At this a shout of triumph went up from the trenches. The men all stood upright then and pumped bullets after the scattered force of José Cerro. Jack discarded his rifle entirely and drawing his revolver leapt to the top of the breastworks and fired, round after round at the tattered brigade that was hurrying across the valley, until the last of the Mexicans was lost in the forest. Then he paused and as he wiped the perspiration from his brow, he remarked to no one in particular:

“By crackey, for excitement this beats all.”

Harvey Carroll overheard him and smiled. “So it appeals to you, eh?” he queried.

“Appeals to me? No, not exactly, but nevertheless it’s exciting! How long did it last? About fifteen minutes, I guess.”

But Jack was disillusioned on this point when he looked at his watch. He could hardly believe it but he had been in the midst of death for two hours and had come through it all without a single scratch. This was not true of others, however. From here and there in the trenches came groans of anguish, telling plainly that more than one of the murderous soft-nosed Mexican bullets had found its mark. Jack saw many motionless forms too, and he knew that the power plant would be short handed for a while.

The lad did not have long to view the situation, however, for soon he heard the voice of the engineer giving commands in English and Spanish. These were to the effect that every man should get busy and repair the broken-down barricade before the rebels rallied and began another assault. Rifles were discarded immediately and axes and shovels substituted. With these, soldiers and workmen alike began to reset the broken-down posts and restring the wires. Jack and Mr. Ryder did their part. They worked side by side with the rest, in spite of the fact that they had been longer than twenty-four hours without sleep.

Once Jack paused in his work and standing erect, viewed the valley. Dead men lay everywhere. They were piled thick along the line of fence and scattered broadcast from the bottom of the slope to the edge of the wood, and though the bodies were not yet cold the vultures were feeding. The scavengers of Mexico were already at work clearing the battle field.

As soon as the fence was repaired and reinforced with hundreds of feet of extra barbed wire which the workmen brought from the storehouse, Mr. Ryder appointed a hospital squad and a burial squad from amongst the infantry men. They were detailed to go across the valley gathering up the dead and the wounded. When this was well under way the engineer returned to the plant, to look after the hospital work there. Lyman, Carroll and several other Americans who were not needed inside the plant at that time, had gathered up the injured and taken them inside a big well-lighted toolhouse.

Mr. Ryder glanced about the room; he studied the faces of the wounded and scrutinized the attendants closely. Finally, he turned to Jack and said:

“Say, son, have you seen my assistant? Nedham, I mean. I haven’t seen him since last night. I was looking for him in the trenches, but couldn’t find him. Thought maybe he was wounded early and brought here.”

Jack could not recall having seen Nedham. So Mr. Ryder called Lyman.

“Hi, Lyman, come here.”

Lyman made his way between the prostrated forms to his chief’s side.

“Have you seen Nedham, lately?” queried the engineer.

“Why—er—ah, why I think the last glimpse I caught of him was when the three-inch fieldpiece opened up. He came through the operating room. Said he was on his way to the roof to look after some machine guns up there. Haven’t seen him since.”

“Well,” said Mr. Ryder, “that’s a peculiar place for my assistant when I need him alongside of me all the time. If you see him again tell him I want him. He’ll find me here with the wounded.”

Jack was surprised to find out how many had been injured in the battle. There were more than a score of workmen and soldiers stretched out on the toolhouse floor, and the few Americans available had all they could do to care for the wants of the wounded. Jack noted that one of the busiest of the attendants was the Indian runner whom he had left in his room before the battle started. The red man was going about among the wounded with a gourd of water in his right hand. His left was bandaged tightly across his breast and entirely useless because of José Cerro’s bullet. Jack learned later on that the messenger had entered the trenches at the opening of the battle and all through the conflict had handled a huge six shooter which he had found in Mr. Ryder’s cottage.

The youth and the engineer turned to with the rest and tried to make things more comfortable for the sufferers. They had not been at work long, however, before Arthur Strong, the tall, light-haired day operator, came rushing in. The moment he saw Mr. Ryder he began to shout:

“The lines are down! The lines are down! Mexico City’s service is cut off.”

CHAPTER XVIII
THE WIRES ARE DOWN

The news was staggering! Mr. Ryder stood blinking at the man for fully a minute before he could comprehend the situation. Then as he realized that his one desire, to keep the current flowing uninterruptedly into Mexico City, had been thwarted, his face grew very white and tense, but instantly this expression changed to one of determination.

“We’ll put these lines back again in the face of every obstacle,” he thundered. Then, turning, he addressed the men in the room.

“Boys, the lines are down! For the first time since I’ve been in charge of Necaxa, Mexico City is without juice! I’m going to open the service again! Who is going to help me!”

“I am!” came the chorus and every man who could stand crowded about the engineer and pleaded to be taken along. Even some of the wounded men raised themselves on their elbows and begged to be permitted to help in the crisis.

Quietly and methodically Mr. Ryder went about picking out his assistants. Two burly Mexican linemen were the first selected, then Harvey Carroll of the maintenance department under whose jurisdiction came all the repair work along the transmission line, and last of all a swarthy rurale, known among the men as the best rider and best marksman of all the Necaxa troop.

“You five will be enough. Carroll, you and the linemen get your repair kits and have the mozos saddle five horses. We’re to start immediately.” Then as the men were turning to go, the engineer called them together again.

