“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!
With the disappearance of the engineer’s drawings the mystery that surrounded the man with the scarred foot was doubled. Neither Jack nor Mr. Ryder could be quite positive of the clue they had been following. To them the fact that the trouble maker went about without shoes argued that he was a peon, and they could well understand why a peon, imbued with the spirit of revolution, should seek to make conditions as uncomfortable as possible for President Huerta, against whose rule they were revolting. That the person in question should undertake to wreck the power plant, or portions of it, seemed quite natural. But when it came to stealing drawings that were absolutely useless to them the whole affair took on a different complexion.
Who was this individual with the scar on his foot? Was he a peon or was he some one of the other employees about the plant? Or again, was he a soldier, or a member of the band of rurales, or was he some one of the bandits in the mountains who ran the guard at night and accomplished his trickery under the very eyes of soldiers and employees? The whole situation was thoroughly muddled and Jack and Mr. Ryder spent days trying to fathom the knotty problem. To a technical man the drawings were of the utmost value, for they laid bare to him the secret of an invention that would make him wealthy. But on the other hand it would seem that the man was moved more by his sympathies with the revolutionists than by his desire for personal gain, since it was quite apparent that the person who was so industriously engaged in making things disagreeable for President Huerta and the man who stole the drawings was the same individual.
“It is a mighty peculiar situation,” said Mr. Ryder one evening, after he and Jack had been puzzling over the matter for several hours. “This is my only conclusion. The man must be a peon, or a soldier, for they are the only persons hereabout who are interested in the revolution at all. He has heard of the drawings somehow, and believing that they would be of value to Zapata or Carranza (or whoever else he favors), he stole them. Later on he will probably turn them over to some one of these leaders with the hope, perhaps, that he will be given a commission or some other form of recognition for his service to the cause.
“But after I have reached that conclusion,” he added, “I am not absolutely certain that I am shooting in the right direction.”
For some time after the disappearance of the papers everything ran smoothly at the plant. But in the meantime disconcerting rumors were coming in from the mountains about bands of Zapatistas who were gathering at all points. The rurales who went out to patrol the hills and in particular to ride the transmission line to see that it was not disturbed were the first to bring in reports of skirmishes with these rebels. Almost daily several of the soldier-policemen would locate a handful of armed natives somewhere in the hills. Always a fight followed which resulted in at least one or two fatalities. More than once these green-clad riders came into Necaxa with dead or wounded comrades in their arms. And on several occasions they appeared at the power plant with prisoners bound hand and foot and tied to the backs of horses or burros like so many sacks of flour.
Short work was made of these men. Their fate was sealed the moment they were captured by the rurales. As a matter of form they were given a drumhead trial; that is, they were taken before the chief officer of the rurales and asked a number of unimportant questions. No matter how these questions were answered the sentence was the same. The natives were always condemned to be shot at sunrise the following morning.
Jack was present at the trial of one of these unfortunates and after the rebel was taken to the guardhouse the lad and Mr. Ryder went to visit him. It gave Jack a rather uncanny feeling when he realized that the man with whom they were talking would be dead and cold in ten hours. The Vermonter was up before sunrise to see the prisoner led out and placed against the gray wall of the power plant. The firing squad was composed of five men and an officer who stood with sword drawn while a soldier bound a handkerchief about the eyes of the victim. When this was done the executioners took careful aim and waited for the abrupt command to fire.
The five guns roared simultaneously, and Jack grew sick as he saw the blindfolded figure sway backward first, then recover its balance only to pitch forward with a groan and become an inert and lifeless mass. When the smoke had cleared away the officer walked calmly up to the dead man and drawing his revolver emptied the entire six chambers into the already lifeless body. This, Jack learned, was prescribed by the military regulations of Mexico, which state that an officer in charge of a firing squad, is held responsible for the certain death of the victim.
The rurales, however, were not the only ones to bring in word of the gathering of the Zapatistas. One day three men left the plant on a handcar trip of inspection along the narrow gage railroad track. One took a Winchester rifle with him while the others carried their revolvers. On their return journey they were met at a bend in the road by six rebels. One had a rifle but the others were armed only with machettes, or long brush knives. The men from the plant were ordered to stop, of course, but they did not obey. Instead they started to pump the handles harder and since the tracks were down grade at that point their car had gained tremendous headway by the time they reached the natives. Fortunately the peons had not had forethought enough to plug the railroad tracks or loosen a rail in which case the car would have been wrecked and the inspectors killed immediately. As it was they ran past the natives at top speed. The Mexican with the rifle opened fire and the man with the Winchester replied, but he was only able to get in one shot before the handle of the car knocked the rifle from his grasp. One of the other men drew his six shooter and emptied it as he went flying past. It was a narrow escape and the three inspectors were glad when they reached the power plant.
