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“Where was that?” questioned Dave, quickly.
“Down on that road which leads to the Rio Grande. There was a fellow talking to a ranchman I’ve met several times, a Texan named Lawson. As soon as he saw me he took to his heels. I questioned Lawson about him and he said the fellow had come across the river at a point about a quarter of a mile below here.”
Dave listened to this explanation with interest, and immediately sought out Mr. Obray. The upshot of the talk was that our hero was given permission to leave the camp for the day, taking Roger with him.
The two chums went off armed with their pistols, not knowing what might happen. They first walked to where Roger had met the ranchman, and there the senator’s son pointed out the direction that the young man who had run away had taken. They followed this trail, and presently reached the roadway which ran in sight of the river. There were comparatively few craft on the stream, and none of these looked as if it might be occupied by the young man they were after. But presently they reached a small creek flowing into the Rio Grande, and on this saw two flat-bottomed rowboats.
“There he is now!” exclaimed Dave, suddenly, and pointed to the first of the rowboats,265which was being sent down the creek in the direction of the river.
The sole occupant of the craft was the fellow at the oars, and the two chums readily made out that it was the former moving-picture actor. As soon as he made certain of Porton’s identity, Dave pulled Roger down in the tall grass which bordered the creek.
“There is no use in letting him see us,” explained our hero.
“Do you suppose he is bound for the Mexican shore?” questioned the senator’s son.
“More than likely, Roger.” Dave looked questioningly at his chum. “Are you game to follow him?” he added.
“What do you mean?”
“We might take that other rowboat and go after him. I see it contains a pair of oars. Either of us ought to be able to row as well as Porton, and if we can catch him before he lands maybe we’ll be able to drive him back to the United States side of the river.”
“All right, I’llgo with you,” responded Roger, quickly. “Come ahead!” and he started on a run for the rowboat.
The craft was tied fast to two stakes, but it was an easy matter for them to loosen the ropes. This done, Dave took up the oars, shoved off,266and started to row with all the strength at his command.
Evidently Ward Porton had not expected to be followed, for he was rowing leisurely, allowing his flat-bottomed boat to drift with the current. He was much surprised when he saw the other boat come on at a good rate of speed.
“Get back there!” he yelled, when he recognized the occupants of the second craft. “Get back, I tell you, or I’ll shoot!”
“If you do we’ll do some shooting on our own account, Porton!” called back Roger, and showed his pistol.
The sight of the weapon evidently frightened Porton greatly. Yet he did not cease rowing, and now he headed directly for the Mexican shore.
The river at this point was broad and shallow and contained numerous sand-bars. Almost before they knew it the craft containing our friends ran up on one of the bars and stuck there. In the meantime Ward Porton continued his efforts to gain the shore.
“What’s the matter, Dave?” cried Roger, when he saw our hero stop rowing.
“We are aground,” was the answer. “Here, Roger, get to the stern of the boat with me, and we’ll see if we can’t shove her off again.”
With the two chums in the stern of the craft,267the bow came up out of the sand-bar, and in a few seconds more Dave, aided by the current of the stream, managed to get the rowboat clear. But all this had taken time, and now the two chums saw that Ward Porton had beached his boat and was running across the marshland beyond.
“I’m afraid he is going to get away,” remarked Roger, dolefully.
“Not much!” answered Dave. “Anyway, I’m not going to give up yet,” and he resumed his rowing.
“Here, let me take a turn at that. You must be getting a little tired,” said Roger, and he insisted that Dave allow him to do the rowing.
Soon they reached the Mexican shore, at a point where there was a wide stretch of marshland with not a building in sight. They had gotten several glimpses of Ward Porton making his way through the tall grass. The trail was an easy one to follow.
“Come on! We’ll get him yet!” muttered Dave, and started off on the run with Roger behind him.
They had just reached an ill-kept highway when they heard shouting in the distance. They saw Ward Porton running wildly in the direction of a set of low buildings, evidently belonging to some sort of ranch. As the former moving-picture268actor disappeared, a band of Mexican cavalry swept into view.