“Perhaps I should warn you boys of the dangers that face us. I have an idea that this breaking down of the transmission lines is nothing more or less than a trap. Where we find the trouble we will also find a swarm of rebels ambushed. They may shoot us from the poles just as they would shoot so many pheasants. In fact, the more I think of it the more confident I am that they have pulled the wires down for the very purpose of luring some of us out into the mountains so that they can square accounts. Considering the situation in that light, do you all feel just as enthusiastic about going?”

“You bet we do,” came the hearty response and the five men hurried out to get their equipment together.

“Fine,” said Mr. Ryder, then turning and addressing the rest of the men in the toolhouse he said:

“It will be up to you fellows to guard the place from an attack until we return. I know your number is small now and some of our best fighters are out of commission, but just the same you must hold the place against any further assault. I don’t expect you’ll have much trouble after the way we treated José Cerro and his rebels this morning, but nevertheless you can’t afford to have your eyes closed. Clear up the place and get everything shipshape and ready for instant action.

“And as for you,” he continued, turning to Jack Straw, “you’ve acquitted yourself well to-day and I must compliment you. Now, to top off all this, I want you to keep your eyes on the clock. It is exactly eleven o’clock. If we are not back or you do not get word from us by three this afternoon, arrange with Captain Alvarez, of the rurales, to have the whole squad ride the transmission line in search of us. They may get there in time to find our dead bodies, but anyway we can feel certain of a decent burial, can’t we, my boy?”

“You’re right you can, but I certainly hope that we’ll be able to locate you before burial is necessary, if we have to look for you at all,” replied Jack.

A few moments later the four other members of the repair squad rode up to the door of the improvised hospital, leading Mr. Ryder’s mount. The engineer shook hands with all his friends and bade them good-by while his assistants did likewise. Then when all were mounted and ready, word was given and the five horses went racing across the enclosure, through the gate and on to the trail that followed the line of transmission cables. For half an hour they pushed ahead at a steady canter, keeping a careful watch on the shrubbery and underbrush for signs of the enemy. They saw any number of dead rebels. All along the trail were bodies of men who had been wounded in the recent battle and who had followed their companions until they dropped from sheer exhaustion.

About four miles from Necaxa they located the break. The four large cables were completely down, but fortunately the parallel telephone wire was still in service. At first Mr. Ryder was at loss to know just how the peons had done the work until he examined the cable and discovered bullet marks.

“I have it,” he exclaimed suddenly; “the greasers have pumped shot into the cables and insulators until the lines simply couldn’t stay up. I guess the telephone wire was too small for them to hit. I’m mighty glad they are such poor shots. They have done very little damage for the cables are not cut to amount to anything. All that is necessary is some new porcelain insulators on the poles and a little patchwork on the lines and we will be able to give Huerta his service in an hour. Come, boys, up the poles there and get the insulators in place. Cut in on the ’phone line and tell the station we’ll have the work done in an hour.”

The men became active immediately, even the rurale taking a hand in the work. From the four repair kits enough insulators were secured to equip the pole. The two linemen were sent aloft to install these while Mr. Ryder, Carroll and the rurale stayed on the ground to repair the lines. They were all so thoroughly busy and so absorbed in their work that none of them heard the soft patter of naked feet on the trail and in the underbrush about the pole. Indeed, they were surprised almost to the point of speechlessness when a wicked-faced little Mexican, revolver in hand, stepped into full view before them and requested them in Spanish to hold up their hands.

Mr. Ryder and the rurale jumped up simultaneously and reached for their guns but the ugly-looking Mexican merely smiled as he turned his revolver to cover them completely.

“Ah, Señor Ryder, I would not try to shoot if I were you, the woods are full of rifles,” he said very politely in Spanish. And it was true. Mr. Ryder could see a peon behind every bush and tree.

“It is José Cerro,” hissed the rurale as he put his hands above his head.

“Yes, it is I, José Cerro,” answered the Mexican calmly. Then turning to the engineer he said, “I hoped to get some of you in this trap, but I never expected to have the good fortune of capturing Señor Ryder, I am sure. I am indeed honored to have you as my prisoner. I am also pleased for other reasons, for your capture means three thousand pesos to me and perhaps more, who knows.”

“Three thousand pesos! Who will give you that amount?” demanded the engineer.

“Ah, señor, would it be loyal of me to reveal the name of my benefactor, especially when he does not want his identity known?” asked Zapata’s lieutenant suavely. Then he answered the question himself by saying, “No, no, that would not be kind. I cannot tell you, Señor Ryder, but I can tell you that you must come with me. You must hurry too, before your rurales hear of this trap. For my force is far too small as it is, thanks to the excellent fighting of you gringoes. Ho! men! come, take these monkeys from their perch on the pole. We must away with our prisoners. Come!”

A horde of battle-scarred peons appeared immediately, and with threatening speech and gestures managed to persuade the two Mexican linemen to climb down from the pole. Each of the five prisoners was commanded to mount his horse, then according to José Cerro’s instructions, peons bound their feet together under the horses’ stomachs and tied their hands behind their backs. This done the leader gave a few brief commands and the band started to move, striking off at right angle to the trail that followed the transmission line. They seemed to be following an invisible path through the thicket that led into a narrow ravine between the mountains in the direction of the broad valley where Los Angeles was located.