Shortly after this experience some excitement was created at the station when Lyman noticed that one of his indicators recorded a grounded transmission line. Two linemen and a squad of rurales were despatched to locate the trouble. Five miles back in the mountains they found a dead peon clinging to one of the steel transmission poles and the story of the ground was revealed instantly. This peon had climbed the pole and with his steel machette tried to cut through one of the transmission lines. The moment the blade came in contact with the cable a circuit was formed and the entire 88,000 volts were sent through the man’s body. His companions, seeing his fate, had fled without even attempting to rescue him.
These demonstrations on the part of the rebels did not add to the peace of mind of the men at the power plant. Indeed every one began to feel the strain, for the station was veritably in a state of siege. Rumors came into Necaxa by way of the peons from the Indian village down the valley, that José Cerro, one of the fiercest of the mountain bandits and a strong ally of Zapata, was in charge of the horde that was gathering in the hills in that vicinity. After that no one felt inclined to leave the station except when accompanied by a guard of rurales and all inspection of railroad and transmission lines was done with the aid of soldiers.
Then one day in the midst of it all the officer in charge of the infantry reported to Mr. Ryder that he had been in communication with General Rodriguez and had received orders to move his entire detachment back to Mexico City. The engineer could not believe his ears. With all haste he called up the capital on the long-distance telephone.
“Why, you won’t need soldiers out there any longer,” said the military officer after the engineer had protested vigorously to the removal of the guard. “You don’t need soldiers because Zapata is moving his whole army toward the Atlantic coast. He’s evidently heard of the shipment of arms coming in on the German steamer and hopes to intercept them on their way to the capital. If he takes the railroad we are lost. That’s why we want your soldiers. We must have them. The rebel chief has withdrawn all his men from your section of the country so I’m sure you won’t need them.”
“Oh, is that so,” said Mr. Ryder, thoroughly angry. “Well, there are a few hundred lurking out here in the woods just now and I am expecting an attack almost any time.”
“You are mistaken, I am sure,” said the officer; “there may be a few bandits about in the mountains but the Zapatistas have all followed their leader. I am very sorry, but we need all the soldiers you have at Necaxa. However, if you are at all alarmed I will leave you a detachment of twenty-five infantrymen who, with the squad of rurales you have stationed there, will be able to defend the place against a few bandits. Good-by.”
The soldiers entrained that very afternoon, much to the chagrin of Mr. Ryder and the other Americans.
“By George, this is the queerest piece of work I have ever seen,” said Mr. Ryder. “If Zapata has moved his men, José Cerro did not follow his leader, for he’s out there in the mountains with two hundred men and he’ll swoop down on us in short order when he hears how weak our garrison is. Just watch how bold those greasers get when they learn that the infantry has been called back to Mexico City.”
Mr. Ryder’s prediction came true. It was not two days later when a half dozen peons appeared on the edge of the forest and occupied their time shooting out the windows in the workmen’s cottages and sending leaden greetings to any one who appeared out of doors. They remained in their positions until the soldiers mounted a light machine gun in the window of the barracks house and poured a rain of steel-jacketed bullets in their direction. But José Cerro’s followers were not the only ones who were made bold by the withdrawal of the troops. The traitor inside the power plant became active too.
One evening while Jack and Mr. Ryder were partaking of one of Tom Why’s elaborate meals, Phil Underwood, the young American whose duty it was to take care of the huge searchlight, rushed into the dining room.
“Mr. Ryder,” he exclaimed with a savage note in his voice, “there’s a peon in Necaxa I’d like to lay hands on. He’s that blasted sympathizer. If I knew who he was I’d choke him to death. What do you think he’s done now to help that bunch of cutthroats out there in the mountain? He’s put the big searchlight out of business! He’s wrecked the entire outfit and there isn’t a place this side of New York where we can get the broken parts replaced! It looks as if we were up against it for sure.”
The engineer looked thoroughly worried.
“When did it happen?” he demanded.
“The light was all right up to dawn this morning. I shut it off promptly at four o’clock, put the canvas jacket over it and went to bed. When I tried to start it a few moments ago I found the whole mechanism gone to smash.”
For a long time Mr. Ryder was silent. His brow was wrinkled and it was evident to both Phil and Jack that the situation was causing him some deep thought. Finally he spoke.
“Look here, Phil, this condition is mighty serious and I am at a loss to know exactly how to proceed. I think the best plan is not to mention this last piece of treachery. Merely go to Lieutenant Hernandez and tell him that the searchlight suddenly became out of order and until we can repair it or make better arrangements he must keep a double guard along the barricade and the first trench. If we spread the news about this broadcast we can’t tell what sort of an effect it will have on the soldiers. Mexicans are a peculiar lot, you know, and for that reason alone I think it would be far better for us to keep this incident secret. In the meantime you and Jack and myself can keep a watchful eye on everything in general and I’ll try to work out a plan for an improvised searchlight.”
“Very good, sir,” said Phil, as he hurried off to the military barracks.
When the youth had gone Mr. Ryder turned to Jack and said: “I trust you are still willing to help me in this difficulty, my boy.”