“Quick, Roger! Down in the grass!” cried Dave. “We don’t want those soldiers to see us! They may be government troops, but they look more like guerrillas––like the rascals who raided the Tolman ranch!”
“Right you are,” answered the senator’s son. And then both lay low in the tall grass while the Mexican guerrillas, for they were nothing else, swept past them.
269CHAPTER XXVIIIA STRANGE DISCOVERY
As nearly as Dave and Roger could calculate, there were about two hundred of the Mexican guerrillas––dirty and fierce-looking individuals, led by an officer wearing an enormous hat and a long, drooping mustache.
The entire crowd looked disreputable in the extreme, and the youths could not help but shudder as they gazed at the cavalcade.
“My gracious, Dave! do you call those revolutionists?” remarked Roger, after the last of the horsemen had disappeared down the roadway.
“They may be revolutionists, Roger. But to my mind they look more like bandits than anything else. Under the pretense of aiding Mexico they probably steal whenever they get the chance.”
“I’d hate awfully to fall into their clutches. I think they’d rob a fellow of every dollar he had.”
“Well, never mind those Mexicans, Roger,” pursued Dave. “Come on, let us see if we can’t locate Ward Porton.”
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“He went over into one of yonder buildings.”
“I know it, and I’ve got an idea,” answered our hero. “Let us see if we can’t sneak across the roadway without being seen and then come up to those buildings through the thick grass and behind that chaparral. If we expose ourselves Porton will, of course, keep out of our sight or run away.”
With extreme caution the two chums worked their way through the tall grass to the edge of the roadway. Then, watching their chance when nobody seemed to be looking, they dashed to the other side and into the grass again. Then they began to work their way cautiously in the direction of the group of buildings into which the former moving-picture actor had disappeared.
The buildings belonged to a Mexican ranch; but the place had evidently been the scene of a fight at some time in the past, for one of the buildings was completely wrecked and several of the others much battered. There were no horses, cattle, pigs, or chickens anywhere in sight; and the youths came to the conclusion that the ranch had been abandoned by its owner.
“Probably some of those guerrillas came along and cleaned him out,” observed Dave, “and after that he didn’t think it would be worth while to stay so long as the country was in a state of war.”
271
In a few minutes more Dave and his chum gained the first of the buildings. Here they paused to listen and to look around.
“You want to be on your guard, Roger,” whispered our hero. “Porton may be watching us and he may have some of his friends here. For all we know this may be his hang-out.”
“I’ll be on guard, don’t fear,” answered the senator’s son, and brought forth his pistol.
“Don’t use that gun unless you have to,” warned Dave, who did not favor any shooting, even in an extreme case like this.
“I’ll not give a rascal like Porton the chance to shoot me first,” retorted Roger. “That fellow ought to be in jail, and you know it.”
To this our hero did not answer. He felt in his pocket to make sure that his own weapon was ready for use.
Not a sound from the other buildings had reached them, nor did any one appear to be in sight.
“Looks to me as if we were in sole possession, now that those guerrillas have gone,” announced Roger. “Wow! I hope they don’t come back,––at least not until we are safe on our side of the Rio Grande,” he added grimly.
“Come on, we’ll take a look through the buildings,” answered Dave. “Don’t make any noise if you can possibly help it.”
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Leaving the building which they had first entered––an abandoned stable––they moved through a broken-down cow-shed to a long, low structure which had evidently been used by the helpers on the ranch. This building was also deserted, and all that remained in it was some filthy bedding alive with vermin.
“Come on, let us get out of here,” remarked Roger, as he looked with disfavor at the squalor presented. “How can human beings live like this, Dave?”
“I don’t know, Roger. This place ought to be burned down––it’s the only way to get it clean,” Dave added, shaking his head in disgust over the sight.
Less than fifty feet away was the corner of the main building of the ranch. Peering out cautiously, to make sure that no one was watching them, the two chums hurried across the open space and crouched down beneath a wide-open window. Then Dave, pistol in hand, looked in through the opening.