But they had hardly left the tiny clearing about the pole when the figure of an Indian and a tawny hound crept out of the bushes. The redman was clad only in canvas trousers that were rolled up to his knees, and his left arm and shoulder was swathed in bandages. A moment he paused while his black eyes searched the ground and the surrounding shrubbery. Suddenly he caught sight of the narrow trail left by the cavalcade.

“Ugh,” he grunted, “they have gone toward the sunrise. They have no horses. We shall easily catch José Cerro.” He paused a moment longer to examine the trail, then, standing erect, he mused:

“I am right. Only so many horses as I have fingers, no more. Those are Señor Ryder’s.”

And he disappeared as silently as he came.

CHAPTER XIX
TO THE RESCUE!

It was some time before Jack and the rest of the Americans were able to make the wounded comfortable in the makeshift hospital. When the task was accomplished, however, Phil Underwood and Lance Carpenter were put in permanent charge of the toolhouse. Their first action was to bar everyone else from entering the building and disturbing their patients.

Since nothing remained for Jack to do but obey these orders, the lad soon left the place and sought employment with the men who were engaged in eliminating the evidences of the recent battle from the vicinity of the power house. In the meantime, however, he kept careful track of the time and constant watch for some message from Mr. Ryder and the repair crew.

As a result of the industriousness of the regulars, the dead and wounded were fast being removed from the valley. Those who still showed signs of life were carried to the toolhouse to be cared for by Phil and Lance. The dead men were carried into the forest to the west. This puzzled Jack for he could not understand why graves were not dug in the open. Indeed, he became so curious about the whole thing that he finally asked Lyman what the regulars did with the bodies.

“In Mexico,” explained Lyman, “they don’t bother to bury dead men after a battle. They merely gather them all in one pile, saturate them with kerosene and touch a match to them. You see, bodies must be removed quickly in the Tropics or serious disease will be spread immediately. The funeral pyre is the quickest and best method of avoiding this danger.”

“Goodness, but that’s a gruesome way of caring for the dead. But then, I suppose, it is best from a sanitary standpoint and it certainly is far better than leaving the remains for the vultures.”

“Si, señor, it es best zan ze vultures,” said some one in broken English, and Jack and Lyman turned to find Captain Alvarez, of the rurales, addressing them. “I hear your remarks what you say about dead mens and I agree. Fire es best zan ze vultures. Oh; ze vultures zay are ah—what you call—ah—higeous, eh!”

“Indeed they are hideous. They are the most repulsive creatures I have ever seen,” said Jack.

“Ah, you are right, Señor Jack, but it is not of vulture I wish to see you for. It is of my mans Alfonso Perro, the one wiz ze scar foot which is in ze guardhouse now. We mus give him ze court-martial soon and ze execution. Also his peon assistant must we shoot. Will you and Señor Ryder be ready for ze court zis evening?”

“I think so,” replied Jack. “I will be ready and I think Mr. Ryder will—”

“Who is that,” interrupted Lyman, pointing across the clearing in the direction of the trail that followed the transmission line.

Jack beheld a swarthy, long-haired individual clad only in white trousers running toward the power plant, a dog loping along at his heels. The man’s stride was long and regular, like that of an experienced distance runner, and the lad recognized him immediately as the Indian messenger.

“Why, it’s the runner. I saw him here at the plant only an hour ago. I wonder where he’s been? I’ll warrant he has word about Mr. Ryder.”

Together Jack and Lyman hurried to greet the messenger who by this time had crawled under the barbed-wire fence and was swinging up the slope. But while he was still some distance away he began to call in Spanish.

“What does he say?” queried Jack of Lyman, who had been listening intently to catch every word.

“Quick, call out the rurales!” replied Lyman; “he says that the repair crew has been taken prisoners by José Cerro himself!”

“But how does he know? How did he get the information?” demanded Jack.

“Don’t know, he must have slipped out and followed Mr. Ryder and his men. Hurry, we’ve no time to lose. He will guide us.”

But Captain Alvarez had followed them down the slope and he needed no persuading. He had understood everything the Indian said and even while Lyman was urging him to hurry the officer drew a tiny silver whistle from his pocket and blew three shrill blasts upon it. A moment later an orderly appeared running toward the commander.

Brief instructions were given and the soldier hurried back toward the plant again. Five minutes later the clear notes of a bugle echoed and re-echoed through the valley, calling the troopers to saddle.

By the time the three arrived at the corral the rurales were ready. There were other horsemen, too, eager to go to the rescue of Mr. Ryder, for the news had been spread throughout Necaxa and all the Americans who could be spared and who could find horses or mules to ride upon had gathered with the troopers.

Mozos found mounts for Jack and Lyman and the Indian runner, and in less than twenty minutes after Miguel appeared upon the trail the troop was galloping out of the enclosure and along the path that followed the transmission lines. Captain Alvarez, the Indian, Jack and Lyman were in the lead and the rest of the band was strung out behind, their position depending entirely upon the speed of their horses. And as they galloped toward the break in the transmission line the wounded Indian explained how he had left the toolhouse hospital and followed the repair crew at a distance, hoping to be of assistance in case of trouble. But soon he began to find traces of the presence of rebels along the trail. He tried to reach Mr. Ryder and warn him of the ambush, but he said that the woods in the vicinity of the pole on which the men were working were so full of José Cerro’s men that he could not get through their lines without running the risk of being shot. Quietly he waited until he could be certain of the direction José Cerro and his men would lead their prisoners. Then he returned to Necaxa as fast as he could run.

