CHAPTER XXIIKIDNAPPING JIMMY

CHAPTER XXIIKIDNAPPING JIMMY

“Goodgracious!” cried Dick, wildly. “Bob Somers and Tom Clifton! Well—well—it can’t be true—how in thunder——”

“Isn’t this just about the finest thing that ever happened!” broke in Jimmy, his face radiant with joy. “Why! I thought two of you chaps were miles and miles away!”

The boys were so highly delighted at this happy reunion, under strange and dramatic circumstances, that the dangers which surrounded them were for the moment forgotten.

“Well! Jimmy Raymond, you certainly are responsible for making us face the music!” cried Tom.

“Well, Dick Travers, you certainly helped to make me see some sights!” gurgled Cranny, with his old-time reckless air.

“I want to know an awful lot of things,” exclaimed Dick. “How in the world you chaps got back here so soon and—— Say,Bob—how’s the scrap going? I’ve just been simply wild to know—for goodness’ sake talk fast.”

It was Bob Somers, as usual, who brought order into the proceedings. He knew that there would be no safety for them so long as they remained on this side of the border.

“The Constitutionalists have captured the town!” he responded hurriedly. “But really, Dick, there isn’t a bit of time for any other explanations just now!”

“I should say not!” chimed in Tom. Eager as the lad felt to learn about the experiences of Dick and Jimmy, he could not forget that the mission entrusted to him by Colonel Brookes Sylvester should be carried out before anything else was thought of.

Excitement was in the air. Every sound from the outside seemed to possess an ominous note that thrilled. In their fidgety movements, and their voices, which in spite of the most earnest efforts persisted in vibrating, the lads showed the effects of it all.

“I’ve got the finest bit of news for you, Jimmy!” exclaimed Tom. “I’ve met your uncle, Colonel Brookes Sylvester, and——”He stopped short, struck by a peculiar expression which sprang into the young pianist’s eyes. “Why—what’s the matter?”

“You met my uncle!” exclaimed Jimmy. “How—when?”

In a very few words the Rambler explained, and when he had finished both he and three others were astounded.

Jimmy, his face set and stern, was pacing up and down.

“I’m not going back to Texas—at least not just now!” he blurted out with savage earnestness.

“Not going back to Texas!” echoed Tom, in amazement. “I—I don’t understand.”

“I’ll make you! Oh, it’s all very well to try and smooth things over with soft palaver.” Jimmy the pianist was working himself into a passion. He spoke rapidly, snapping out his sentences in a jerky fashion. “The colonel notified the police, the Texas Rangers, and every one else in authority to arrest me. To arrest me—did you hear?” The last words came out like a shout.

“You—you don’t understand, Jimmy!” cried Tom.

Jimmy paid no attention.

“And then he said,” the remembrance increased the scowling lines on his forehead, “that he didn’t think I was of the rough and ready sort who could fight his own battles in the world!”

“But, Jimmy, suppose he did. That’s nothing!”

“Not to you, maybe, Tom! My uncle ordered me to return to Brownsville as though I were but a little kid. He said enough in five minutes to make me mad for five years!”

“It’s all a whopping big mistake!” protested Tom energetically. “Let me tell you——”

“Dick,” the pianist’s hand came down on the Rambler’s shoulder, “couldn’t understand why I refused to skip over to Texas with him; now he knows!”

Jimmy’s sensitive nature had been far more deeply touched than even his uncle had dreamed. He vehemently protested that he did not intend to be arrested by the Texas Rangers or any one else; that he would prove to Colonel Brookes Sylvester’s entire satisfaction his ability to get along in the world.

SILENTLY THE LADS OBSERVED THEMSILENTLY THE LADS OBSERVED THEM

SILENTLY THE LADS OBSERVED THEM

SILENTLY THE LADS OBSERVED THEM

“I’ll admit in the past I’ve been too much a hothouse kid, but,” he banged his fist down hard on a table by his side, “never again! No, Tom! I won’t cross over the International bridge with you! Besides, I believe the danger’s all over!”

“‘A hothouse kid,’” cried Dick. “Why—say, fellows, this chap is simply chuck full of grit. He didn’t even want to skip down into the cyclone cellar when shells were bursting all around the plaza. And——”

Heavy footsteps on the veranda, and resounding deep, bass voices, brought the explanations and arguments to an abrupt conclusion. They grew momentarily louder and on looking toward the door leading into the building the boys saw half a dozen burly Mexicans soon emerge from the soft, mellow depths of the interior into the bluish gray tones of the shade outside.

“Christopher Columbus!” murmured Dick.