The room beyond was deserted, and a glance around showed him that it contained little besides some heavy pieces of furniture which the looters had evidently been unable to remove. On a table rested several empty liquor bottles, and also a number of cigar and cigarette stubs. On the floor were scattered newspapers and some playing cards.
273
“The fellows who were here evidently got out in a hurry,” remarked Dave.
“Are you going to go in?” questioned Roger.
“I guess so. What do you think about it?”
“I’m with you, Dave. Now we have gone so far, we might as well finish the job.”
It was an easy matter for the two chums to climb through the low window. Once in the room, they advanced toward a doorway leading to an apartment that opened on thepatioof the ranch home––an open courtyard which had once boasted of a well-kept flower garden, but which was now neglected and overrun with weeds.
As Dave gazed out across thepatiohe saw a movement in a room on the opposite side of the ranch home. The face of a man had appeared for a few seconds. Behind him was some one else––who, however, Dave could not make out.
“My gracious, Roger!” gasped our hero in a low voice. “Did you see that fellow?”
“I saw some one.”
“It was William Jarvey!”
“Jarvey! Are you sure?”
“I am certain of it. Now what do you think of that!”
“I’m sure I don’t know what to think, Dave. Maybe he is making his headquarters here, the same as Ward Porton.”
“I am going to try to find out. Come on.”
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Our hero made a quick mental calculation as to the ground plan of the ranch homeland then he and Roger began to work their way from one room to another, and then through a long, narrow hallway, until they reached the other side of the building. Here they paused at the end of the hallway to listen.
From a room close at hand came a murmur of voices. By straining his ears Dave made out the tones of William Jarvey. The former bookkeeper for the Mentor Construction Company was evidently talking to another man, but what was being said was not distinguishable.
“It’s Jarvey all right enough,” whispered Dave.
“Yes. But that isn’t Ward Porton with him,” returned Roger.
“I know it. It’s some man.”
Both continued to listen, and presently heard William Jarvey give a sarcastic laugh.
“You’ve got another guess coming, Packard Brown, if you think you are going to get that much out of the deal!” he cried. “Remember, you haven’t done a thing to help us.”
“That’s all right, Bill Jarvey,” retorted the man called Packard Brown. “When we left the U. S. A. and came over here it was understood that we were to share and share alike in everything.”
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“Yes, but I didn’t think this new thing was coming up,” growled Jarvey. “We were to share equal on what we happened to get out of the greasers. This is another thing entirely.”
“I admit that. Just the same, I think I’m entitled to my share.”
“Well, you help us all you can and you’ll get a nice little wad out of it, Brown.”
What more was said on this subject did not reach the ears of Dave and Roger, for just then the latter pulled our hero by the sleeve.
“Somebody’s coming!” he whispered. “Maybe it’s Porton.”
Dave did not answer. At the end of the semi-dark hallway there was a closet which in years gone by had been used for the storage of guns and clothing. Into this closet the two youths went, closing the door carefully after them.
“It’s Porton all right enough,” whispered Dave, who a moment later was crouching low and looking through a large keyhole devoid of a key. “There he goes into the room where the two men are.”
“Then those two men must be in with him,” returned the senator’s son. “Say, Dave, this is certainly getting interesting!”
“It’s going to make our job a pretty hard one,” answered our hero. “If Ward Porton was alone we might be able to capture him. But I don’t see276how we are going to do it with Jarvey and that man named Brown present.”
“Maybe if we offer Jarvey and Brown a large reward they will help us make Porton a prisoner,” suggested Roger. “More than likely Jarvey is on his uppers and will do anything to get a little cash.”
The two youths came out into the semi-dark hallway once more, and on tiptoes crept toward the door of the room occupied by Ward Porton and the two men.
“I went all around the buildings, and looked up and down the roadway, but I couldn’t see anything of them,” the former moving-picture actor was saying. “I guess they got cold feet when they saw those soldiers. Say, those greasers certainly were a fierce-looking bunch!”
