The Border Boys with the Mexican Rangers

CHAPTER XVI

A BORDER BOY ERRANT

But the bullets which had been meant to terminate Jack’s career had not found their “billet.” Instead, his sudden fall to one side of the saddle was a quick acting out of an old cowboy trick. The instant that the first bullet had whistled by his ear Jack had flung himself down thus, and as a consequence, the shots had missed their mark. The relief of Walt and Ralph, as they came elbowing through the crowd to find that their chum was unhurt, may be imagined.

The incident, too, had quite changed the temper of the crowd, as such things often will. An unpopular monarch has often been turned into his people’s idol by an attempted assassination, and something of the same thing occurred now. Cheers for the American boy rang through the air. In the midst of the excitement Don Alverado came riding up, pressing his big chestnut horse through the throng.

“Thank the saints you are not injured, my gallant boy,” he cried in his impulsive way. “Not for my entire estates would I have had you even scratched. But what is this?”

The Don broke off in his congratulations abruptly, as a sudden commotion occurred on the outskirts of the crowd. Rising in his stirrups Jack could see that the center of the turmoil was Coyote Pete, and that he was dragging something at the end of his lariat, one end of which was wound around his saddle horn.

Suddenly the crowd rushed in on this object, whatever it was, but the next instant the wave of humanity surged back again, as Coyote drew two pistols and aimed them right and left into the throng.

“The first one that touches the varmint gits a taste of these!” he was shouting, and although few in the crowd could understand the words, they all caught the significance of his tones and fell back. Thus, left with a free path, Coyote spurred his horse on and rode up to where the Don and the Border Boys were assembled. The professor had, by this time, joined the group and brought word that Senorita Alverado wished to be informed at once of Jack’s condition, and if he had been seriously injured. Word was at once despatched to her that he was unharmed.

What Coyote Pete had at the end of his lariat was now at once apparent. It was a human being who struggled to his feet as the cow-puncher drew rein. Covered with dust as the man was, and bleeding from his not over gentle treatment by the first of the crowd who had rushed in on him, Jack yet had no difficulty in recognizing the man as the tall Mexican who had been defeated, and who had declared his intention of shutting out the American boy by fair means or foul.

“What is this?” demanded the Don, as the abject object stood cringing and whining before him.

“This is the pesky critter that fired them shots at Jack Merrill, your Donship!” announced Coyote. “Stand up thar, you dirty dog, and let ’em git a good look at you. Yer see,” he went on, “arter that hat was thrown at Jack, I was on the lookout fer dirty work, so I jest took up my stand near the tilting post, fer I judged thet if thar was truble it ’ud come thar. Wall, I seen this fellow miss and ther look on his face when he realized it. ‘Ole hoss,’ thinks I, ‘I’ll jes’ watch you close.’ Wall, I did, but afore I could stop him he fired them shots. Arter that he sneaked off in the crowd, but I got arter him with my lariat, and I reckon I got him good an’ tight and hog-tied for branding.”

The Don’s face grew black.

“I know this fellow,” he said, “he is a former employee of mine whom I discharged for quarreling and gambling. But this outrage will terminate his career. As a magistrate of this district, I convene court here and sentence him to – ”

But with a piercing scream the abject being whom Coyote had lassoed cast himself on the ground. He writhed, he dug at the dirt with his nails, he grovelled and begged in an agony of terror. But the Don was unmoved. It was different with Jack, however. While the fellow’s cowardice disgusted him, at the same time he felt a faint sentiment of pity. At any rate, he did not wish human life taken on his account.

Just then a woman rushed through the crowd holding a child by each hand. Word flew around that it was the would-be assassin’s wife and children. This decided Jack. Pressing his pony forward, he rode to Don Alverado’s side.

“Don’t you think, sir, that leniency might be observed in this case?” he said. “The man’s wife and children, the excitement, the chagrin of losing the contest, and – ”

“Say no more; say no more,” was the abrupt reply. In fact, at the sight of the man’s terrified wife and bewildered children, the Don himself had experienced a feeling of compunction, “Jose, your life is saved – ”

The abject creature sprang up, pouring out a fulsome stream of thanks and blessings. But the Don abruptly checked him.

