Kitabı oku: «Dave Porter and His Double: or, The Disapperarance of the Basswood Fortune», sayfa 13
CHAPTER XXV
THE MEXICAN RAIDERS
By the time the two chums had hastily donned their clothing and possessed themselves of the pistols they had purchased in San Antonio on the advice of Mr. Watson, the camp was in confusion from end to end, with the various bosses shouting orders and the men themselves wanting to know what the trouble was and what they had better do.
“It’s some of those confounded greasers!” cried Frank Andrews, as he, too, arose and armed himself. He had a repeating rifle, and it was known to Dave and Roger that he was an exceptionally good shot.
Andrews led the way from the building, followed by our hero and Roger and several others. In the meantime, the distant shouting and shooting seemed to have moved farther westward, in the direction where the new Catalco bridge was being constructed.
“It can’t be their intention to blow up the bridge?” queried Roger. There had been talk of this several times.
“No telling what those rascals are up to,” answered Frank Andrews. “This may be only a rumpus kicked up to cover a cattle raid or something like that.”
In the midst of the excitement the telephone in the main office began to ring and was answered by one of the clerks. A few minutes later he came rushing out to where Mr. Obray stood talking to his assistant and the boss of the construction camp.
“Just got a telephone from the Tolman ranch,” announced the clerk. “Old man Tolman said they had been raided and that half of the raiders were coming this way. I tried to get some details from him, but in the midst of the talk I was shut off. I suppose somebody cut the wire.”
“I thought that might be it,” answered the head of the engineering corps.
“We ought to help Tolman all we can,” announced the boss of the construction camp. “He promised to assist us in case we had any trouble, and turn about is fair play.”
“Right you are, Peterson, and any man who wants to go out can do it.” And word was passed around to this effect.
Dave and Roger listened to this talk and what followed with much interest. In less than five minutes over thirty men from the construction camp had signified their willingness to go after the raiders, and these men were joined by Frank Andrews and three other civil engineers, all well armed and mounted.
“I’d like to join that crowd and go after those Mexicans!” exclaimed Dave, his eyes sparkling.
“So would I!” returned the senator’s son, quickly. “Those fellows can’t be anything but plain bandits and cattle thieves.”
“Sure! No regular revolutionists would come over the border and act in this fashion.”
“What do you say, Dave–shall we go?”
“I’m willing.”
“No, no! You young fellows had better stay in the camp,” announced Ralph Obray, who overheard the talk. “Just remember that in a certain sense I am responsible for your safety while you are under me.”
“But those others are going,” returned Dave, somewhat reproachfully.
“So they are, Porter. But they are all older than you, and most of them have had experience in this sort of thing. I would rather that you stayed here. Maybe if those raiders come this way we’ll have our hands full defending the camp.”
Dave and Roger realized that for the head of the camp to express his desire in this instance was equal practically to a command; so they at once gave up the idea of following Frank Andrews and the others. The men rode off quickly, and were soon lost to sight in the darkness of the night.
An hour of intense anxiety passed. During that time those left in the camp heard an occasional shot in the distance. Then several shots seemed much closer. There followed some yelling, and, then about five minutes later, came a dull explosion.
“That’s at the bridge!” exclaimed Dave. “They must be trying to blow it up!”
The dull explosion was followed by a sudden rattle of rifle and pistol shots and more yelling. Once or twice some men seemed to come quite near to the construction camp, the hoof strokes of the horses being distinctly heard.
All who remained in the camp were on the lookout, and each man stood ready with his weapon to do what he could to defend the place should the occasion arise. But with the explosion and the rattle of rifle and pistol shots that followed, the conflict seemed to die down, and presently all became utter silence; and thus two more hours passed.
“Whoever they were, they seem to have left this vicinity entirely,” said Roger.
“I wish it was morning,” put in another of the young men present. The watching was beginning to get on his nerves.
At last, just as the first streaks of dawn were beginning to show in the eastern sky, a number of horsemen were descried approaching from the southward. All in the camp were instantly on their guard, but it was soon seen that it was their friends who were coming back. They came in somewhat of a horseshoe formation, driving in their midst four prisoners, one of them with his arm done up in a sling and another with his head bandaged.
“They’ve got somebody!” exclaimed Roger, as the crowd came closer, “Four greasers!”
“Three of them look like Mexicans, but the other fellow looks like an American,” returned Dave, as the party came to a halt in front of the camp buildings.
Those who had come in were at once surrounded by the others, who wanted to know the particulars of what had taken place.
“It was a band of about thirty greasers, and with them were two or three Americans,” announced Frank Andrews. “They went down to old man Tolman’s corral and tried to drive off about two hundred head of cattle. They got away from the ranch, and then part of the gang came over this way in the vicinity of the new bridge. We had two running fights with them, and then they let the cattle go and started for the Rio Grande. But before they went one of the rascals set off a bomb near the end of the bridge and blew up a corner of the foundation.”