“I don’t believe they were any of General Bilassa’s army,” returned William Jarvey. “They were probably some detachment out for whatever they could lay their hands on,” and he chuckled coarsely. Evidently he considered that such guerrilla warfare under certain circumstances was perfectly justifiable.
Following this there was some talk which neither of those outside the door could catch. Then came a rather loud exclamation from Ward Porton which startled our friends more than anything else that could have been said.
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“Well, now, look here, Dad!” cried the former moving-picture actor. “You let me run this affair. I started it, and I know I can put it through successfully.”
“That’s right, Jarvey!” broke in Packard Brown. “Let your son go ahead and work this deal out to suit himself. He seems to have made a success of it so far––getting the best of that fellow Crapsey,” and the speaker chuckled.
Dave and Roger looked at each other knowingly. Here indeed was a revelation. Evidently Ward Porton was the son of the man they knew as William Jarvey.
“My gracious! I remember now!” burst out our hero in a low tone. “When we went to Burlington to see that old man, Obadiah Jones, about Ward don’t you remember that he told us that Ward was the son of a good-for-nothing lieutenant in the army named Jarvey Porton? That man Pankhurst who was captured declared that Jarvey was living under an assumed name and had been an officer in the army. It must be true, Roger. This fellow is really Jarvey Porton, and he is Ward Porton’s father!”
278CHAPTER XXIXTHE CAPTURE
What Dave said concerning the man he had known as William Jarvey was true. He was in reality Ward Porton’s father, his full name being William Jarvey Porton. Years before, however, on entering the United States Army, he had dropped the name William and been known only as Jarvey Porton. Later, on being dismissed from the army for irregularities in his accounts, he had assumed the name of William Jarvey.
A lively discussion lasting several minutes, and which our hero and Roger failed to catch, followed the discovery of Jarvey Porton’s identity. Then the listeners heard the former lieutenant say:
“Brown, I think you had better go outside and watch to make sure that no one is coming to this place.”
“All right, just as you say,” was the other man’s answer. Evidently he understood that this was a hint that Jarvey Porton wished to speak to his son in private.
As Packard Brown placed his hand on the door279leading to the semi-dark hallway Dave and Roger lost no time in tiptoeing their way back to the closet in which they had before hidden. From this place they saw Brown leave the room and walk outside. Then they returned to their position at the door.
“Are you sure the cases are in a safe place, Ward?” they heard Jarvey Porton ask anxiously.
“Sure of it, Dad. I hid them with great care.”
“Are you sure nobody saw you do it?”
“Not a soul.”
“Where was the place?”
“On a high knoll not far from where we have been tying up the boats,” answered Ward Porton. “There are a number of big rocks there, and I found a finecachebetween them.”
“It’s rather dangerous to leave them around that way,” grumbled the man. “Maybe you would have done better if you had brought them over here.”
“I thought there would be no use in carting them back and forth,” returned the son. “I wanted to have them handy, in case the Basswoods met my demands.”
“Well, we’ll see what comes of it, Ward. I hope we do get that money. I certainly need some,” and Jarvey Porton heaved something of280a sigh. Evidently father and son were equally unscrupulous and took no pains to disguise that fact from each other.
More talk followed, Ward telling something of the way in which the miniatures had been obtained and his father relating the particulars of his troubles with the Mentor Construction Company. In the midst of the latter recital Dave and Roger heard Packard Brown returning on the run.
“Hi there!” called out the man in evident alarm. And then as the two chums hid in the closet once more, he burst into the room occupied by the Portons. “Those greasers are coming back and they are heading for this place!” he explained.
“In that case we had better get out,” answered Jarvey Porton, quickly.
“But you and Brown helped them in that raid, Dad,” interposed the son. “Why should you get out?”
“We had a big quarrel after that raid, Ward,” explained the parent. “And now those greasers have no use for us. We’ll have to get out, and in a hurry, too.”
Shouting could now be heard at a distance, and this was followed by a volley of shots which surprised all the listeners.