“You’re right I am,” exclaimed Jack enthusiastically, “I am as much interested as if I were employed here and I’ll do anything I can to be of assistance.”
“Very well then, Jack, I’ll look to you to do a man’s share of the watching around here until we can get things straightened out. This trouble with the searchlight may mean that a night attack is impending. I purpose doing some guard duty myself to-night and I should like to have you help me out. Will you?”
“Only tell me what you want of me and I’ll do it without a word of protest,” said Jack loyally.
“Well, suppose you buckle on your revolver now and start patroling the village. Keep an eye out for anything that does not look absolutely normal. At midnight report back to the cottage here and wake me up. I’ll do my trick between midnight and dawn, for I do not intend that this traitor shall get in any more of his underhanded work without being caught at it.”
“That’s a capital scheme,” said the young Vermonter and finishing his coffee he hurried to his room. There he secured his belt and holster which he had tossed on his bed an hour previous. Also before he left he rummaged through his traveling bag until he had located a tiny electric pocket flash lamp which he had brought with him all the way from Drueryville. Ten minutes later he was sauntering down the single narrow street toward the power plant.
Darkness was just coming on as the sentries were changed and the lad watched the small squad of regulars leave the barracks and take their places at various points around the tiny village.
“I wonder,” mused the boy, “how many actually keep awake all night? I’ll warrant half of them find some sheltered spot and go to sleep after midnight.”
For an hour or two the little community resembled the quarry towns of far off Vermont to such a degree that Jack actually became a little homesick as he viewed the scene. Every cottage window glowed with cheerful light and the day men, free from their tasks for a while, were indulging in the only sociability Necaxa afforded: that was to gather in twos and threes on cottage porches and spend the evening in telling stories and smoking. Now and then some one of these groups would burst forth in songs and what the tunes lacked in harmony was made up for in the enthusiasm of the singers. Most of the songs Jack recognized as having been popular back in the States two years before.
At half past nine the groups began to dwindle, the men going off to their various cottages. One by one the lights went out and by ten o’clock the place was in total darkness, save for the lights in the power plant. Jack felt very lonesome then. Except for the steady grumble of the generators inside the big gray building, not a sound disturbed the stillness. From place to place about the village the youth roamed, peering here and there for signs of trouble. But mostly he watched in the vicinity of the power plant.
This constant vigil was very tiresome, however, and several times he paused in a secluded angle of the building and flashed his electric lamp on the face of his watch. He was thoroughly glad when the hands pointed out the hour of midnight.
He made one more tour of inspection after that, then started up the street toward Mr. Ryder’s cottage. He had almost reached his destination when suddenly his attention was attracted by a gray shadow moving between two cottages some distance to his left. Jack remembered that both buildings were occupied by Mexican linemen and his suspicions were aroused immediately. As softly as a panther he moved across the roadway and gained the corner of one of the buildings. The shadow still lingered in the alley and the youth softly slipped his revolver from its holster. But just as he was on the point of calling to the man to throw up his hands he became aware of another gray shadow moving about. This one was coming stealthily up the roadway he had just left and Jack thanked his lucky stars that he had hidden himself when he did.
It was quite evident to the Vermonter that the two shadows intended to meet, but in order to accomplish this either one or the other must pass within six feet of him. For a moment he scarcely knew what to do, for he realized that he could not handle two men at once.
The man in the alley had paused, but the one in the roadway came forward softly and swiftly. When he was within fifteen feet of the crouching youth Jack could see him quite distinctly. He wore a very broad hat and the tight jacket of a rurale. Of a rurale! Instantly the old Indian doctor’s story about a rurale with an injured foot flashed upon him! This must be the man of the scarred heel!
Throwing all caution to the wind, Jack dropped his revolver and leapt toward the shadowy figure. It was a perfect flying tackle and the man came down with a crash, his legs pinned tightly together, exactly as Jack had pinned the legs of many an opposing fullback on the field at Drueryville.
The attack was so sudden that the man lay stunned for a moment. Then as if he suddenly realized that it was a human being and not a vice that had gripped him, the soldier began to struggle. He tried to kick and squirm his way out of the boy’s arms, at the same time thrashing about with his fists and cursing lustily in Spanish. He was a big man and exceedingly powerful and Jack had all that he could do to hold him on the ground.
The lad had the advantage, however, since the native was almost flat on his stomach. By careful maneuvering and the help of two or three wrestling holds that are known to every American boy he was soon able to work himself astride the prostrated one and pin the refractory hands down as well. This accomplished, the youth began to shout for help at the top of his voice.
Mr. Ryder was first on the scene. He came running across from his cottage, a revolver in one hand and an electric flash lamp in the other. The Mexican linemen came tumbling out of their cottages a few moments later and immediately after two Mexican regulars arrived, all out of breath.
“Well, I think we’ve captured our man,” said Jack, panting in his excitement. “Here, lay hold of this fellow, so I can stand up.”
The soldiers seized the prostrated one but they still kept him pinned flat on his stomach, in spite of his protests.