“Why in the world did they want to blow up the bridge?” demanded Mr. Obray.
“They weren’t all Mexicans, Mr. Obray. Several of them were Americans. We’ve got one of the Americans right here. And do you know who it is? Jack Pankhurst!”
“What’s that!” exclaimed the head of the camp, and then he turned to the prisoners. One man had his sombrero pulled well down over his forehead, as if somewhat ashamed of himself.
“There he is,” went on Frank Andrews, pointing to this individual. “That’s Jack Pankhurst, who was discharged for drinking and gambling about two months ago.”
Mr. Obray strode up to the prisoner and gave him a tap under the chin, thus elevating his face.
“You’re a fine specimen of humanity, Pankhurst!” he cried sternly. “A fine business for you to be in–joining Mexican outlaws and becoming a cattle rustler. What have you to say for yourself?”
“I haven’t anything to say,” grumbled the prisoner. “What’s the use? I was caught with the goods, wasn’t I?” he sneered.
“I’m ashamed to think an American would go in with a bunch of Mexican bandits,” said Mr. Obray; and then gave directions that the prisoners should be well bound so that there would be no possibility of their escaping.
All listened with interest to the details of the cattle raid so far as the men who had gone out from the construction camp could relate. They said that some of the fighting had been exceedingly hot, and they were satisfied that a number of the Mexicans, and also one of the Americans with them, had been wounded.
They themselves had not escaped unscathed, one man being hit in the shoulder and another in the leg. Fortunately, however, neither of these wounds proved serious. The camp doctor was called in to attend them, after which he attended the wounded prisoners. In the meantime, a message was sent to the railroad station and to San Antonio, to acquaint the authorities with what had occurred.
“I was questioning Pankhurst on the way here,” said Frank Andrews to the head of the camp. “He wouldn’t admit it outright, but I am strongly of the opinion that one of the other Americans who was with him was Bill Jarvey.”
“Jarvey!” muttered Mr. Obray. “Well, it would be just like him to join a fellow like Pankhurst. They were quite chummy when they both worked for the company.”
“I’ve got another idea about this affair,” went on Andrews. “Do you remember how they said Jarvey vowed he would get square with the company for discharging him? I’ve got an idea that it was his scheme to attempt to blow up the bridge, and that he was the one who set off that bomb. Their idea was to get the cattle to some safe place first, and then ruin the bridge. More than likely Jarvey and Pankhurst made a deal with the greasers to that effect–the Americans to help with the cattle and the Mexicans to help destroy our work.”
“You may be right, Andrews,” answered Ralph Obray. “And if you are, it’s a pity that you didn’t catch Jarvey.”
Dave and Roger listened to this talk with interest, and also joined in the general discussion of those in the camp regarding the raid, and what would be done with the prisoners.
“I suppose they will turn the prisoners over to the United States authorities,” was Dave’s opinion; and in this he was right. Some government officers appeared by noon of the next day, and after a lengthy talk with the head of the camp and a number of others, the prisoners, including Jack Pankhurst, were taken away.
“I wonder if old man Tolman got his cattle back,” remarked Roger.
“All but three of the animals,” answered one of the men present. “Those were trampled to death during the raid. But three are nothing alongside of two hundred.”
The raid had caused so much excitement in the camp that there was but little work done that day. The boys went down with the others to inspect the bridge, and look curiously at the hole which had been torn in the corner of one of the foundations by the bomb.
“That was certainly a mean piece of business,” was our hero’s comment. “It didn’t do anybody a bit of good, and it’s going to make a good deal of work to repair the damage.”
Several days passed, and the camp at last settled back into its usual routine. Dave and Roger worked as hard as ever, and both were much pleased when Mr. Obray told them that they were doing very well.
“I am going to write a letter to Mr. Ramsdell,” said the head of the camp, “and tell him that I am well satisfied with his pupils,” and he smiled faintly.
A day or two later word came to the camp which interested the chums as much as it did anybody. It seemed that Jack Pankhurst had been subjected to a “third degree” of questioning. He had broken down completely and confessed that the two other Americans in the raid with him had been former employees of the Mentor Construction Company–one a fellow named Packard Brown, and the other William Jarvey. Pankhurst had also let fall the information that Jarvey had once been an officer in the United States Army, and that he was traveling under an assumed name.
“A former officer of our army and acting in that way!” exclaimed Dave, when he heard this report. “I certainly do hope they’ll catch him and punish him as he deserves!”
“My sentiments exactly!” added Roger.
CHAPTER XXVI
THE CHASE ON THE BRIDGE
“My, Dave! but it’s hot!”