Half an hour after the rurales left the plant they arrived at the point where the transmission line was down. Here the Indian dismounted and looked over the ground carefully.

“They are many peons,” he said laconically to Captain Alvarez as he remounted and started toward the trail that led into the ravine. In single file the horsemen followed their guide, for nearly an hour before they reached the end of the rocky pass, from the mouth of which they could look down into the broad valley that held Los Angeles. Off in the distance Jack saw a line of soldiers winding its way toward the little community.

“There, there, over there! Those are José Cerro’s men with their prisoners!” exclaimed Captain Alvarez in Spanish. “Come! At them, men!”

The call of the bugle trumpeting the charge sounded through the valley. José Cerro and his men heard it and began to hurry forward at double-quick time. But they soon saw that escape was impossible, for the horsemen rushed down upon them swiftly. All that remained for the peons to do was stand and fight. Hurriedly they formed a circle about their prisoners and with guns pointing on every side prepared to repel the rurales.

The horsemen in green swept down from the ravine ’mid the thunder of hoofs and the shouts of infuriated men! Indian fashion the squad split, a wing skirting either side of the valley. On they came firing from their saddles with carbine or revolver and menacing José Cerro’s men from every side. But the little knot of peons were courageous. They loaded and fired in lightning fashion and the rattle of their musketry sounded like a battery of machine guns in action. They were making a last and desperate stand and they fought doggedly!

Round and round the little group of men swept the cavalry, making the circle ever narrower. Jack rode with the rest of them, lying close to his horse’s neck and firing his revolver. But in the heat of it all he never took his eyes from the prisoners in the center of the circle of rebels. There were Mr. Ryder and his assistants exposed to the fire of the men from the plant. Jack expected to see one of them topple from his horse at any moment, pierced by the bullets of their friends.

But gradually the nerve of the fighting rebels began to go. Three of them left their companions and tried to break through the line of horsemen. Jack saw a rurale ride one of them down. The other two were shot before they had gone a dozen yards. Two more tried to get through, only to be trampled down by the flying horsemen. José Cerro and his men were trapped. There was no way for them to get beyond the circle of horsemen. Some threw down their arms and cried for mercy while others broke and ran; ran as far as they could go before a bullet brought them to the ground or a horse trampled them under foot.

Then in the midst of it all, while Jack was still keeping a watchful eye on Mr. Ryder, the lad saw the engineer suddenly jerked down from his mount, and in his place on the horse’s back appeared a wicked-looking little Mexican. The man set spurs to the horse immediately and tried to ride through the crush of humans about him. He cursed and shouted for his men to make way and those who did not move fast enough he beat over the head with the butt of his revolver.

“Look! look!” shrieked Jack; “their leader is getting away! José Cerro is escaping!” Then rolling his spurs across his animal’s flanks he gave chase. But others saw the escaping leader and more than one horseman turned his mount down the valley after the fleeing rebel.

It was a short race. José Cerro had hardly time to get his steed down to its pace before Jack and two rurales reached his side. One man seized the horse’s bridle and threw the animal back up on its haunches. With a curse the Zapatista drew his revolver. But Jack happened fortunately to be on the right side of the rebel. His revolver spat fire twice before the Mexican could raise his arm. José Cerro shrieked with pain. The revolver dropped from his helpless fingers and he reeled in the saddle. The other rurale caught him as he was falling and steadied him on the prancing horse.

The fighting had ceased by this time for most of the peons, seeing their leader in full flight, had surrendered. The Mexican linemen and the Americans who were still tied to their horses had been liberated immediately and the rurales were busy forming the remainder of the rebel band in a double line and disarming them.

Jack and Mr. Ryder greeted each other warmly when the former drove up, escorting the wounded leader.

“By George, boy, I’m mighty glad you got the rurales out when you did. It began to look to us as if we were in for a rather disagreeable time with José Cerro. José, you know, is a dangerous individual at best, and any one who is unfortunate enough to become his prisoner is very liable to suffer.”

“Yes, I am glad I arrived before it was necessary to superintend your ‘decent burial,’ but the credit is not due me. Miguel, our Indian runner, once more appeared in the nick of time. He saw you leaving for the mountains and all unknown to us he trailed you. He saw you captured and hurried back to the plant and spread the news. Where is he now?”

“There he is yonder on his horse, looking like a bronze statue. I’m going over and shake hands with him. He’s a brave boy,” said Mr. Ryder.

To have the great gringo engineer shake hands with him and compliment him pleased the Indian runner a great deal in spite of the fact that he became very self-conscious when Mr. Ryder told him how brave he really was.

“I’m not brave,” he said in Spanish. “I merely repay a kindness. Also, I am glad to see José Cerro captured. If he is not killed by the rurales I myself will kill him for this.” The Indian pointed gravely to his wounded shoulder as he spoke.

But Mr. Ryder did not hear all that the Indian said for the grounded transmission line was worrying him. He looked at his watch then hurried off to where Carroll and several men from the plant were standing.

“Come, we’ve still time to fix up that transmission line before nightfall. Get the linemen together and we’ll start back through the ravine. The Indian will lead us and if we hurry we will be able to put things in condition so that Mexico City can have light to-night.”