They, themselves, were partly concealed from view behind several towering shrubs, and the newcomers failed to discover their presence. Silently the lads observed them. Their hearts beat faster. Crouching far backinto the friendly shelter they watched and waited, while the swarthy-looking men strode here and there, their spurs clinking faintly as they walked.

They were all in a high good humor, rough and boisterous; and in a playful spirit overturned tables, upset plants, and flipped with their quirts any stray glasses or crockery-ware which came in their way, chuckling loudly when the patio echoed to the sounds of smashing glass.

After five minutes of silence and suspense on the boys’ part, the revolutionists strode back into the building and disappeared.

During all this time Tom Clifton had been doing a tremendous amount of thinking. Jimmy, he realized, after long pondering over his imaginary wrongs, had worked himself into such a state of mind that at the present time he was no longer amenable to reason. It seemed to have the effect, too, of dulling his senses to the perils which still surrounded them.

Anarchy, lawlessness, disregard for either the lives or property of people, characterized that period of the troublous times in Mexico.If the pianist could not be induced to return to Texas by arguments, he must be made to do so by other means.

“Of course,” murmured Tom, “he’ll be furiously angry for a short time. Then say it was the best thing that ever happened to him.”

The moment the Constitutionalists’ footsteps had ceased to sound he was whispering a plan to Bob. The Rambler chief nodded.

“Bully for you, Tom,” he replied in equally low tones. “We’ll do it!”

“Dick,” exclaimed Tom, suddenly, “do you think the other chaps are all right?”

“Yes!” responded Dick. “I’ll tell you now——”

“It’s a jolly fine thing to feel that way,” interjected Bob, earnestly. He lowered his voice. “But we don’t want to do any more talking just now!”

Wonderingly, Jimmy Raymond followed them as they cautiously started for the doorway. A little reconnoitering showed that the interior was deserted.

The broad, sunny plaza presented an entirely different scene from any which had beforegreeted their eyes. It wore all the appearance of an armed camp. Stacked rifles were gleaming in the light. Cavalry horses hitched singly and in groups occupied almost every available place. Booted and spurred revolutionists, with cartridge belts worn about their waists or slung across their shoulders, filled the square. It was an ever-moving throng, which sent up a ceaseless jabbering of talk, of shouts and yells, while the pigeons fluttered about the belfry of the ancient church and dared not to venture down in their familiar haunts below.

“Poor chaps!” exclaimed Dick, in low tones. His eyes were following a squad of Federal soldiers—prisoners, being escorted by armed guards across the square. “This is no place for us!” he added.

“Let’s steer straight for the American Consul,” suggested Jimmy. “I know the house—that’s one of the jobs he gets paid for—protecting United States subjects.”

“On to the stable!” said Cranny, softly.

With many a fear tugging at their hearts, the five stole down the veranda steps expecting to hear challenging cries hurled towardthem at any moment. Good luck, however, attended their efforts, and each slipped inside the stable door with a muttered expression of satisfaction.

“Can you ride, Jimmy?” asked Tom.

“I certainly can!” answered the pianist.

“That’s bully! You jump up behind me. Cranny’ll go with Dick. For goodness’ sakes, fellows, don’t let’s get separated again—whew, some hot day this all around, eh?”

“Oh! if young ‘Starlight’ were only here!” growled the Tacoma lad.

Bob Somers held a brief consultation in a guarded tone with Dick and Cranny. Their eyes opened wider. “Sure thing, Bob! We understand,” whispered the Rambler.

“Now!” exclaimed Tom, in a stern, authoritative voice. “I’m going in the lead. Keep close behind me, and,” he shook his finger emphatically, “don’t question any direction I may take!”

“All right!” said Jimmy.

“I guess we won’t go many blocks!” murmured Cranny.

Tom poked his head outside the door, after a quick glance around, exclaiming: “Comeon, fellows; lead ’em right to the rear. Ready? No noise now!”

It was a job that made their nerves tingle anew, for a number of men were sprawling in the shade not so very far away.

The crowd managed it, however. Tom was the first to spring into the saddle.

“Come along, Jimmy!” he exclaimed, with a long, deep breath. The young pianist without an instant’s hesitation jumped up behind him.

“Let ’er go, Tom,” he said. “Yes, don’t bother. I’ll hold on tight!”

At the head of the little procession Tom started off, turning into the first street at the rear of the hotel. Very few of the inhabitants of the town were to be seen, but their eyes could not roam far in any direction without taking in some of the victorious cavalrymen.

Riding at a cautious pace and carefully choosing the side streets, many of which were practically deserted, they were soon a considerable distance from the hotel.

Had there been less excitement and confusion it is almost certain that the victorious Constitutionalists would have quickly stoppedthem and demanded explanations. But the soldiers, flushed with victory, were too busy searching for the richest spoils to concern themselves very much with a handful of passing horsemen.