“Had it not been for your wife and children, and for the noble intercession of this young man whom you attempted foully to assassinate, I should have hanged you without loss of time. But their pleadings have had weight with me – ”

“Oh, the blessings of the saints on the caballero’s head, – ” began the Mexican, but once more he was cut short.

“But I only remit your sentence on one condition,” went on the Don, “and that is that you leave this part of the country forever. My overseer will supply you with the money. If within twelve hours you are in the neighborhood of Santa Anita, your life shall pay the penalty. Now go!”

The Mexican reeled to his feet, and, shunned by the crowd, tottered off. Only his wife and children clung to him.

“Strange that often the worst of men will have the most faithful wives and devoted children,” mused the Don. “But come,” he said, putting aside his momentary gravity, “do not let us mar the day by this incident. Senor Merrill, you will now proceed to the stand where your prize awaits you.”

At this the crowd set up a great cheer, and surrounded by his friends, Jack rode to the grandstand where the senorita, still pale, but radiant, presented him with the prize. Jack, crimson to the roots of his hair, stammered out something in reply, he never knew what; and then bending low he presented the lance tip on which the ring still reposed to the senorita. With a blush and a smile she took the ring and snatching a red rose from her hair affixed it to the point of his lance. What a shout went up then! And in the midst of it our party rode off, for the roping contest had been called.

“Say, where did you learn that trick, all that bowing and doo-dadds, and all that?” grinned Walt, as the chums rode side by side.

“Yes, old chap, you acted like a regular knight errant. Polite as a floor walker,” chortled Ralph; “there’s only one thing you’ve forgotten to do.”

“What’s that?” asked Jack innocently.

“Why, press the rose to your lips, you chump. I never read of any regular blown-in-panel knight who didn’t do that.”

“Well, I’m not one of that brand, I guess,” laughed Jack. But just the same, it may be set down here that he took particular care of that rose for many a long day.

To his chagrin, Coyote Pete only came off second best in the roping contest, but, as the boys remarked, “It wouldn’t do for these people to think we are hogs and want all the prizes.”

“That’s right,” agreed Pete, good humoredly, “an’, as somebody said, some place ‘thar’s glory enough fer all.’”

Early the next day after participating in the festivities of the evening, the lads and their elders once more took to the trail. In the meantime, the professor had attended to the renewing of their supplies and “scientific paraphernalia,” and they had decided to confide their adventures and the object of their quest to Don Alverado.

“You are on an adventurous mission,” he commented, “and I wish you all success.”

Before they set out the generous Don confided to Jack’s care a document in Spanish.

“If you fall in with any government officials,” he said, “that will act as your safeguard and passport. Adios, señors.”

“Adios!” shouted the boys, as they rode off. Jack, looking back in the early dawn, thought he saw a handkerchief fluttering from an upper window of the hacienda. At any rate, he waved his sombrero gallantly and bowed low.

“Guess it’s a good thing we got Jack away from the hacienda,” chortled Walt, in an audible tone.

“Guess it’ll be a good thing for you to maintain a discreet silence,” growled Jack, in what was for him such a savage tone that Walt looked rather alarmed. But before they had gone many miles Jack, who had been silent and thoughtful, began to become his old self once more under the influence of the trail and looked-for adventure.

They traveled that day without any incident worth chronicling, and nightfall found them camped on a fertile plain, deep in waving grasses and plentifully watered. The level expanse was almost at the foot of the gloomy Chinipal Range, in which was located the mysterious mountain in search of which they had journeyed so far. That night all lay down to rest with the feeling that the morrow would see the beginning of their real hard work.

CHAPTER XVII

THE TRAIL OF THE TREMBLING MOUNTAIN

But the Trembling Mountain still lay far from them. Following that bivouac at the foot of the somber chain of mountains, they made their way for some days through the most magnificent scenery they had ever seen. Even Grizzly Pass could show nothing to compare with it. It was an enchanted land of soaring peaks, deep and narrow canyons in whose depths lay perpetual twilight, mighty cliffs and crags and leaping waterfalls.

