CHAPTER XXUNDER FIRE
Atfour o’clock on the following morning the little frontier town in Mexico began to be the theater of some exciting events.
A Constitutionalist cavalry force, numbering several thousand, under cover of darkness had formed a ring of steel to the west and south. And while the inhabitants, lulled to a sense of security and indifference by the long delay, slept on in peace, the artillery got into action.
The siege was on.
The rattle and boom of machine and field guns in the dreamy silence of the morning made a din which probably aroused every one in town.
At the very first detonations four Americans in the hotel facing the plaza sprang from their beds.
Dick Travers and Cranny Beaumont occupied a room together. As a faint, rosy lightfrom the eastern sky dimly illumined the interior, they stared at one another, their eyes brightening with excitement.
“Great Scott!” cried Dick, breaking a strained silence, “so it’s come at last, eh! We’d better tumble into our togs, and get out of this!”
“Listen!” exclaimed Cranny breathlessly.
The report of a shell, bursting not far away, had drowned, for an instant, the steady rattling and booming of guns which came from the distance.
“There’s going to be a hot time, all right!” almost shouted Dick, with a leap reaching the window.
The big plaza, quiet but a few moments before, began echoing to the tread of hurried feet. The sound of loud and excited voices, and the sharp clatter of horses’ hoofs as a mounted rurale galloped across jarred noisily on the air.
Cranny sprang to his companion’s side. A soft glow from the early morning sun suffused the scene, lighting up the bell tower of the ancient adobe church with poetic effect.
Somewhere a bugle was blown; from anotherpoint came an answer, in the same musical notes.
As another loud explosion was heard and a cloud of white smoke rose above the roofs of a group of buildings to the north the boys concluded to lose no more time.
“Those shells aren’t a bit particular where they drop!” gasped Dick, “and if one should happen to——”
“Quite right!” said Cranny with a faint grin.
As fast as they had ever done in their lives the two slipped into their clothes, and were just in the act of adding the last finishing touches, when a peremptory bang on the door panel sounded simultaneously with the voice of George Parry: “Hurry up! We’re waiting for you, boys!” he yelled loudly. “Don’t waste an instant!”
Dick flung the door wide open. Outside in the corridor stood the three Americans.
“Boys,” exclaimed Professor Kent, in calm, even tones, “you’d better saddle your horses without a moment’s delay and make straight for the International bridge—ah!”
Heavy rifle firing from the intrenched Federaltroops, defending the town, had just started up, and the roar of their cannon, replying to the Constitutionalists’ fire, gave an indication that the battle would be desperately waged.
“And stay in Texas until this scrap is over,” exclaimed Ralph Edmunds. “I’m mighty glad those other two chaps are safely out of it. We’ll see you as far as the bridge and——”
Cranny Beaumont, his face fairly shining with excitement, shook his head emphatically.
“I’ll not budge an inch from this town until we find Jimmy Raymond!” he cried.
“Of course we won’t!” chimed in Dick.
“By George, I’d clean forgotten about him!” declared the newspaper man, hurriedly. “He struck me as being a helpless sort of chap, too. Yes; that’s our first duty—come on, fellows!”
As the party dashed down-stairs and out on the veranda, they saw the big square filled with a panic-stricken mob of men, women and children, hurrying in all directions, some burdened down with bundles and bags.
It was almost impossible to associate theplace with the calm of those moonlit evenings when the strains of soft music floated over the air, and laughing, black-eyed señoritas promenaded to and fro beneath the shadows of the mulberry trees. The boys gathered the sense of the scene without seeing many of its details. They could think only of the young pianist, who, as he listened to the firing and the commotion in the streets, must be experiencing feelings of dreadful fear.
“Poor Jimmy!” muttered Dick. “We must get him out of this mighty soon!”
To their great relief they found the stableman and the hotel proprietor in the building at the rear.
A rapid volley of Spanish came from both men when they dashed pell-mell inside. But only Edmunds understood the meaning of their words.
“What do they say?” panted Cranny.
“That the other side of the Rio Grande is the safest place for us all,” responded the newspaper man, rapidly. “Of course,” he shrugged his shoulders, “I’m too accustomed to the smell of powder and smoke and the rattle of guns to let a thing like this makeme want to cut and run. But,” he paused to let the import of his words sink deeply into their minds, “remember; any one who stays in this town is taking his life in his hands.”
“I should rather say so!” said Parry, cheerfully.
It was still dark in the stable, but by the pale, weak rays of a couple of ill-smelling oil lanterns they managed to saddle the horses. The little burro was not disturbed.
The mustangs, scenting danger, reared, plunged or snorted, and when free of restraining halters made every effort to dash away.
By this time the danger had greatly increased. A shell, dropping on one of the market stands in the plaza, and exploding with a terrific report, sent a shower of lumber, boxes, and baskets in all directions, besides shattering every pane of glass in the buildings near by.
“Now it’s your turn to get a whiff of smoke and powder!” cried the special correspondent. “Everybody ready? Come on then, to the rescue of Jimmy, and keep your eyes open!”
Leading the mustangs outside, men and boys sprang into the saddles. There was no need to use either quirt or spurs on the frightened animals. They started off, even before their riders were comfortably seated, and at a speed which endangered the safety of the ever-moving throngs of Mexicans, clattered across the broad plaza.
The slowly strengthening rays of the sun and the reflections of the golden orb itself, flashing like jets of flame from some of the upper windows, gave a singular air of peace and tranquillity to the scene strangely out of harmony with the noise, the confusion and the excitement in the narrow, twisting streets.