“I agree with you, Roger. This is the hottest day we’ve struck yet. And such a hard day as it’s been too!” and our hero paused to wipe the perspiration from his brow.
“What do you say if we take a swim this evening?” went on the senator’s son. “A plunge into the river would feel good to me.”
“I’m with you, Roger. Let us eat a light supper and get down to the river before it grows too dark.”
Four weeks had passed since the events narrated in the last chapter, and matters in and around the construction camp had once more quieted down. Work was being pushed forward rapidly, and Dave and Roger were making excellent progress in their chosen profession. They had made a warm personal friend of Frank Andrews, as well as a friend of Mr. Obray, and both of these individuals gave them many instructions during off hours which proved highly beneficial.
No more had been heard from the Mexican raiders, and it was hoped that those bandits had departed for some other locality along the Rio Grande. The prisoners taken during the raid were still in jail, awaiting trial.
Down along the stream over which the new Catalco bridge was being constructed there was a favorite swimming place used by the civil engineers and their assistants, the men and boys of the construction gang using another spot farther down the stream.
“I’ll beat you getting in, Dave!” cried Roger, as the pair neared the bathing place that evening, and he started to take off some of his clothes.
“Don’t jump in too quickly, Roger,” warned our hero. “Remember you have just been eating and you are rather warm. Better take it easy on the bank for a little while.”
“I guess you’re right,” was the reply. “I don’t want to get a cramp or a chill, or anything like that.”
To reach the swimming spot, the chums had to pass one end of the new bridge. As they drew closer they saw somebody high up on the skeleton structure gazing at them curiously.
“Hello! who’s that up there?” remarked Dave.
“I’m sure I don’t know,” answered Roger. “I thought all our men were back in camp.”
As they came still closer the individual on the bridge turned to walk toward them. Suddenly, however, he stopped short and tried his best to hide himself behind some of the steel work.
“Say! that looks rather queer to me,” remarked Dave. “He acts just as if he didn’t want us to see him.”
“Just what I thought, Dave.” The senator’s son gave a sudden start. “You don’t suppose it’s one of those Mexican raiders, do you?”
“I can’t say anything about that. I’m going up there to find out who he is. It seems to me he is acting very suspiciously. Maybe he’s trying to plant some more bombs.”
Dave turned back to a point where he could get up on the bridge, and his chum followed. From this point they could not see the person above them nor could he see them. When they reached the flooring of the big bridge they were less than two hundred feet from where the unknown person stood. He was leaning over the side of the structure, evidently trying to find out what had become of them.
“Why, Dave, he–he–looks like you!” burst out the senator’s son, as both hurried in the direction of the unknown person.
“I do believe it’s Ward Porton!” ejaculated our hero. He began to quicken his pace. “Yes, I’m almost sure it’s Porton,” he added, a few seconds later.
“If it’s Porton what in the world tempted him to follow you to this place?” queried Roger.
“I don’t know. But I do know that I’m going to capture him if it is possible to do so,” answered Dave, with determination.
The two chums were still almost a hundred feet from the other person when the latter glanced up suddenly and discovered them. He looked them full in the face for just an instant, and then turned and began to run away towards the opposite end of the long bridge.
“It’s Porton, sure enough!” burst out Roger.
“Hi there, Porton! Stop!” cried Dave. “Stop, I tell you!”
“You go on back!” yelled Ward Porton, in an ugly voice. “Go on back, I tell you! If you don’t it will be the worse for you!” and he shook his fist at the chums.
“You might as well stop,” continued Dave, undaunted by the threat. “You can’t get away from us. If you try to jump off the unfinished end of the bridge you’ll break your neck.”
“If you fellows don’t go back I’ll shoot,” returned the fellow who resembled Dave. “Stop right where you are! Don’t dare to come a step closer!”
“Oh, Dave! do you suppose he is armed?” questioned Roger, hastily and in a low tone.
“Maybe he is. But I am going to keep on after him until he shows his pistol,” was the rapid reply. “You need not come if you don’t want to. I’m going to capture him and make him give up the Basswood fortune.”
“If you are going after him, so am I,” returned the senator’s son, sturdily. “Maybe it was only a bluff about shooting after all.”
While running along the bridge Dave’s eyes fell on a short steel bar left there by one of the workmen. He stopped just long enough to pick the bar up, and then went after Porton with all the speed at his command.
It was a perilous chase, for in many places the flooring of the big bridge was still missing and they had to leap from girder to girder of the steel structure.
“Stop, I tell you!” yelled Ward Porton once more, when Dave was within ten yards of him. And then he turned squarely around and our hero and Roger saw the glint of a pistol as the rascal pointed it toward them.
“He is armed!” cried Roger, and now there was a note of fear in his voice, and not without reason.