CHAPTER XX
“SHOOT! SHOOT!”

It was long after sunrise next morning when the cavalcade of horsemen and their prisoners appeared at the station. Though the wires had been restrung and service started at nightfall the previous evening, the rescuers and rescued as well were too tired even to make the four-mile ride back to the plant. They had all been without sleep for practically forty-eight hours and even while the lines were being repaired many of the rurales tossed themselves on the ground and promptly became unconscious. The result was a night camp along the transmission line trail with no guard except that maintained over the prisoners, and this was hardly necessary for the rebels had been awake as long, if not longer, than the men from the power house, and were equally as tired.

Necaxa was not awake either when the rurales arrived. Aside from the few regular soldiers who were doing sentry duty, no one seemed to be stirring about the little town. The night men, who had been forced to stay awake longer than the rest, had already left the station and crawled into bed thoroughly weary. But the clatter of hoofs and the shouts of the soldiers greeting the returning fighters awakened many of them and attracted the attention of the men at work in the power station. Soon the community was alive with curious soldiers and workmen, all eager to hear of the adventures of Mr. Ryder and his repair crew. But when they saw the line of prisoners and beheld José Cerro, helpless on a stretcher made of one of the rurale’s blankets, they cheered lustily, for the capture of the rebel leader meant that the country was rid of one of its most vicious bandits.

Arthur Strong, the day operator, was one of the first to greet the engineer. The moment he heard the soldiers arrive he left the control room in charge of his assistant and hurried downstairs.

“By Jove, we were mighty pleased to get your telephone message last night,” he said to Mr. Ryder. “We thought that Cerro had done away with all of you. I am glad to see you again. You too, Jack, old boy.” Strong shook hands with his superior as he spoke. “And, say, perhaps you don’t think we’ve had one fine time around here since you left yesterday afternoon,” he continued, to Mr. Ryder. “Things nearly went to the devil until we locked that man Nedham up.”

“Nedham,” exclaimed Mr. Ryder; “what’s he been doing?”

“Doing?” exclaimed Long; “why the man’s been drunk on pulque! You know what that stuff will do with you. I hadn’t seen him since the battle until last night after the rurales cleared out. About eight o’clock he came stumbling into the control room. His eyes were bulging out and his face was red and ugly. I was on duty and I had about made up my mind to stick through the night, since Lyman had gone with the rescuers. Nedham came staggering in just when I was busiest. He said he was going to run the plant for the night. I could see that he was in no shape to run anything nor to issue orders either, so I told him to get back home and sleep it off. Then he got ugly. But I knew he was drunk so I did not bother with him. Then he became insistent and noisy and when he tried to punch me I had to call in two soldiers. They took him to the guardhouse. He was in there all last night. This morning I let him out. I think he is up at his cottage now, very much the worse for his spree.”

“What a fine assistant I have!” said Mr. Ryder sarcastically. “Tell Lyman to go and rout him out. I want to talk with him.”

While the engineer and the operator were talking, Captain Alvarez and his rurales arranged their prisoners in line along the south wall of the power station. This scene had interested Jack far more than the recital of Nedham’s drunken actions for it began to look to the lad as if a wholesale slaughter was about to take place.

“Heavens, I hope Captain Alvarez doesn’t intend to execute them all,” said the youth to Mr. Ryder when the day operator ceased talking. “That would be hideous. It would be brutal murder. You can’t countenance such actions, Mr. Ryder?”

“Indeed I can’t,” said the engineer, hurrying toward Captain Alvarez, “and besides I want to have a word with Cerro before any execution takes place. I think that man knows some things that will help clear up the mystery that surrounds all our recent trouble.”

To do justice to the Mexican commander it must be said that he had not intended to have a wholesale execution. He explained this to Mr. Ryder quite frankly and stated that he merely intended to make the rebel leader face the firing squad while his followers looked on. He thought that it would be a capital way of teaching a lesson. After the execution he purposed sending the whole horde of prisoners to Mexico City, where they would be turned over to General Rodriguez to be confined in the military prison.

“If it is all the same to you,” said Mr. Ryder, “I would like to have a few words with Cerro before he is shot.”

“Certain,” said the officer, “only et ez not so easy to mek him to talk, he is ah what you call—ah—to handle hard you know.”

The rebel leader was lying on the ground near the entrance to the guardhouse. His wounds had been bound up the evening before by one of his followers, but in spite of all efforts to ease him, it was quite evident that the man was suffering a great deal.

Mr. Ryder bent over the prostrate form and spoke in Spanish. “José Cerro, you are going to die. You will soon face the firing squad. Tell me who would give you three thousand pesos for my capture.” But in spite of his pain the little black-haired Mexican smiled grimly and shook his head.

“No,” he said. “I cannot tell, no, no.”

Mr. Ryder was about to press his question again, however, when Lyman appeared, leading a very white and very nervous-looking individual whom Jack recognized as Nedham.

“Here’s your assistant, Mr. Ryder; you said you wanted to see him,” said Lyman.

But before the engineer could speak Nedham caught sight of the man on the ground. He shrank back in terror and gasped.

“Oh, it’s José Cerro!”

Mr. Ryder looked searchingly at his trembling assistant, for he could not understand what made the man so frightened at seeing the wounded rebel leader. He did not have long to speculate on the reason for such strange actions, for Captain Alvarez came to speak to him.

“You could no make José speak?” queried the officer.