“Mr. Ryder,” said Jack, “I think this is the man with the scarred foot. Turn your light this way until we have a good look at his feet. He hasn’t any boots on, that’s certain, for he moved about like a cat.”
Hurriedly the engineer turned the light on the native’s naked feet and there, standing out plainly in spite of the dirt and dust, was a long scar that extended across the heel and partly up the side of his foot toward the ankle. The wound looked exactly as if the man had at one time stepped on a very sharp stone that had laid the flesh open to the bone.
“By George, you’re right! He’s our man!” exclaimed the engineer jubilantly. Then to the soldiers in Spanish he said:
“Hustle him off to the guardhouse, men, and put a double watch over him, for he’s a traitor. I’ll pay a peso a day to the men who watch him, but I’ll have the scoundrel shot who lets him get away.”
Without any ceremony the regulars jerked the big man to his feet and marched him off down the street, Mr. Ryder and Jack following directly behind with their revolvers cocked and ready for action. But the heavy door to the prison pen had hardly been bolted behind the rurale when the town was aroused by another sensation. From down along the line of barbed wire fence came the sharp report of a rifle. The first report was followed by two others in quick succession.
“What is it! An attack!” gasped Jack as he rushed forward with Mr. Ryder. The sound of firing aroused every man in the camp and in an instant half-clad soldiers and workmen came tumbling from barracks hall and cottage.
“An attack! an attack!” was the cry they all uttered as they hurried into the trenches.
But after the third shot the sentry’s guns were silent so long that Mr. Ryder and Jack and Lieutenant Hernandez and Captain Alvarez went to investigate.
“What was the trouble?” they demanded of the first soldier they met.
“Shadows came along the fence. Three, four, five of them all came to try and cut the wire. One dropped this,” said the sentry as he held up an ugly looking machette.
“That’s mighty bad news,” said Mr. Ryder, “for it looks to me as if the rebels are planning an attack. But we’ll fix these wire cutters to-morrow night. In the meantime you fellows keep awake and on the lookout until dawn.”
But when the news of the shadowy wire cutters was spread about among the men there was little need for extra vigilance on the part of the sentries, for every man in the village stayed up until daylight discussing the possibilities of an attack. Indeed, the sun was just rising as Jack and Mr. Ryder turned in for some much-needed sleep.
“Velly vell, on’y me no likee losee dlishe pans, Misler Lyder. Me no velly much can usee pailes to washee dlishes in sometimes. Jus’ samee me no likee losee dlishe pan.”
Tom Why’s voice accompanied by the clatter of tin pans awoke Jack next day, from a very sound sleep. The lad at first was thoroughly mystified, for it was rarely that good natured Tom ever objected to anything either he or Mr. Ryder did. It was evident, however, from the pitch of the Chinaman’s voice that he was slightly indignant.
“Me can no savvy leason to put holes in him dlish pan. Him alle samee no glood then,” continued Tom.
“Well, I want to put wires through the bottom of the pans and make searchlights out of them. What if your old pans are spoiled, Tom. When the next train comes up from Mexico City I’ll have a carload for you if you want them,” said Mr. Ryder.
“Me no wantee clarload. Me wantee tlu dlishe pans, and me no wantee liars put thlu him bottom, too.”
“All right, Tom,” laughed the engineer; “you shall have two of the finest dishpans south of the Rio Grande if you’ll only let me have these two.”
“Velly vell, velly vell,” said Tom somewhat appeased at such an attractive offer.
The conversation had done more than amuse Jack. It had made him thoroughly curious, for he could not understand how Mr. Ryder could make a searchlight out of a tin dishpan. He lost no time in tumbling out of bed and dressing, and five minutes after the engineer had left the house the youth was ready to follow him. Just as Jack entered the main room, however, Tom Why came in at the back door.
“Hello there, Tom, did Mr. Ryder confiscate your dishpans?” asked the boy.
“No him no dloo lat. Him just takee him dlish plans. Him get Tlom Why tlu flines likee clums to Melexeclo,” said Tom with a grin. Then he added, “Allee samee Jack want him dlinner now?”
“Dinner?” exclaimed the boy, “why, what time is it? Well, by George, if it isn’t three o’clock. I’ve slept nearly ten hours. How long has Mr. Ryder been up?”
“Him alle samee come from him room an’ slay, ‘Tom, glet my bleckflast!’ Then him look at him clock him slay, ‘Gleat Clats, him one o’clock. Tom, glet me my dlinner!’” Tom tried to imitate the engineer as he quoted Mr. Ryder’s remarks and the result made Jack laugh heartily.
In a surprisingly short time the Chinaman had the table spread and a steaming hot meal before the young American. But the lad hurried every mouthful (much to Tom’s displeasure), for he was eager to reach the plant and witness the operation of converting tin dishpans into searchlights. Also, he was curious to know what had transpired since dawn that morning.
When Jack reached the little machine shop on the north side of the power plant he found Mr. Ryder in the center of a pile of wire, pieces of iron pipe, electric light bulbs and all sorts of odds and ends. The engineer was busily engaged with one of Tom’s precious tin dishpans.