“I’ll tell you what it must be,” said Jarvey281Porton, as he led the way from the deserted ranch. “A detachment from the regular army must be after General Bilassa’s crowd. Maybe they’ll have a fight right here along the border!”
“I don’t want to get mixed up in any fight!” exclaimed Ward Porton. “Maybe we had better get back to the United States side of the river.”
“That’s the talk!” put in Packard Brown. “Come on!”
All left the ranch and headed directly for the river, at the point where Ward had left his flat-bottomed rowboat. Dave and Roger followed them, but did their best to keep out of sight in the tall grass.
“Oh, Dave, I hope they do go over to the other shore!” exclaimed the senator’s son. “It will be so much easier to capture them.”
“Exactly, Roger. And don’t you remember what Ward told his father––that he had left the miniature cases hidden on the other side? He said they were on a high knoll not far from where the boats had been tied up. We ought to be able to find thatcache.”
By the time the two chums gained the shore of the Rio Grande those ahead of them had already entered Ward Porton’s boat. Ward and Brown each had an oar and rowed as rapidly as possible to the other side of the stream. Jarvey Porton sat in the stern of the craft, and looked back from282time to time, trying to catch sight of the guerrillas and the other Mexicans, who were still shouting and firing at a distance.
“Hadn’t you better hold back a bit, Dave, so they don’t see you?” questioned Roger, as he and our hero managed to gain the rowboat they had used, which, fortunately, had been placed some distance away from the other craft.
“Good advice, Roger, if it wasn’t for one thing. I don’t want to give them a chance to get out of our sight. Let us tie our handkerchiefs over the lower parts of our faces. Then they won’t be able to recognize us––at least unless we get pretty close.”
With Dave’s suggestion carried out, the chums leaped into the rowboat, and, this done, each took an oar. They pulled hard, and as a consequence reached the mouth of the little creek on the United States side in time to see those ahead just disembarking.
“Where do you suppose they are going?” queried the senator’s son.
“That remains to be found out,” answered Dave. “Duck now, so they won’t see us.” And with a quick motion of the oar he possessed he sent the flat-bottomed boat in among some tall grass which bordered the creek at this point.
Ward Porton and those with him had tied up their boat and were walking to the higher ground283away from the creek. Jarvey Porton paused to look back along the creek and the bosom of the river beyond.
“I don’t see anything on the river just now,” he announced.
“Look! Some one is coming from the other way!” exclaimed his son, suddenly.
“Is that Lawson, the ranchman?” questioned Packard Brown, anxiously.
“No, I don’t think it is,” answered Ward Porton. “They seem to be strangers,” he added, a minute later.
Two men and a well-grown boy were approaching. They came on slowly, as if looking for some one.
“I’d like to know what those fellows want around here,” came from Jarvey Porton, as he gave up looking along the river to inspect the newcomers.
From their position in the tall grass bordering the creek, Dave and Roger looked from the Porton party to those who were approaching. Then, of a sudden, our hero uttered a low exclamation of surprise.
“Look who’s here, Roger! Ben Basswood and my Uncle Dunston! And Mr. Andrews is with them!”
“Oh, Dave! are you sure?”
“Of course I am! I would know my Uncle284Dunston as far as I could see him. And you ought to know Ben.”
“My gracious, Dave, you’re right! This sure is luck!”
“I know what I’m going to do,” decided our hero, quickly. “I’m going to send both of the boats adrift. Then, no matter what happens, those rascals won’t have any easy time of it getting back to Mexico.”
In feverish haste Dave sent the flat-bottomed boat out into the creek once more. Roger assisted him, and a few strokes of the oars brought the craft alongside of that which had been used by the Porton party. Then the chums leaped ashore, threw all the oars into the water, and set both of the rowboats adrift.
“Hi there! What are you fellows up to?” came suddenly from Packard Brown, who had happened to look behind him. “See, Jarvey, those two fellows have cast our boat adrift!”
“Who are they?” demanded Jarvey Porton, and looked in some bewilderment at the two figures approaching, each with a handkerchief tied over the lower portion of the face.
