” was the response. “I regret that there are only fifty; but they are well officered, and will do whatever they are told. They are the pick of my force.”
Villa saluted, but made no reply.
“Don’t you think them sufficient?”
“No, general; but I hope for reinforcements!”
“I am afraid you will not receive them. But where is the American youth?”
“He has gone across the river, general.”
“Across the river? You don’t mean he has deserted his comrades?”
“No, general. He has gone for reinforcements!”
“Oh! I see,” and General Sanchez shrugged his shoulders.
“But I am afraid they will not come,” continued Villa. “The pickets on both sides of the river are very alert tonight.”
“Do you know where the Americans expect to cross?”
“I can only guess, general.”
“Perhaps you will guess aloud.”
“I should guess they might cross below the ferry.”
“Very well.”
He turned to an orderly who stood ready to ride at a moment’s notice: “Go tell Captain Rodriguez that if a band of refugees should seek to land from the American shore they are to be allowed to pass unquestioned.” Then to Villa: “Is that all?”
“Yes, general.”
“Very well, go! You will find your force down by the water’s edge. The assault upon the revolutionists’ lines will begin in half an hour!”
But, in the meantime, what of Donald and Adrian?
When the revolutionists headed by Don Rafael had broken into the house and the boys were taken prisoners, they had been as greatly surprised at the disappearance of Billie as had the others; but it did not take Donald long to figure out what had happened. Of course he did not know that Billie was hearing all that was going on, but he felt sure that he was safe.
At the first opportunity he had explained to Adrian his solution of the mystery, and both had confidence that in some way Billie would bring about their escape, although they could not see how.
Because of this confidence they kept a bold front, but it must be admitted that they thought their last hour had come when Don Rafael had declared that he would have them shot immediately. When he gave orders to suddenly leave the place, they were much mystified, not knowing that a guilty conscience had filled him with a great fear.
After leaving the place where they were captured, the boys were first escorted to the cuartel by a shouting, howling mob. Here they were examined by a petty officer. After that they were conducted into the presence of the commanding general and again examined with a view to finding out what their mission really was. Finally, they were turned over to a corporal, and after several hours were locked up in a room in the barracks to await further action.
“Well!” exclaimed Adrian, as soon as they were left alone. “This seems the most serious situation in which we have ever found ourselves!”
“Possibly so,” replied Donald; “but we know that Billie is at work to get us out.”
“We certainly do,” affirmed Adrian; “just as he knew we were at work to rescue him when he was captured by the smugglers; but it is going to be a great deal harder to get to us, with a battle line all around us. For my part, the situation seems hopeless.”
“'While there is life there is hope,’ says the old proverb,” declared Donald, “and we are very much alive.”
“Yes, and able to put up a fight if we had a chance; but what chance is there, when we have been deprived of our arms, and will be taken from this room by a file of soldiers? No, old man”—and there was a visible tremor in Adrian’s voice—“I’m afraid our time has come.”
He bowed his face in his hands, and for some minutes both the boys were silent. Then Adrian straightened up, and, looking Donald squarely in the face, said:
“If it comes to the worst, I am not afraid to die. It will be in the service of our country and a man can die but once.”
“That’s the way to talk,” said Donald. “No matter what happens, we must be brave. If we die, it will be like Americans!”
He put out his hand, which was warmly clasped by Adrian.
“It shall be as you say,” he declared. “But I shall not give up hope till the very last minute.”
They were still standing with hands clasped, when they heard the key grate in the lock. They turned quickly at the sound, and, although it was still an hour until day, and, in spite of their determination to be brave, for a moment their cheeks paled.
But their time was not yet.
Instead of the file of soldiers which they feared they might see, their visitor proved to be Don Rafael.
“So!” he exclaimed, as he noticed the pallor upon their faces, “you are not so brave as you would have me think!” and he laughed scornfully.
The boys made no reply and he continued:
“You thought you would trap me, did you? You thought I wouldn’t recognize you as the ones who upset my plans at the cave? You are too young, my friends, to catch an old fox like me!”
“We may be,” said Donald, “but, if anything happens to us, there are those who will make you pay dearly.”
“Bah!” and Don Rafael snapped his fingers. “That for your friends! I have been in too many affairs to be bluffed by a couple of striplings.”
“Just as you please,” replied Donald, “but what I say is true. Why, at this minute they are on their way here!”
As he spoke, there was the boom of a cannon from the outskirts of the city, followed almost immediately by the crash of rifles.
“Perhaps you think those are your friends,” laughed Don Rafael. “If so they will meet with a warm reception.”