“Oh! there you are, I thought you were due to sleep all day,” said the engineer banteringly as Jack arrived. “You are just in time to witness an attempt to build a genuine spotlight out of the cook’s most cherished possession.”
“I heard all about it when you were trying to persuade Tom to be generous with his pans. What do you mean to do anyway?” said Jack.
“Why, I intend to spring a little surprise on our wire-cutting friends this evening if they should happen around, which I expect they will. I’m going to put a cluster of electric bulbs in each of these tin dishpans, and put them up on iron rods in position so that they will sweep the line of barbed-wire defense. I’m going to keep them dark until the sentries see the ‘shadows’ that visited us last night, then I’m going to switch them on and have a firing party ready. Oh! the wire cutters will receive an ideal reception, I’ll warrant. You see, fairly bright tin shaped in this manner will magnify the light beam from three to five times and that will throw a spotlight as far as necessary. Tin is an excellent reflector for all ordinary purposes. With the ten thirty-two candlepower lamps which I intend to use in each cluster, I will get a beam of light 1600 candlepower intensity. Of course that amounts to very little when compared with the huge thirty-inch searchlight of ours that magnified a light several hundred times.
“These searchlights will be operated by remote control; that is, a wire will be run from the lights to the roof of the power station where Phil will be on duty as usual. The moment he gets a signal from the sentries he will throw on a switch which will connect with both wires and the line of fence will be lighted from either direction at once. The firing squad will be just beyond the lower trenches and behind the lights, so that they will not be blinded by the sudden glare. The bandits on the other hand will be surprised and made temporarily blind by the sudden flash of light and before they get away the riflemen will discourage any idea of future wire cutting parties.”
“It sounds like a first-rate scheme,” said Jack appreciatively. Then suddenly remembering the prisoner of the night before he queried: “How is our friend, the rurale? Have you seen him to-day?”
“Yes, I’ve seen him,” said the engineer as he paused in his work of fitting a group of lamp sockets inside the tin pan. “He’s a mighty meek individual too just now. I guess his thoughts are on the trial he’s to have to-morrow morning. The chief witnesses over-slept this morning or he would probably have faced court-martial before this. It was a lucky thing for him that we did oversleep too, for it gives him a few hours longer to live at any rate.”
“What does he have to say for himself?” asked the lad.
“Well, in the first place, he’s the man whom Señor Yuai described. He did live in the Indian village over the mountain, and he did cut his foot by stepping on a machette. His name is Alfonso Perro. I asked him why he was sneaking about the place last night and he said that he had made arrangements with the peon who keeps the cottage for the lineman to get some pulque for the troopers. Pulque is the Mexican drink, you know. It is made from the sap of the century plant or maquay plant and when properly prepared is a very fiery and highly intoxicating drink. Don’t ever touch it, my boy, for it has ruined the chance of more than one American who acquired a taste for it. We do not allow it to be brought into Necaxa at all, but the rurale says that every time the linemen’s peon goes to the village he smuggles in several jugs of the stuff. Some was smuggled in yesterday and the rurale said he was on his way to get it and bring it back to the barracks when you captured him. Of course I have had the peon arrested also. He too is in the guardhouse, but he swears that he has never smuggled pulque into Necaxa.
“I accused Perro of having tampered with the machinery in the plant from time to time and also of stealing my plans, and I must say he is a very good actor, for he feigned surprise wonderfully well. But when I told him how we set a trap for him and discovered that he had a scar on his foot he looked even more surprised, and that surprise was genuine. I think Captain Alvarez, of the rurales, is decidedly angry over the whole affair and he is determined to have the prisoner face a firing squad as soon as possible.”
“Well, I can’t help feeling a little sorry for the man,” said Jack, who felt rather unhappy when he realized how much he had helped in sending the man to his end.
“I feel sorry myself,” added Mr. Ryder, “and if he would only tell the truth about the plans and give me some idea where they are I’d do my utmost to save his life. However, the best that I could do would be of little avail, I’m afraid, for Captain Alvarez takes charge of all prisoners and the man’s fate is entirely in his hands.”
The two searchlights were completed late that afternoon, but Mr. Ryder did not make an attempt to erect them until after dark, for as he explained to Jack, “Those bandits may have lookouts stationed on the mountains, and to have them see our new lights would knock the little surprise party into a cocked hat.”
It required but a very little time to put the lamps in place, for the engineer had fastened each tin pan to a section of iron pipe and this was easily strapped to a tree at either end of the clearing in front of the plant. The sentries were carefully coached that night before they were sent to their post, and most of the men in the village as well as the extra soldiers and rurales, gathered in the trenches to watch for developments.
But hours of waiting under such strained conditions was far from comfortable and after a while the men grew restive. In twos and threes they began to leave for their cottages, quite disappointed that nothing spectacular had happened. Jack, who was in the first trench, began to grow tired of the suspense too. Indeed, he was just on the point of going back to the cottage himself, when suddenly a rifle shot rang out at one end of the clearing. This was followed by another further up the line of fence and instantly Phil Underwood, on the roof, jammed home the switch.