“Uncle Dunston! Ben!” cried Dave at the top of his lungs, and at the same time whipped the handkerchief from his face. “Here are Ward Porton and his father! We must capture them!”
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“Hurry up! Don’t let them get away!” put in Roger, as he, too, uncovered his face.
As he uttered the words Roger drew his pistol, an action which was quickly followed by our hero, for both understood that the criminals before them might prove desperate.
Of course Dunston Porton and Ben Basswood, as well as Frank Andrews, were greatly astonished by the calls from Dave and Roger. But our hero’s uncle, while out hunting in various parts of the world, had been in many a tight corner, and thus learned the value of acting quickly. He had with him his pistol, and almost instantly he drew this weapon and came forward on the run, with Ben and Frank Andrews at his heels.
“Stop! Stop! Don’t shoot!” yelled Ward Porton in alarm, as he found himself and his companions surrounded by five others, three with drawn pistols.
“We won’t shoot, Porton, if you’ll surrender,” answered Dave.
“Oh, Dave! has he got those miniatures?” burst out Ben.
“He sure has, Ben!”
“Good!”
“I haven’t got any miniatures,” growled the former moving-picture actor.
His father and Brown looked decidedly uncomfortable. Once the former army officer made a286motion as if to draw his own weapon, but Dunston Porter detected the movement and instantly ordered all of the party to throw up their hands.
“Oh, Dave! are you sure he has those pictures?” queried Ben, and his face showed his anxiety.
“I think so, Ben. However, we’ll find out as soon as we have made them prisoners.”
“That’s the talk!” put in Roger. He turned to Dave’s uncle. “Can’t you bind them or something, so that they can’t get away?”
“We’ll disarm them,” announced Frank Andrews. “Jarvey and Brown are wanted for that raid on old man Tolman’s ranch and for using that bomb on the bridge. We can prove through Pankhurst that they were with the party.”
“That man is Ward Porton’s father,” explained Dave to his uncle and Ben, while the evil-doers were being searched and disarmed one after another.
“Ward Porton’s father, eh? Well, they seem to be two of a kind,” answered Ben.
With their weapons taken from them, the prisoners could do nothing but submit. They were questioned, but all refused to tell anything about what they had done or intended to do.
“You’ll never get anything out of me, and you’ll never get those miniatures back,” growled287Ward Porton, as he gazed sourly at Ben and at Dave.
“We’ll see about that, Porton,” answered our hero. And then he requested his uncle and Frank Andrews to keep an eye on the prisoners while he, Roger and Ben set out for the knoll some distance away from the creek.
“Ward Porton said he had hidden some cases in acachebetween some rocks on that knoll,” explained our hero. “By cases I think he meant those containing the miniatures.”
“Oh, I hope he did!” returned Ben, wistfully. “To get those miniatures back means so much to my folks!”
288CHAPTER XXXTHE FORTUNE RECOVERED––CONCLUSION
As Dave, Roger, and Ben tramped through the tall grass to where was located a knoll of considerable size, the son of the Crumville real estate dealer related how he and Dunston Porter had arrived in the construction camp and how they had gotten Frank Andrews to show them in what direction our hero and the senator’s son had gone.
“We knew you were after Porton, and we hoped to catch sight of that rascal,” went on Ben, “but we didn’t dream that we were going to capture Ward and also those two men who are wanted for that raid on the Tolman ranch. And to think that one of the men is Ward’s father! He certainly must be a bad egg!”
“He is, Ben,” answered Dave. “And Ward is a chip of the old block.”
The chums were soon ascending the knoll, containing many rocks between which were dense clumps of chaparral. Here they had to advance with care so as not to turn an ankle or get their clothing torn.
Dave had hoped that the search for the missing289cases would be an easy one, but in that he was disappointed. The three chums walked all around the knoll several times without getting anything in the way of a clue as to where Porton’scachewas located.
“It’s a shame!” burst out Roger at length. “If we could only––” He looked quickly at Dave. “What do you see?”
Our hero did not reply. Instead he hurried forward several feet, and then gave a low cry.