“No, he refused to answer my questions.”

“Ah-ha, did I not tell you zay all are so like that.” Then turning to José Cerro, he said in Spanish, “You are to die. Can you stand up to face the firing squad or must we prop you against the wall?”

“I shall die standing,” said the rebel proudly, “and you shall not blindfold me either.”

“All right, get up; we have not time to lose, two others are to be shot after you. Perro, our traitorous rurale, and his peon companion die to-day,” said Captain Alvarez brutally.

“Carlos! Jesus! come, help your leader to rise; he must die standing,” called José Cerro to two of the peon prisoners.

The faithful followers left their places and raising the wounded man to his feet, assisted him to the spot designated by the commander of the firing squad. That his effort to walk was causing the rebel excruciating pain was evident from the expression on his face. It took him some time to limp across the space in front of the firing squad even with the help of his men.

While he was taking his place before the five executioners, a hush fell over the scores of men that stood about. Every one was tense and silent. José Cerro’s attendants shook hands with him solemnly and left him standing there alone. Slowly the five riflemen brought their guns to position and took aim. Then just as the officer was raising his sword to give the firing signal, José Cerro spoke.

“A moment,” he said in Spanish, “just a moment. I wish to speak—”

“No! No! Shoot! Shoot! Don’t let him speak,” screamed a voice in English.

It was Nedham, trembling and on the point of collapse. His face was distorted with fear and he was forced to cling to Lyman to keep from falling to the ground.

“So, Señor Nedham, you turn against me now,” hissed the rebel leader. “You would have me shot without speaking my last words. You thought me a traitor who would tell your plot. That was not intended. But now I will tell. Come, Señor Ryder, listen. It was Señor Nedham who plotted against you. He it was who offered three thousand pesos for your capture, I—I—was—.” The sentence was cut off abruptly for the wounded man, weak with the exertion of standing, suddenly pitched forward on his face.

The rebel leader’s two loyal followers hurried to his side to lift him back up on his feet, but he was only semi-conscious and it was evident to both that in a few moments more the firing squad would be cheated of its work.

In the meantime, Nedham, regaining some of his shattered nerve, tried to bolt through the crowd but Jack and Lyman seized him and threw him to the ground.

“Hurry, Mr. Ryder, take off his left shoe,” cried Jack. “I have an idea that this is the man who stole your drawings and tried to wreck the plant.”

The shoe and stocking were quickly removed and much to the engineer’s amazement a deep scar was revealed running diagonally across Nedham’s heel.

“But—but—why I thought we had the man with the scarred heel under arrest,” said Mr. Ryder thoroughly mystified.

“Yes,” said Jack, “but it flashed upon me a moment ago that the rurale’s scar was on his right heel, while the scar mark in the dust was on the left foot. Don’t you remember? Here comes the rurale now, go look for yourself.”

Two men were leading Perro from the guardhouse toward the firing squad. He was still barefooted for no one had been considerate enough of his comfort to return his cavalry boots to him since his arrest.

“Let me see your left heel,” said Mr. Ryder in Spanish, and obediently the rurale raised his foot.

“By George, there’s no scar there! Is it on the right foot? Let me see! But it was not necessary for the rurale to raise his right foot for the scar extended half way up the man’s ankle and was plainly visible from the right side.

“Well, this came near being a fatal mistake,” exclaimed the engineer. Then to the rurale in Spanish he said, “I’m glad to know you’re not a traitor anyway, my man.”

And the Mexican grinned for he could see by the expression on Mr. Ryder’s face that he was not to be executed.

CHAPTER XXI
“YES, YES, I DID IT!”

Nedham’s pulque drinking had completely shattered his nerves and the effects of the liquor combined with the revelation of José Cerro had well nigh made a physical wreck of the assistant engineer. Indeed, as he stood in the center of the room in Mr. Ryder’s cottage, where he had been brought by Lyman and Captain Alvarez, he swayed backward and forward, and if Jack had not brought him a chair in all probability he would have collapsed completely.

He looked at his inquisitors with staring bloodshot eyes, and his fingers worked nervously at the buttons on the front of his shirt. His condition was pitiable and Jack and Mr. Ryder both felt sincerely sorry for him.

“Nedham, where are those plans you stole from my desk! You are the thief, aren’t you?” demanded Mr. Ryder.

“Plans?” said Nedham, trying his best to feign ignorance. “What plans? I—I—know—”

“Stop,” roared the engineer, “don’t lie, we know you are the guilty man.”

“I tell you—I—I—Oh, God, yes, yes, I did it! It’s true.” Nedham could control his shattered nerves no longer. He broke down completely. “I stole the plans! I stole them! They are under the mattress of my bed! They’ve been haunting me ever since I took them! Curse the things! If I had had the courage I’d have burned them long ago! I did the rest too! I crippled the generators! I smashed the searchlight! I offered the three thousand pesos for your capture! I did it all—all—and now, thank goodness, I’ve confessed! It’s all over! The strain! The strain! It was horrible! I had to get drunk—beastly drunk.”

Thus he raved until he was almost completely exhausted, and his physical self, unable to bear the strain any longer, caved in completely. His head dropped forward on his chest and his hands fell helplessly over the arms of the chair. He was unconscious for nearly a quarter of an hour and it was only by administering violent restoratives that Jack and the engineer managed to make the man himself once more.