The flood of light that swept along the barricade revealed almost a score of bandits, with machettes and big wire nippers. Some were discovered in the very act of snipping strands of wire while others, thoroughly frightened, were turning to flee, but they had scarcely moved two steps before the roar of a dozen rifles burst forth.
Jack saw two men toss up their hands and pitch forward in the grass. Another staggered a few steps, then he too fell in a limp heap. Other shots rang out, but the rebels got beyond the range of the improvised searchlights and were lost in the dark before any others were brought down.
It all transpired so quickly that Jack could hardly believe his eyes. He felt as if he had been looking at a motion picture of something that had taken place in a far-off land. But he realized the horror of it all when several soldiers crawled under the barbed wire fence and picked up the three lifeless forms. Indeed, he was forced to turn away, for the whole scene became very repulsive to him. The idea of trapping human beings like rats and slaughtering them, was hideous. But the other men laughed and joked over the occurrence exactly as if they had but recently witnessed a performance at a theater.
“Hi there, Jack, is that you?” called Mr. Ryder as the lad entered the cottage.
“Yes, but what on earth are you doing here with all the rumpus down at the plant?”
“Oh, I’ve been here for the last hour or more. To tell you the truth, my boy, I did not have the heart to remain and see the outcome. I knew the trap would work; in fact, I was afraid it would work too well. How many men did they kill, Jack?” There was a note of anxiety in the engineer’s voice as he asked the question.
“Three,” replied the boy.
“Well, thank heavens it wasn’t more,” said Mr. Ryder somewhat relieved. “The riflemen would have had no compunction if the number had been thirty-three, but I have. It seems wicked and inhuman to sacrifice three lives in order to teach the beggars a lesson. It makes me very unhappy.”
Jack was glad to find that Mr. Ryder took this attitude in the matter. If the truth were known he had secretly felt a little bitter toward the engineer for concocting such a diabolical trap. But when he saw how unhappy it had made the man his bitterness turned to sympathy.
“It does seem mighty hard to kill three men in order to teach the rest of them a lesson, but I suppose it was absolutely necessary for our own safety,” said the youth in an effort to relieve the engineer’s feelings.
“You are quite right, my lad. It is hard, but it had to be done. Sometimes, you know, the lesson is almost as disagreeable to the teacher as it is to the pupil. I hope to goodness we’ll have no more of this slaughter, but the way the rebels are acting I am very much afraid that we will be in for a real battle before the trouble is settled. I sincerely hope I’m wrong.”
The engineer was sitting at the table in the center of the room, a mass of blueprints, drawings and typewritten data spread out in front of him. His shirt was open at the throat, for the evening was very warm and his revolver and cartridge belt had been removed and tossed carelessly on the table before him.
“What are all the plans?” queried Jack as he sat down opposite the engineer.
“These are the original sketches and preliminary drawings from which I worked out my lightning arrester,” replied Mr. Ryder. “It begins to look as if the stolen papers weren’t going to turn up. Our rurale with the scarred foot denies all knowledge of their whereabouts, which means that he will never tell where they are, even if he does happen to know, for a Mexican can be mighty stubborn when he feels disposed that way. Under the circumstances, I fancy I’ll have to dig a new set of blueprints out of these old plans.
“And that isn’t going to be the easiest work in the world, let me tell you. I have paid very little attention to the preliminary papers since I worked out the final plans and the consequence is many of the more important sketches and formulas have disappeared. I am mighty sorry that I did not make duplicate drawings before I sent the plans to Drueryville. The worst feature of the whole thing is the fact that I have not yet applied for patent rights either in this country or the United States. I could not take this step until I had secured Dr. Moorland’s formula, you know, because that was one of the fundamental features of the new appliance. In that case whoever has the plans can very easily apply for patents in his own name and then all my work will have been for nothing. Indeed, if I wanted to use my own invention after that I would probably be forced to pay a royalty to some one else. That would be a fine how-de-do, wouldn’t it?”
Though the boy could be of very little assistance to the engineer, just then, he remained at the table. Somehow, plans and blueprints had a certain fascination for Jack, who hoped to become an engineer some day. He spread one of the more simple charts before him and tried to work out the details for himself. How long he had been absorbed in this task he did not know, but suddenly, just outside the cottage, sounded a patter of naked feet, then some one sprang upon the porch in front of the door, shouting as he did so:
“Los Zapatistas! Los Zapatistas! Viene Ellos!”
“The rebels, they are coming! What can he mean!” shouted Mr. Ryder as he leaped from his chair and reached for his revolver. The next instant the door was pushed violently open and an Indian exhausted and with blood dripping from an ugly wound in his shoulder, plunged into the room.
“It is Miguel the Indian runner, and he’s wounded,” exclaimed Jack, immediately recognizing the red man as the one whose dog he had saved from the alligator several weeks before.