Sometimes on topping an eminence they could see far off to the southwest a circle of snowy peaks vaunting it above their timber clothed brethren. From some of these peaks issued columns of blue smoke. Somewhere among those smoldering volcanoes, the professor told them, lay the object of their quest. At noon every day careful observations were taken, but they still pressed onward, the mystery and charm of their quest increasing all the time.

Often, seated about the campfire, they discussed the possibility of the Ramon gang having trailed them; but the consensus of opinion was that they had succeeded in throwing the rascals off their tracks.

“But the scoundrels are keen on the scent where gold or treasure is concerned,” said Ralph one evening, “and I’ll bet that if they are not now on our trail they are trying to get upon it. I’ve got a private presentiment that we are not destined to land that treasure without a struggle.”

“If only we could encounter those Mexican Rangers of Colonel Alverado’s, our task would be easier,” said Jack. “I’ve a good mind to look about at daylight to-morrow before we get under way, and see if I can discover some trace of them.”

“Not a bad idea,” assented the professor, “the Don said that his men were off in this section somewhere, as it was suspected that the rascally gang of which Ramon is the head would make in this direction to seek shelter in the wild fastnesses.”

The next day, dawn had hardly made things visible before Jack was stirring, and saddling the big horse which they had taken from the Mexican outlaws at the lone rancho, set forth on his quest. They had wished to leave this horse as a present to Don Alverado for his kindness, but the Don would not hear of it. He argued that they might need an extra horse, and his words had proven true. The extra animal had come in handy once or twice when one or another of their own mounts was crippled temporarily by the rough mountain roads.

Jack did not set out without an objective point. This was the summit of a cliff at some distance which he felt sure he could reach by a sort of natural trail he had observed from below. It was going to be risky, though. To begin with, the trail was too narrow for him to turn back if he found it ended abruptly, but it was the only way of reaching the cliff top, and Jack felt that only from there could he obtain a good view of the surrounding country.

To his relieved surprise, however, the trail, though narrow enough in places to give a timid rider heart failure, was yet wide enough toward the summit to afford a foothold to a sure-footed horse like the one he bestrode. After about half an hour of breath-catching riding, the Border Boy at length reached the top. As he had anticipated, the view from there was as extended as it was magnificent. Peak after peak in serried ranks stretched away on every side. Deep canyons lay between them, with here and there a solitary eagle soaring above the dark depths. The sky above was a blinding blue, and the newly risen sun shone brightly, but yet, at that great altitude, Jack felt chilled.

But if he had expected to see the smoke of campfires, or spy a distant line of moving dots on this vast panorama, he was mistaken. No human note marred the impressive solemnity of the scene. Jack Merrill, poised with his horse on the cliff top, might have been the only being in the world for any evidence to the contrary.

“Well, I suppose I’d better be getting back again,” he thought to himself. “What a magnificent country! It is like those cloud palaces you see among the thunder heads on a still summer’s day in New England.”

With half a sigh at leaving such a spectacle behind him, the boy turned his horse, and as he did so gave vent to a shout of surprise.

Kneeling on one knee behind a rock, and pointing a rifle full at him, was the figure of a man who must have crept quietly up while Jack had been admiring the view. This figure made a gesture cautioning Jack not to move, and then gave a shrill whistle. Instantly the woods all about galvanized into life. A score of wild-looking horsemen sprang out. They were all armed, and Jack, utterly at a loss to know what this could portend, stopped short.

“Well, senors, what is it?” he asked politely.

“Get off that horse, Miguel de Acosta,” ordered one of the men sternly. “It is useless to resist, and – ”

“But my name doesn’t happen to be Miguel de Acosta,” protested Jack.

“In that case, what are you doing with his horse?”

“Whose horse?”

“Why, De Acosta’s. If you are not De Acosta and have his horse you are a horse thief, which is as bad under our laws as any of the crimes of which De Acosta is accused.”

“Will somebody please tell me what all this means?” cried Jack, looking about him bewilderedly.

“Please let me examine the brand of that horse,” said the first speaker, who seemed to be a kind of leader; “ah, just as I thought. A bar and a flying U. That’s De Acosta’s horse and you are the man we’re after. Get off now.”

“But – but – ,” began Jack, beginning to think that this adventure might turn out seriously after all.