“They’ll be here before daybreak,” said Adrian.
“You think so?” exclaimed Don Rafael, and he regarded the boys with a crafty expression. “Well, perhaps you are right, and so, to avoid any danger of your escape, we will not wait until daylight for your execution.”
He stepped to the door of the guard room and called:
“Don Carlos!”
A moment later that young gentleman appeared.
“Send me a sergeant and a file of soldiers,” ordered Don Rafael. “I have decided not to wait until daylight. The execution will take place at once in the patio.”
“It has come!” said Donald aside to Adrian. “Be brave!”
Silently they once more clasped hands, and awaited the coming of the soldiers, while Don Rafael eyed them savagely.
“I’ll teach you,” he exclaimed, “to interfere with my plans. It will serve as a lesson to other Americans!”
Then, as the tramp of feet was heard on the stone pavement without: “Here they come! Now, then, get ready,” and he stepped aside, so as not to obstruct the doorway.
The boys threw back their shoulders, and looked the man squarely in the face. His eyes fell before their honest gaze, and he turned his head with a muttered oath.
At the same moment there was a crash of rifles, which seemed at the very door, and the sergeant, who had just appeared in the doorway, fell with a groan.
“Caramba! What is it?” yelled Don Rafael.
He dashed across the room toward the door, as a hearty American “Hurrah!” followed by a regular cowboy yell was heard without.
At the sound Don Rafael turned as white as his dusky color would permit. He drew his revolver from his holster, and backed slowly into the room, with his eye fastened upon the doorway.
So sudden had been the change in affairs, that for a moment the two Broncho Rider Boys stood stupefied; but, as Don Rafael slowly retreated, their wits returned.
“Grab him!” shouted Donald.
At the cry Don Rafael turned quickly upon the boys, revolver in hand.
“So,” he exclaimed, “this is your work, too! Well, it is your last!”
Slowly he raised his weapon as though to enjoy the full measure of his revenge. Then, as his finger pressed the trigger, there was another crash of rifles. Both boys threw themselves flat upon the floor, and the bullet from Don Rafael’s revolver buried itself in the adobe wall.
Before he could take a second aim, a tall figure in peon’s garb sprang into the room.
It was Pancho Villa.
One glance told the story. Without a moment’s warning his revolver cracked, and Don Rafael pitched forward to the floor, dead.
The next instant a dozen Americans, headed by Billie, rushed into the room.
It was not until two hours after daylight that the complete result of Villa’s strategy was apparent. At that hour the battle was over and the Federals took possession of the city. For a minor battle it had been a severe one, and the victory was well won.
From the balcony of the city hall the Broncho Rider Boys watched the victorious army, with General Sanchez at its head, march into the town. As the column passed the place where the boys stood, the general caught sight of them as he glanced from right to left, and gave them a salute with his sword, which was followed by every member of his staff. The boys returned the salute, and a few minutes later were given a chorus of “Vivas,” as the troop of Villa passed the balcony.
The Americans who had taken part in the rescue of the boys had returned to the American side before it was light.
“I reckon we had better return, too,” said Donald, as the boys were talking the matter over a few minutes later.
“Yes,” replied Adrian, “I suppose we should go and make our report to Lieutenant Grant.”
“I can’t see that there is much to report,” declared Donald.
“Why,” exclaimed Billie, with a hearty laugh, “that the gun-running expedition has been abandoned for want of runners.”
“Don’t you think he has heard about it before this?” asked Adrian.
“Possibly,” and Billie chuckled to himself; “but that doesn’t relieve us from making our report. Besides (decidedly), I’m hungry, and there is nothing this side of the river fit to eat!”
“I thought there was some reason for the anxiety,” laughed Donald, “but at that, I think we should go and report.”
They made their way hastily to General Sanchez’s headquarters, where they were cordially received, although General Sanchez was so busy with the work of taking over the city that he could spare them but a moment. He thanked them, however, in the presence of all the officers for what they had done, and gave them an escort to the river.
“When these troublesome times are over,” he said, as the boys were leaving, “you must all come and pay Pedro a visit in the City of Mexico. We shall be most glad to see you.”
The boys thanked him for his invitation, and rode away.
It was not until they had enjoyed a good breakfast that they put in their appearance at Lieutenant Grant’s quarters. Here again they were cordially received, although, as they had expected, a report of what had happened on the other side of the river had already been made. Here, also, Billie found a telegram from his father, telling him that he could wait no longer in El Paso, and saying that he would write him about coming back East in the near future.