“Porton has been here!” he exclaimed, and held up a half-burned cigarette.
It was not much of a clue, but it was something; and working on this all three of the youths searched the vicinity diligently. They soon came upon a somewhat flat rock, and all seized hold of this to cast it to one side.
“Hurrah!” came simultaneously from Dave and Roger, as they saw a large opening under where the stone had been placed.
Ben said nothing, but plunged his hand into the opening, to draw from it an instant later one of the cases that had contained the Enos miniatures. The other cases quickly followed.
“Are the miniatures in them?” questioned the senator’s son.
“That’s what I’m going to find out,” answered Ben.
The cases were fastened by several catches,290but these were quickly unfastened and the lids thrown open.
“Good! Good!” exclaimed Ben, and his face showed his intense satisfaction.
There before the eyes of the youths were nearly all of the wonderful collection of miniatures which Mr. Basswood had inherited. Only two were missing––those which the thieves had sold in New York.
“Oh, this is simply grand!” cried Roger, enthusiastically.
“That’s what it is,” added Dave, and then went on quickly: “We’ll have to get these to some safe place and then make sure that they’ll never be stolen again.”
“Don’t you worry about that, Dave. I won’t let them out of my sight until they are safe and sound,” declared the real estate dealer’s son.
Locking up the cases once more, the three youths carried them off the knoll and through the chaparral to where they had left Dunston Porter and the others. Of course, Dave’s uncle was much gratified to learn that the miniatures had been recovered, and Frank Andrews was also pleased. Jarvey Porton looked downcast, and his son showed his deep disgust.
“I was a fool not to take them over into Mexico,” remarked the former moving-picture actor.
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“Well, I told you that was what you should have done,” retorted his father. And then he added in a low tone: “We might have purchased our freedom with those miniatures.”
While Dunston Porter and Frank Andrews looked after the prisoners to see that they did not get away, Dave and his chums took care of the cases containing the precious miniatures, and thus the whole party made its way to the engineering and construction camp. There the Portons and Packard Brown were handcuffed, and word was sent to the authorities to take charge of them.
“And now I’ve got to send word home about this good news!” cried Ben, and lost no time in getting off a long telegram to his folks, and asking them to inform Dave’s father and the Wadsworths by telephone of the success of the trip to Texas.
“That message ought to do your father more good than a dose of medicine,” remarked Dave.
“It will, Dave,” answered Ben, his face beaming. “I know father will recover now that he has nothing more to worry about.” Ben was right. The recovery of the fortune in miniatures did much toward restoring the real estate dealer to his former good health.
In the camp it was remarked by a number of men how much Ward Porton resembled Dave. But no one at that time dreamed that this resemblance292was shortly to come to an end. Yet such was a fact. When being transferred from Texas to the State in which his crimes had been committed, Ward Porton attempted to make his escape by leaping from a rapidly moving railroad train. As a consequence he broke not only both of his legs, but also his nose, and cut his right cheek most frightfully. As a result, when he was retaken he had to remain in the hospital for a long time, and when he came out his face was much disfigured and he walked with a decided limp.
“It’s too bad, but he brought it on himself,” was Dave’s comment, when he heard of this.
“It’s a good thing in one respect,” was Roger’s reply. “With his nose broken and his cheek disfigured and with such a limp, no one will ever take Ward Porton for you again.”
It may be mentioned here that when the proper time came Ward Porton and Tim Crapsey were brought to trial and each was given a long term of imprisonment. Ward’s father and the other men who had participated in the attack on the Tolman ranch and on the bridge and had been captured were also severely punished.
The store-keepers and the hotel-keeper who suffered through Ward Porton’s misrepresentations could get nothing from the young culprit, but they had the satisfaction of knowing that he293had now been put where it would be impossible for him to dupe others.
Ben Basswood remained at the camp but a few days, and then he and Dunston Porter started northward. The miniatures had been boxed up and shipped by express, insured for their full value. It may be stated here that they arrived safely at their destination. Those which had been disposed of in New York City were recovered, and in the end Mr. Basswood disposed of the entire collection to the museums in four of our large cities for the sum of seventy-five thousand dollars. With part of this money he went into several heavy real estate deals, taking Ben in with him, and father and son did very well.