“No explanations now. You may make those to the commandante later. Come, senor,” as Jack still hesitated, “are you going to dismount?”

“Nothing for it I suppose but to obey,” said Jack, clambering out of the saddle.

The man who was conducting this inquiry while the rest looked grimly on, was excessively polite, but there was something alarming in his very suavity. As Jack’s feet touched the ground a sharp order was given in Spanish, and two of the horsemen who had so suddenly appeared stepped to his side. As they did so they tapped their rifles significantly. But suddenly Jack noted something, and that was that on the butt of each of the rifles was stamped Republica de Mexico, No. 2, Sonora.

A great light broke upon him.

“Why, you are Mexican Rangers, – Rurales, – are you not?” he demanded of the seeming leader.

“Si, senor. None should know that better than you.” was the grave reply. “We are the second division of Sonora, with headquarters at Santa Anita.”

“Hooray, then it’s all right after all,” cried the boy, and plunging his hand into his breast pocket he drew forth the paper which Don Alverado had given him before they departed from his hospitable roof. The officer scanned it with raised eyebrows.

“Why, senor. A thousand pardons. I see that a mistake has been made. But pardon me, how do you come to be riding the horse of the notorious outlaw, De Acosta, who is one of Black Ramon de Barros’s chief lieutenants?”

“Oh, I see it all now,” cried Jack, “you were in search of Black Ramon, and when you saw a horse answering the description of De Acosta’s, you at once jumped to the conclusion that I must be he. Say, that’s quite a joke.”

“It wouldn’t have been much of a joke for you, if you had not proved your identity, senor,” was the grave reply of the officer, – for such Jack now knew he must be, “do you know what we would have done with the real Acosta had we found him? Hanged him to the nearest tree and left his body for the gallinazos and the buzzards.”

The day was warm, but Jack shuddered as the leader of the Mexican Rangers spoke.

“But, senor,” went on the young officer, “you hinted just now at having a story to tell about how you came by the horse. Will you breakfast with me at our camp yonder, and you can relate your story as we eat? It may be of great value to the State if it throws any light on the ways of Black Ramon.”

Jack assented to this proposition. For one thing, he was hungry. For another, he saw that the Mexican Rangers might prove valuable allies in case of a brush with the Ramon outfit. All the rurales, among whom a very democratic spirit prevailed, were much interested in his tale. They hung closely about the officer’s quarters, a blanket stretched on the ground, while Jack related his story of the happenings at the lonely rancho. It made an odd scene, this conclave under the great mountain pines. There was the clean-cut American lad sitting tailor fashion opposite the young officer who listened eagerly, while all about hovered the forms of the rangers, clad in bright sashes and brilliant-hued serapes, with immense cone-topped hats lavishly decorated with gold and silver braid. Jack learned later that some of these men oftentimes pay as high as two hundred dollars for their headgear, and that a good sombrero will pass down from father to son and grandson without deteriorating.

At the conclusion of Jack’s narrative, the officer expressed a wish to visit the camp of the Border Boys, more especially as it was in a part of the mountains unfamiliar to him. No time, therefore, was lost in mounting and getting under way. The Rangers used bugle calls like regular troops, the trumpeter riding at the leader’s side.

In single line they defiled down the steep trail by which Jack had ascended, and were soon at the foot of the mighty cliff.

“And where is your camp, senor?” inquired the officer, after they had ridden for some time in the direction in which Jack knew it lay.

“That’s what’s puzzling me, senor,” rejoined the boy anxiously, “it should be here, but – ”

He broke off abruptly. Undoubtedly from the litter and the still smoking embers upon which they had just that minute stumbled they must be at the site of the camp. But where were the lad’s companions?

Had the earth swallowed them they could not have vanished more completely, nor did a painstaking search by the Rangers reveal any clue as to their whereabouts or the manner of their departure.

CHAPTER XVIII

BLACK RAMON’S TRICKERY

“This looks like some of that rascal Ramon’s work!”

Jack paused in the fruitless search and wiped the perspiration from his forehead.

The officer of the Rangers, whose name was Antonio Del Rio, carefully rolled a brown paper cigarette and lighted it before he glanced up at the troubled young countenance before him.