Clutching the end of the table for support, the native began to talk very rapidly, and as the engineer listened, his face took on a startled and somewhat puzzled look.
“He says that he has run ten miles to warn us that José Cerro and his band are planning to attack us to-night!” explained Mr. Ryder when the native finally ceased talking. “He says that they are on the way now and that we must hurry and prepare to meet their attack or we will be overwhelmed!”
“How does he know this?” demanded Jack, thoroughly excited.
“He carried mail to Los Angeles to-night,” said Mr. Ryder, “and while he was lingering in the village a native told him that the famous bandit José Cerro was there. The native pointed out the very house where José Cerro was drinking pulque with some of his lieutenants. He became curious to see a man of such a villainous reputation and crept close to the shack and peered into the window. He not only saw the villain but he heard most of their conversation. He was startled, for he realized that he was overhearing the plans for an attack on the power plant. He heard José Cerro say, ‘The fence wires are all cut by now and the big searchlight crippled. Everything is ready for the attack. Our men need only to rush in, seize Señor Ryder and carry him off. Then I will collect three thousand pesos from our benefactor before we start to join Zapata and capture the railroad. Then if we play our part right we can hold this great electrical engineer for a ransom from his friends in America perhaps. If we can’t do that we can kill him at least, though I’d much prefer to hold him and collect gringo gold for his release. How say you, men?’ At this there were many cheers.
“Miguel became less cautious for he wanted to hear more. The result was that José Cerro saw him through the window and fired his revolver at him. The bullet hit him in the shoulder. The town was in an uproar immediately but the runner did not wait. As fast as he could he ran toward the power plant, glad, he says, of an opportunity to be of service to the gringo who saved his dog from the alligators.”
The Indian had stood by the table during Mr. Ryder’s recital, his face distorted with the pain of the wound in his shoulder, and as the lad looked at him he realized just how much hardship the red man had withstood to repay a debt of kindness.
“We must prepare to meet the attack immediately,” said Jack calmly, “but before I move a step I am going to bind up this poor fellow’s wound and see that he is comfortable.”
“Fine! Take care of him and I’ll go and spread the alarm. Hurry down to the trenches when you’re through,” said Mr. Ryder as he seized a rifle and rushed out the door.
Although Jack could not talk to the Indian, he soon made the red man understand by motions that he wanted to take care of the bullet wound. The native smiled gratefully at this and sat down in Mr. Ryder’s chair while the young American hastened out to Tom Why’s cook house. The lad routed the worthy Chinaman out of bed and bade him heat some water immediately. In the meantime, he found some clean linen with which to make bandages.
Tom Why was a willing assistant and in short order all blood stains had been wiped from the runner’s chest and arm and the wound bathed. Then Jack bound a bandage tightly about the injured shoulder and after preparing a cup of steaming hot coffee, showed the native to one of the bedrooms and insisted that he lay down and rest for a while. During all this, the tawny yellow hound which had followed the Indian into the cottage, kept close to his master’s side. The animal seemed to appreciate everything that Jack and Tom did for the redman, for his tail wagged furiously all the time. And when the runner lay down upon Jack’s bed the hound curled himself up in the doorway as if to keep guard while Miguel was sleeping.
When the Indian was comfortable, the Vermonter buckled on his own revolver, and slinging a heavy cartridge belt over his shoulder seized one of the rifles in the corner and hurried out to the trenches.
At the plant every one was in a state of excitement. The ugly-looking, three-inch fieldpiece had been unjacketed and made ready for action. The battery of French machine guns, those death-dealing instruments that fired more than four hundred shots a minute, had all been mounted and manned, and soldiers and workmen alike all fully armed, waited crouching in the trenches. The two improvised searchlights were still burning and by their light the whole scene looked weird and uncanny.
Mr. Ryder was as active as the rest, directing the position of the defenders and arranging other details. But in the midst of it all he found time to call Jack aside and hold a brief conversation with him.
“That Indian’s story has me thoroughly puzzled. If all he says is true, and I have no reason to believe otherwise, some one is certainly plotting for my downfall. Whom do you suppose José Cerro’s ‘benefactor’ is anyway? This is the most mysterious situation I have ever been mixed up with in my life. It certainly has me guessing. I wonder if—Look! Look! See that flash over there! On the mountain! Listen! Hear the roar! It’s the rebels! They’ve lugged their old fieldpiece up there again. They are trying to drop shells down here! Ho, boys! Bill! Joe! Did you see that flash! Throw a shell or two up there the next time they fire!” The last was addressed to the men in charge of the three-inch gun.
Again came the flash, then the far-off roar and Jack heard the shell go humming high in the air above the plant and burst against the mountain across the river. But this time the gun on the mountain was answered by the one at the plant. The battery belched forth a cloud of fire and smoke and a moment later Jack saw a flash of fire in the woods across the valley where the shell exploded. The fieldpiece at the plant was of the quick-firing variety and four shots were hurled up on to the mountain before another one was sent toward the station.