“Get behind the steel work,” ordered Dave, and lost no time in dodging partly out of sight. As he moved, however, he launched forth the steel bar he had picked up.
More by good luck than anything else the bar sped true to its mark. It struck Ward Porton in the forearm, the hand of which was holding the pistol. In another instant the weapon was clattering down through the steel work of the bridge to the river far below.
“Hurrah, Dave! you’ve disarmed him!” cried Roger.
For the instant Ward Porton seemed dazed by the sudden turn of affairs. Evidently, however, the blow from the steel bar had not hurt him much, for, turning quickly, he continued his flight along the bridge. Dave and Roger lost no time in following him.
It was not long before the fugitive and those behind him reached a section of the long bridge which was far from completed. Here there was practically no flooring, and Ward Porton had to jump from one piece of steel work to another, while Dave and Roger, of course, had to do the same. Once those in the rear saw the rascal ahead make a misstep and plunge downward. But he saved himself, and, scrambling to his feet, dashed forward as madly as before.
“Take care, Dave, it’s dangerous here,” gasped Roger; and scarcely had he spoken when he himself made a misstep and shot down below the level of the bridge flooring.
Dave was several feet in advance, but turned instantly when his chum let out a cry of alarm. He saw Roger four or five feet below him, clinging frantically to one of the stays of the bridge.
“Hel–help m–me!” panted the unfortunate youth.
“Hold tight, Roger. I’ll help you,” returned Dave, quickly.
The stay below was so small in diameter that all Roger could do was to cling to it with both hands and one leg. In this position he hung until Dave let himself down several feet and managed to give him a hand. Then with extreme caution both worked their way back to the unfinished flooring of the bridge.
“Oh my! I thought sure I was a goner!” panted the senator’s son, when he found himself safe once more. He had turned white and he was trembling from head to foot.
“I guess you had better not go any farther, Roger,” remarked Dave. “This certainly is dangerous work.”
“It’s a wonder Porton doesn’t fall,” was the other’s comment, as they both watched the fleeing rascal, who was leaping from girder to girder with a recklessness that was truly amazing.
“He’s scared stiff at the idea of being captured,” was Dave’s comment. “If it wasn’t for that, I don’t believe he would take any such chance;” and in this surmise our hero was probably correct.
Dave hated to give up the chase, so he continued his way along the bridge, making sure, however, of every step and jump he took. Roger remained where he was, too shaken up to proceed farther when he knew that each step would prove more hazardous than the last.
At last Ward Porton gained a point where one of the foundations of the bridge rested on comparatively solid ground, with the river behind and a wide stretch of marshland ahead. Here there was a long ladder used by the workmen, and down this the rascal went as fast as his feet could carry him. By the time Dave reached the top of the ladder, Porton was well on his way over the solid ground. Soon the gathering darkness hid him from view.
Knowing that it would be next to useless to attempt to follow the rascal now that he had left the vicinity of the bridge, Dave returned to where he had left Roger. Then the pair started slowly back to the end of the bridge from which they had come.
“I can’t understand what brought Ward Porton here,” remarked Roger, when the chums had once more gained the swimming-place. “Do you suppose he knew you were in this vicinity, Dave?”
“Possibly, Roger. But at the same time, I don’t think that would explain his presence here. He wouldn’t dare to impersonate me around this camp. He’d be sure to be caught at it sooner or later.”
“Well, I don’t understand it at all.”
“Neither do I. I am sorry that we didn’t catch the rascal,” returned Dave, soberly.
When they went back into camp they informed Frank Andrews, and also Mr. Obray, of what had occurred. These men had already heard some of the particulars regarding Dave’s double and the disappearance of the Basswood fortune.
“Too bad you didn’t get him,” said Frank Andrews. “But you be careful how you run over that unfinished bridge, unless you want to have a nasty fall and either get killed or else crippled for life.”
Several days went by, including Sunday, and nothing more was seen or heard of Ward Porton although the lads made a thorough search for him. Dave sent letters home and to Ben Basswood, telling the folks in Crumville of what had happened.
“A little greaser to see you, Dave,” remarked one of the civil engineers as Dave was coming from an unusually difficult afternoon’s work.
He walked to where his fellow worker had pointed, and there saw a dirty, unkempt Mexican lad standing with a letter in his hand. The communication was addressed to Dave, and, opening it, he read the following:
“I have broken with Tim Crapsey and have the Basswood miniatures here with me safely in Mexico. If the Basswoods will pay me ten thousand dollars in cash they can have the pictures back. Otherwise I am going to destroy them. I will give them two weeks in which to make good.
“As you are so close at hand, maybe you can transact the business for Mr. Basswood. When you are ready to open negotiations, send a letter to the Bilassa camp, across the border, and I will get it.
“Ward Porton.”