“I think the getting back of those miniatures was entirely your work, Dave,” declared Roger, one day.
“I don’t know about that,” answered our hero, modestly. “I think you had a hand in it.”
“I had a hand in catching Ward Porton, but you were the one to spot thatcacheand locate the Basswood fortune.”
And now let me add a few words more and then bring to an end this story of “Dave Porter and His Double.”
A number of years have passed since Dave294graduated from Oak Hall and took up the profession of a civil engineer. Both he and Roger learned rapidly, and at the end of the required time both passed their final examinations with flying colors. They remained with the Mentor Construction Company, journeying all over the United States, and also going down into Mexico and into Central and South Americas. They, of course, met with numerous adventures, some of which I may relate to you at a future time. They returned to Crumville a number of times, and during those visits Dave was more attentive to Jessie than ever, while Roger spent nearly all his time at Laura’s side.
“They’ll make a fine pair of married couples,” declared Dave’s Uncle Dunston.
“Well, I hope they’ll be happy,” answered Dave’s father. “They certainly deserve to be.”
“You are right. But I guess they had better wait awhile yet.”
“Of course. They are young, and Dave and Roger want to get a good foothold in their profession.”
“Those boys have had some strenuous doings,” continued the uncle. “I wonder what will happen next?”
“Something, that’s certain,” answered Dave’s father; and he was right, as will be related in my next volume, to be entitled, “Dave Porter’s Great295Search; or, The Perils of a Young Civil Engineer.” In that book we will meet all our young friends again, and learn the particulars of Jessie Wadsworth’s strange disappearance.
“Great days, those––on the Rio Grande, Dave!” remarked Roger, one day, when the two had been discussing what had taken place in the past.
“Yes, Roger, they certainly were great days,” answered our hero. “No matter what exciting times may come in the future, I’ll never forget how I helped to capture my double.”
“And how we managed to become full-fledged civil engineers, Dave.”
“Yes, that was just as good as getting back the Basswood miniatures, if not better,” answered Dave.
Here, at the height of his success in his chosen profession, we will wish Dave Porter well, and say good-bye.
THE END
Transcriber’s NoteIllustrations have been moved closer to their relevant paragraphs.The page numbers in the List of Illustrations do not reflect the new placement of the illustrations, but are as in the original.Author’s archaic and variable spelling and hyphenation is preserved.Author’s punctuation style is preserved.Typographical problems have been changed and these arehighlighted.Transcriber’s ChangesPage 152: Was single quote (“Whycertainly I haven’t been here, Mrs. Basswood,” he returned promptly.)Page 155: Removed extra double quote (“I said ‘no,’but told him I was very well acquainted with his handwriting. Then he said he)Page 213: Was ‘Wiliam’ (would feel utterly lost without a cigar. Well, I’ll see you later.” And thus speakingWilliamJarvey took himself off.)Page 265: Was ‘go you’ (“All right, I’llgo with you,” responded Roger, quickly. “Come ahead!” and he started on a)
Illustrations have been moved closer to their relevant paragraphs.
The page numbers in the List of Illustrations do not reflect the new placement of the illustrations, but are as in the original.
Author’s archaic and variable spelling and hyphenation is preserved.
Author’s punctuation style is preserved.
Typographical problems have been changed and these arehighlighted.
Page 152: Was single quote (“Whycertainly I haven’t been here, Mrs. Basswood,” he returned promptly.)
Page 155: Removed extra double quote (“I said ‘no,’but told him I was very well acquainted with his handwriting. Then he said he)
Page 213: Was ‘Wiliam’ (would feel utterly lost without a cigar. Well, I’ll see you later.” And thus speakingWilliamJarvey took himself off.)
Page 265: Was ‘go you’ (“All right, I’llgo with you,” responded Roger, quickly. “Come ahead!” and he started on a)