Twice shells burst within the inclosure about the plant, one carrying away a section of the rurales’ barracks hall and setting fire to the rest of it. The flames added to the excitement of the occasion but were quickly extinguished by two men with a hose, held in readiness for that very kind of emergency. Until just before daylight, the firing kept up, then the gun on the mountain became strangely silent and the men at Necaxa concluded that their shells had put it into disuse forever. But when the first golden streak of morning showed above the mountain tops, and the valley became light enough for the men to see any distance, a new terror took the place of the gun on the mountain. From here and there in the underbrush across the valley bottom came tiny jets of smoke, and Jack for the first time in his life heard the ominous hum of bullets fired with deadly earnestness. José Cerro’s sharpshooters seemed everywhere and the flying pellets of lead and steel kicked up the dust in all directions. For a long time the rifles in the trenches were silent, for the men could locate no one to fire at. The fieldpiece, however, kept shelling the forest but with little effect, for the gunners could not see the enemy.
Then suddenly two natives showed themselves on the edge of the wood. Instantly, a volley rang out from the defenders and the French machine guns began to rattle viciously. The battle was on!
Of the two men, one advanced. The other lay writhing in pain on the ground, but his place was taken by twenty more, forty more, eighty more, a hundred, two hundred. They emerged from every bush, from behind trees, they arose from the long grass, they appeared as if by magic. On they came, yelling, screaming; swarthy faces distorted, the lust of battle in their eyes.
“Here they come, boys! Steady! Keep cool and fight, fight, fight!” screamed Mr. Ryder to the men in the trenches.
His instructions were answered by a mighty cheer; a war-cry that sent a thrill down Jack Straw’s back.
All thoughts of danger, all thoughts of everything but the fight, were driven from the lad’s brain by that cheer. In his hands he gripped a rifle. About his shoulders were two hundred rounds of ammunition. With these he must fight, fight, fight!
He was surprised to find how calm and collected he felt as he crouched there in the first trench, shoulder to shoulder with a rurale on one side and Harvey Carroll on the other. Over his head whistled a thousand screaming messengers of death. They plunged into the earthy embankment in front of him and threw dirt and pebbles into his eyes and mouth. They whistled past his cheeks and thumped against the wall of the power station behind him. Yet for all he was calm, insanely calm, it seemed to him.
Carefully and methodically he slipped a shell from his cartridge belt and held it between his teeth while he threw open the breech block of his rifle. Without any apparent haste he slipped the brass thing home, closed the breech and put the piece to his shoulder. Then with the utmost deliberation he selected one of those ugly distorted faces for his target and taking careful aim pulled the trigger.
Thus did the boy load and fire, load and fire, a dozen times while the screaming mob came on. All along the double line of trenches, workmen and soldiers were doing the same as he. And behind him the battery of French machine guns, two on the roof and the others against the wall of the power station, spat vehemently four hundred times a minute. Yet with all this stubborn defense the motley mob advanced. They rushed, shrieking and screaming, across the valley bottom toward the barbed-wire barricade, pausing only to reload and fire. They came on, on, on, sombreros and jackets flapping, red lips parted and white teeth showing like a pack of bloodthirsty wolves. Two men reached the barbed-wire fence, one began to climb but he stopped at the second strand and his bullet-riddled body hung on the fence for the rest of the battle. The other hacked away with a machette, trying hard to sever the wires. Jack was surprised to see how long he remained exposed to the grueling fire before he fell.
Others reached the fence; one man clutched the top strand and vaulted clear, but he did not stand on his feet when he landed. Another climbed a post only to pitch backward, bowling over two men directly behind him. But they came so thick and fast after that, that Jack could only see them as a mass. They pressed against the barrier like cattle; they raged, they cursed, they screamed, while the bullets from the machine guns mowed them down like rye before a scythe. But the press was too great! The fence came down with a crash and the way to the plant was cleared for them!
A groan arose from the trenches when the men saw this, for the Necaxa force was outnumbered five to one in spite of the havoc of the machine guns. Jack’s spirit sank with the rest, for he realized that the end was near unless they could stop the rush of that bloodthirsty mob. But suddenly he heard a voice above the roar of battle and looking in the direction from whence it came, he saw Mr. Ryder standing exposed on the embankment of the first trench.
“Boys, boys!” he shouted; “look overhead! The vultures! Shall they feed on us or the greasers to-night?” Jack looked aloft, there in the blue heavens were two huge birds circling slowly around over the battle field. It was dramatic! It was hideous! Others looked, too, and the grim specter had its effect.
“The greasers! the greasers! let them be food for the vultures! Make them carrion, fellows!” was the cry that went up from the trenches, and some men in their anger stood bolt upright to load and fire. The rain of bullets that swept down the grassy slope was annihilating. The oncoming mob stopped! The rebels’ dogged rush was checked! For five minutes they tried to hold their ground against the withering fire. Then suddenly they broke and ran for cover.