“It looks as though my days as a Broncho Rider Boy were about over,” said Billie, with a sigh; “but whenever you fellows are ready to go and visit Pedro in the City of Mexico, let me know, and I’ll surely be with you.”
And in passing it may be well to say that some two months later, when affairs became so bad in Mexico under General Huerta that the United States government was obliged to send a force of sailors and soldiers to take possession of Vera Cruz, our Broncho Rider Boys found themselves—because of General Sanchez’s invitation—right in the midst of this trouble. This furnishes another story of the Broncho Rider Boys, which will be known as The Broncho Rider Boys With Funston At Vera Cruz, Or Scout Duty Afloat and Ashore.
“You must leave me your permanent address,” declared Lieutenant Grant. “I may have occasion to write you almost any time.”
“For what?” asked Billie.
“Why, in reference to the ten thousand pounds. If we succeed in tracing the purchaser of these drafts, your testimony will be necessary to punish those who may be responsible for creating this trouble along the Rio Grande.”
“What is he talking about, Ad?” queried Donald.
“I’m sure I don’t know. I haven’t heard anything about ten thousand pounds. What is it, Billie?”
In answer to which question, Billie related again, both for the benefit of his chums and of Lieutenant Grant and Captain Peak, the story of his experiences in the river and at Don Pablo’s hacienda.
“Suppose no owner is found for the drafts?” asked Captain Peak. “Then what?”
“I reckon the bank will be that much ahead, unless,” the lieutenant added, with a laugh, “our friend Billie should wish to return them to Don Pablo.”
“Hardly,” replied Billie. Then, as an afterthought: “Santiago said they were to be a part of my reward.”
“Who is Santiago?” queried Lieutenant Grant.
“A mystery,” was the laughing rejoinder.
And a mystery he must remain for the present, although in the story of the Broncho Rider Boys with Funston, the mystery is cleared away, and the ownership of the ten thousand pounds is settled in a manner that shows what strange things may happen when a nation is at war.
“There is just one more question which I should like to ask,” said Lieutenant Grant to Billie, as the boys were about to leave. “Of course there were no Americans in the force that captured Presidio del Norte?”
“Certainly not,” replied Billie. “I am reliably informed that every American, except we three, left the city some hours before it was captured. Isn’t that right, Captain Peak?” And Billie turned to the captain of the rangers.
“Such is the report that was made to me,” declared the captain, “and I have no reason to doubt it!”
“Then that will be all,” laughed the lieutenant; “and I wish you a pleasant journey home. When do you start?”
“Just as soon,” replied Billie, “as we can get old Bray loaded with enough provisions to carry us through.”
And with a hearty handshake all around, the boys started to make preparations for continuing their journey, carrying with them the best wishes of all the Texas Rangers.
THE END.
THE NAVY BOYS SERIES
A series of excellent stories of adventure on sea and land, selected from the works of popular writers; each volume designed for boys’ reading.
Handsome Cloth Bindings
Price, 60 cents per volume
THE NAVY BOYS IN DEFENCE OF LIBERTY.
A story of the burning of the British schooner Gaspee in 1772. By William P. Chipman.
THE NAVY BOYS ON LONG ISLAND SOUND.
A story of the Whale Boat Navy of 1776. By James Otis.
THE NAVY BOYS AT THE SIEGE OF HAVANA.
Being the experience of three boys serving under Israel Putnam in 1772. By James Otis.
THE NAVY BOYS WITH GRANT AT VICKSBURG.
A boy’s story of the siege of Vicksburg. By James Otis.
THE NAVY BOYS’ CRUISE WITH PAUL JONES.
A boy’s story of a cruise with the Great Commodore in 1776. By James Otis.
THE NAVY BOYS ON LAKE ONTARIO.
The story of two boys and their adventures in the War of 1812. By James Otis.
THE NAVY BOYS’ CRUISE ON THE PICKERING.
A boy’s story of privateering in 1780. By James Otis.
THE NAVY BOYS IN NEW YORK BAY.
A story of three boys who took command of the schooner “The Laughing Mary,” the first vessel of the American Navy. By James Otis.
THE NAVY BOYS IN THE TRACK OF THE ENEMY.
The story of a remarkable cruise with the Sloop of War “Providence” and the Frigate “Alfred.” By William P. Chipman.
THE NAVY BOYS’ DARING CAPTURE.
The story of how the navy boys helped to capture the British Cutter “Margaretta,” in 1775. By William P. Chipman.
THE NAVY BOYS’ CRUISE TO THE BAHAMAS.
The adventures of two Yankee Middies with the first cruise of an American Squadron in 1775. By William P. Chipman.