For some time the four sat staring at the helpless engineer. Finally Mr. Ryder spoke.

“Why did you do this deviltry, Nedham?” he asked with a trace of disappointment in his voice.

“I—I—well I was ambitious—and—I guess a little jealous of you too,” said Nedham weakly. “You know you only beat me out by two points in the competition for chief engineer and—well—I couldn’t help feeling bitter toward you. I wanted your job, and I wanted it badly, and from the time you appointed me your assistant I started to scheme ways of getting you out.”

“But what good would all your plant-wrecking have done? Why did you put sand in the generators and disrupt the place in general?” queried the engineer.

“Well, first off I hoped to frighten you into resigning. I—I—thought perhaps when you found you had traitors among the men at the plant you might fear for your own safety and resign, but when I learned how angry Huerta grew with each new occurrence and how often he called you on the telephone and raised the devil with you I saw a new way of getting your job. I concluded that if the trouble was kept up long enough the President would dismiss you entirely as an incompetent manager and put me in charge. The day they called you down to Mexico City and had you up before the directors I felt mighty confident that you would not last long.

“You brought this youngster back with you and from then on my plans began to go wrong. I saw you two pass the office the first night Jack was here. I followed you into the generating room and hid behind one of the machines. I saw you sprinkle the cement dust and I knew you were setting a trap. But as I watched it suddenly occurred to me that you were unconsciously giving me a capital opportunity of throwing you off the trail entirely. Thereafter I decided to work with my feet bared so that you would think a peon was doing the damage. I forgot completely about the scar on my heel until it was too late.”

“But the plans; the drawings of the lightning arrester. How did you even know of their existence? I kept my work on that appliance very secret indeed,” interrupted Mr. Ryder.

“Well, after I watched you set your trap I followed you back to the cottage for I was curious to hear what you might have to say about the situation. I saw the bundle of drawings drop from your shirt. Also I saw where you put them. And although I did not have the slightest idea what the plans were about I decided that so long as I had gone that far I might just as well take a look at your private papers too. I thought perhaps they were orders or instructions you had received from Huerta that day.

“I waited until you were both sound asleep, and slipped into the room and opened your desk. It did not take me long to learn that the papers were drawings of a lightning arrester of a type I had never seen before. Then it occurred to me that the appliance was one of your own invention. I looked for patent marks and could find none and on the impulse of the moment I slipped the yellow envelope into my pocket and went back to the plant. I figured that I had made a double coup, for if you were to build that lightning arrester and install it here you would win the favor of President Huerta and consequently my efforts would all be wasted. Also I was dishonest enough to think that perhaps I could easily secure a patent on the appliance in my own name when I finally got you out of the way.”

“Nedham! I never would believe it of you,” said the engineer reproachfully.

“Don’t, don’t, please don’t reproach me, Heaven only knows where my manhood has gone to,” cried Nedham in agony.

“And do you mean to say that you deliberately brought on battle and caused hundreds of lives to be sacrificed merely to get me out of my position?” asked Mr. Ryder incredulously.

“Yes, yes, I did. I offered José Cerro three thousand pesos to get you out of the way. I did not want you killed. No, no, I was not as base as that. I merely wanted you captured and kept a prisoner so long that when you were finally released I would be safely intrenched here and in the favor of the President to such an extent that you could never regain your position. José Cerro thought an attack the only way to get you, and I smashed the searchlight and did everything else to help him. Oh, it was villainous work, I know. Heaven forgive me, I must have been mad.”

The three Americans present were utterly amazed at the man’s treachery, but Captain Alvarez did not understand fully, for his knowledge of English was so meager that he could not follow the strange recital in every detail. When the story was translated for his benefit, however, his fiery temper became aroused to such a pitch that the three Americans could hardly restrain him from rushing at the helpless assistant engineer and beating him senseless with his fist.

“The dog! The traitor!” roared the Mexican in Spanish. “He should be killed! He should face the firing squad! Come, drag him out! We will shoot him! We will shoot him!”

“No! no!” shrieked Nedham, a look of horror coming into his ashen face. “No! no! you cannot kill me! You cannot shoot me! I am an American citizen!”

“He is right,” said Mr. Ryder. “We cannot execute him without bringing on international complications that would be distasteful to President Huerta. No, we can’t shoot him, even though he does deserve it. But we can expel him from the Republic of Mexico. Put him in the guardhouse, Captain Alvarez, and this afternoon we will ship him to Mexico City with the rest of our prisoners. We can turn him over to the authorities there and request that he be sent out of the country immediately.”

A look of relief spread over Nedham’s face when he heard Mr. Ryder’s opinion.

“Oh, never fear, I’m only too willing to be quit of this country. I can’t see how any man can keep straight in this hole of iniquity.”

“It was not a hole of iniquity until treacherous villains of your stamp came into it,” retorted Mr. Ryder. Then turning to Captain Alvarez he said, “Call in your trooper and have him taken to the guardhouse. The train for Mexico City will be made up as soon as possible. In the meantime you and Lyman stay here and sample one of Tom Why’s excellent dinners. Things have gone so far to the devil lately that I haven’t had time to enjoy a good dinner myself. After dinner I’ll accompany you to Mexico City for I will have to make a report of this whole matter to our directors. I guess the plant will be safe enough in the hands of my new assistant, Mr. Lyman.”