True it was that many a pair of fierce, questioning eyes was turned upon them, and the five felt their hearts beat fast when a galloping horse was pulled up with a jerk, and its rider addressed them in a rough, loud voice.

“Buenas dias, señor,” said Bob, politely. “Buenas dias, señor,” said the others with equal gravity. The man, for a moment, looked at them with a puzzled expression, then muttering to himself continued on his way.

Becoming bolder by degrees, they clattered along at a good rate, past the still smoking ruins of the Municipal Palace, by the side of a row of buildings on Commerco Street, of which only the jagged, smoke-begrimed walls remained. Débris filled the streets, telegraph poles lay across their path, wires were strewn about, and broken and scarred walls gave evidence of the terrific violence of the artillery fire.

“See here, Tom, I don’t believe you’re going in the right direction!” exclaimed Jimmy at last.

The Rambler made no reply, for the threatening actions of four armed Mexicans standing in front of the iron railings which surrounded the handsome library had attracted his attention. The building, a wreck from the effects of shot, shell and fire, was now but a gaunt reminder of its former stateliness.

Jimmy was thinking of this when Tom suddenly looked over his shoulder and addressing the riders close behind, exclaimed:

“Now, fellows! Look out!”

The four Mexicans were running fast toward them; just as each began to utter a voluble string of words, Tom gave his mustang a touch of the quirt and swung into another street, soon leaving the men far to the rear.

Then, casting aside the last vestige of caution, the Rambler gradually increased his pace until the hoofs of the horses were sending abroad a loud warning of their presence.

Jimmy was amazed.

“Stop! Hold on, Tom!” he yelled. “NowI know you’re going in the wrong direction. Hold on, I say!”

He turned his head. With a swift glance the lad saw Bob Somers and Dick Travers thundering along on either hand, their faces tense and stern.

“Bob, he’s taking us half the town’s length out of our way!” he shouted. “Stop him!”

“Get up, old boy, git up!” in Tom’s loud, gruff voice were the only words he heard in response. Whereupon a sudden suspicion entered the young pianist’s mind. Just ahead he caught a glimpse of the Rio Grande, and a pile of grim old buildings which lined its bank. But a short distance from them, the International bridge crossed the river.

When his next loud commands received no answer, Jimmy realized with a feeling of the deepest anger that his surmises had proven to be correct. He began to storm, to coax and even to threaten.

“It’s all right, Jimmy!” yelled Bob. “It was the only thing we could do!”

A hot breeze blew in the lads’ faces. Dogs barked, or dashed out to snap at the ponies’ heels; people stared in wonderment. On andon they thundered, at an ever-increasing pace, until the white adobe houses, the stuccoed walls, the fields and trees seemed to blend together into a continuous streak of varied color.

Jimmy, a captive in the hands of the boys he had liked so well, still stormed and growled. He was helpless, however, to interfere in the slightest degree with the course of events.

Now sweeping into the wide road which followed the bank of the Rio, the lads saw but a short distance ahead the International bridge. It was a wooden structure, heavy and crude in appearance, little suggesting its impressive title.

At any other time the horsemen would not have been allowed to cross in so unceremonious a fashion; but apparently all the officials whose duty it was to look after outgoing and incoming travelers had fled from the scene.

Only a few cavalrymen were about, and they were too far from the entrance to give the boys any concern.

As his horse clattered out on the planks, Tom Clifton could not restrain a loud cry of exultation. Jimmy now would soon realize thewisdom of their actions and the folly of his own.

The clouds of choking dust still kept pace with them; a thunderous din of dashing horses was carried off on the still, hot atmosphere.

It was heard by United States soldiers guarding the American side; it also reached the ears of two members of the Texas Rangers on duty for the time being at the same important post.

These men eagerly watched the approaching riders, who with the hot sun beating relentlessly down upon them tore at unslackened speed over the last stretch of the journey.

Presently the lads, enveloped in the center of a cloud of whirling dust, pulled up and sprang to the ground—safe on United States soil.

They were immediately surrounded by soldiers, Rangers, and inhabitants, and from every side a torrent of questions rang in their ears.

One of the Texas Rangers, with a sharp, quick glance toward Jimmy Raymond, took no part in the talking, nor did he seem to payany heed to the replies which the fugitives were rattling off as fast as their weary condition would permit.

The officer stood scanning a headquarters order; then, nodding his head affirmatively, he stepped forward and laid a hand on the Texas boy’s shoulder.

“Son!” he exclaimed quietly. “You’re wanted!”

At last Jimmy Raymond, the young pianist, was in the hands of the Texas Rangers, the men whom he had so ardently wished to avoid.

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