The night operator’s face beamed when he heard, thus abruptly, of his promotion and he blushed like a schoolboy when Jack and Captain Alvarez congratulated him.

“I envy you,” said Jack Straw heartily, “for there’s nothing I’d like more than to be connected with a huge generating station like this.”

“Well, we’ve room for a boy here, and we could teach you a great deal about the electrical industry. Why don’t you apply for a position,” said Lyman meaningly, at the same time glancing in the direction of Mr. Ryder.

“Oh, no,” said the lad from Vermont, “I’ve already been away from Drueryville a month and I think it is about time I hurried back. In fact, I’ve decided to go in on the train this afternoon with Mr. Ryder. Some day after I have acquired a real training at ‘Sheff.’ or some other engineering school I may visit Necaxa again. Who knows?”

“Well, if we are still here you can be certain of a welcome, my boy,” said Mr. Ryder heartily.

CHAPTER XXII
GOOD-BY, NECAXA

The string of flat cars and the snorting steam engine were waiting when Jack, Mr. Ryder, the new assistant engineer and Captain Alvarez arrived. Indeed, the soldiers and rurales were already hurrying their prisoners aboard. Wicked-looking regulars were stationed at each end of the cars and there appeared to be small chance of any of the peons escaping from the train during its journey toward the capital.

In half an hour everything was ready. Jack found that a large group of workmen had gathered to see him depart and he shook hands with each one of them before he finally swung aboard the platform of the yellow caboose and took his place beside Mr. Ryder and Captain Alvarez. Slowly the little train gathered headway and with the cheers of the men ringing in his ears Jack Straw said good-by to Necaxa. But the string of cars had scarcely gone two hundred yards when a figure elbowed its way through the crowd of workmen and soldiers and came swinging down the narrow track at a rapid pace. His shoulder was bandaged about with white cloth and at his heels followed a tawny, long-eared hound. It was Miguel, the Indian runner, and his dog.

After some effort the agile messenger overtook the train and jumped aboard the steps of the caboose. Hastily he held out his hand toward Jack and mumbled something in Spanish. The lad from Vermont was greatly pleased that the redman was so eager to say farewell to him that he risked jumping aboard the moving train, and he wrung the Indian’s hand warmly.

“What did he say?” asked Jack of Mr. Ryder when the messenger had swung to the ground.

“He said ‘I am still in debt to you for saving my dog. Many thanks, many thanks,’” replied Mr. Ryder.

“Well, it strikes me that he paid that debt off several times during the last few days,” laughed Jack as he waved to the Indian who remained standing in the center of the track watching the departing cars.

The news of the battle and the treachery of Nedham at Necaxa reached the capital over the long-distance telephone wire long before the train with the prisoners arrived and when Jack and Mr. Ryder entered the American Hotel after Nedham and the rest of the prisoners had been turned over to the proper authorities, they found the evening papers crowded with the news. Pictures of the prisoners that had been brought in, pen sketches of the battle and photographs of the plant at Necaxa occupied the front page of the dailies and scare headlines fairly shouted the details attending the capture of José Cerro and his band. Fortunately one of the papers printed an American as well as a Mexican edition and Jack was able to read the full account of his own adventures.

The capture of José Cerro was the subject of conversation in the dining-room of the hotel that evening too, and many of Mr. Ryder’s friends sought him out and congratulated him on the successful way in which he had handled things at Necaxa through all the trouble. Indeed, after a time the publicity that they were attracting became distasteful to the two Americans and they made haste to finish their meal.

But just as they were leaving the dining-room a tall sun tanned individual rushed up and clapping Mr. Ryder on the shoulder fairly shouted:

“Why, Harry Ryder, you old fighting engineer, I am glad to see you alive after such a mixup. And as I live here is my young friend, Jack Straw.” Jack instantly recognized the man as Mr. Warner, the marine engineer whom he had met on board the Yucatan on his way south to Vera Cruz. The lad was more than pleased to see Mr. Warner once more and shook hands cordially.

“Hello there, Jim Warner!” exclaimed Mr. Ryder; “what the dickens are you doing down in this part of the world?”

“Why, I’ve been tinkering with the old Lobo’s Island Light for nearly a month. To tell you the truth, I’ve just finished the job and knowing that you were within a few hundred miles of me I decided to run in to see you. I was going out to Necaxa to-morrow and spend a week or two with you, but unfortunately that can’t be done for I’ve just received a telegram from Washington instructing me to go ahead with a mighty big undertaking I’ve been figuring on. I’ll have to hustle back to the coast immediately. And in view of the fact that you have been having quite a fuss out there I’m rather glad my plans have been changed. I’m not hankering to be drilled through by a soft-nosed bullet just now,” concluded Mr. Warner with a smile.

“Oh! you would soon get used to those little things,” said Jack banteringly.

“I suppose so,” replied the marine engineer. “You must have had rather an adventurous month there.”

“Indeed I did,” answered Jack.

“Well, how would you like to have another month of thrills? If you feel inclined that way, come along with me. If you don’t fight men you’ll fight the elements. I am going to cruise the high seas for Uncle Sam.”

“That sounds interesting,” said Jack, “but I am going north on the next steamer from Vera Cruz.”

“So am I, and we’ll get a chance to talk it over anyway,” said Mr. Warner.

VAIL-BALLOU CO., BINGHAMTON AND NEW YORK