What with the roar of the artillery, the incessant crackling of rifles, the occasional bursting of a shell, and the realization that they were just as likely to be running into danger as out of it, Cranny Beaumont found his longing for thrills fully gratified.
As the horsemen swung into the street on which Jimmy Raymond’s hotel was located, they observed behind barricades of beams and sand-bags piled on the roofs of some of thehigher buildings the tops of tall conical hats and gleams on rifle barrels.
In the crowded street they were often obliged to slow up, much to the annoyance of Edmunds, who perhaps understood more fully than his companions the grave peril of their situation. His one object was to get the lads on the United States side of the International bridge, and every instant he was experiencing a dull, deadly fear that something might happen to prevent him from carrying out this plan.
Now and again rurales came galloping along, by their reckless riding and loud yells adding to the turmoil. There were no cries of “Gringo” heard just now; the Mexicans, intent upon their own troubles, scarcely seemed to notice the presence of the Americans in their midst.
“By Jove! I was never gladder to see anything in my life!” shouted Dick to Cranny. The hotel with the big cottonwoods in front had just loomed into view. “I reckon the poor chap is having the scare of his life.”
“Maybe he won’t be glad to see us!” responded Cranny.
As the four clattered up to the entrance, the Tacoma lad slipped off the back of his plunging horse and thrust the bridle into Dick Travers’ hands.
“I’ll get him out, fellows,” he gasped. Then an expression of dismay came over his features. For the first time he had taken a careful look at the building. It wore a silent and deserted appearance.
“I was afraid of it!” groaned Edmunds. “But for goodness’ sake, Cranny——”
The lad had already dashed toward the open door, so the newspaper man’s sentence remained unfinished.
Cranny Beaumont felt that his mission was doomed to failure; a loud ringing yell uttered when he reached the foot of the stairs only brought back a series of hollow, weird echoes. He rushed up, calling as he went, “Jimmy, hello, Jimmy, are you here? Jimmy!” And still no answer from the young pianist came to his ears.
The door of the room stood wide open and one glance inside told him that his fears were well founded—Jimmy was gone. The Texas boy’s belongings lay scattered about in thegreatest confusion. Everything pointed to the fact that he had made a hurried exit.
“Nothin’ doin’!” groaned Cranny. “Maybe he’s safe on the other side o’ the Rio an’ maybe he isn’t! Now I wonder what we’d better—— Great Scott!”
A frightful explosion, which seemed fairly to jar the boards beneath his feet, accompanied by the sounds of breaking glass, sent him, pale-faced and trembling, against the wall. With a dreadful fear tugging at his heart, he heard a wild clamor in the street just below and saw a column of white smoke rising against the low adobe building on the opposite side of the street.
Cranny Beaumont’s terror lasted only an instant. Rushing down-stairs at topmost speed, he made for the street, uttering a cry of dismay when he discovered that the horsemen were no longer grouped before the entrance. Nor did he see any one else. Men, women, and children had all vanished.
In the wall of the building across the way he saw a large gaping hole, shattered glass and a partly demolished balcony. From the windows came puffs of smoke.
The Tacoma lad grasped the situation on the instant. The horses, rendered unmanageable, had taken fright and bolted. He experienced a distinct feeling of relief. At any rate, it seemed to prove that neither his companions nor any of the Mexicans had been injured. And now he was forced to think of his own plight. Without a horse, and separated from the others, what was to be done?
“First of all see if I can put out that fire,” he decided.
One look inside the building, however, showed him the futility of any attempt to fight the rapidly increasing flames. On the lower floor every piece of woodwork seemed to be ablaze. Red tongues of flames crackled and sputtered—the smoke constantly rolled forth in greater volumes.
“It’s a goner!” gasped Cranny. “Hello!” His ears had just caught the sound of steadily marching feet, mixed in with a musical jingle. He looked down the street, to see a long line of Federal soldiers and several pack-trains of mules, drawing machine guns and ammunition, passing an intersection.
Cries of “Viva Mexico!” shouted in rough,bawling voices, distracted Cranny’s attention for the moment from the peril of his situation. Here and there in the distance people were again daring to venture forth into the streets, though a hail of bullets occasionally smashed against the buildings, and the reports of bursting shells still sounded at intervals.
“Whew! It’s certainly a big risk, stayin’ here!” muttered Cranny. “What an awful shame I’ve lost my horse!” He looked anxiously about, hoping to see some signs of his companions. “An’ certainly some risk goin’ away. If I did, they’d sure get back the very next minute—Julius Cæsar! I don’t understand what can be keepin’ ’em!”
But for the distant roar of the Federal and Constitutionalists’ artillery, and the steady popping of rifles, an unnatural quietness seemed to hover about. Pacing in front of the big cottonwoods, he often gazed at the burning building across the way. The street was filled with a thick yellowish smoke and showers of sparks fell about him. An adjoining shed caught fire.
It seemed very strange to be witnessing a fire with no effort made to fight it.
“What a great country,” he mused. “I wonder how the scrap’s goin’? The rebs certainly won’t have any picnic capturin’ this old town. By George! I’d like to steal out to the firin’ lines—yes, sir—an’, but for us, I guess Ralph Edmunds would have been there long ago.”
The sound of the firing became more desultory now. It began to look as though the revolutionary forces might be beaten back, and the ring of steel encircling the town broken and scattered to the surrounding hills.
Cranny found it increasingly difficult to control his impatience. To remain inactive any longer was torture to him. He scorned the thought of crossing the International bridge without first learning what had become of his companions and Jimmy Raymond.
“I’ll be as game as Ralph Edmunds ever was,” he muttered, with the old flashing light returning to his eyes. “Besides from now on I’ll need every bit of that kind of stuff I’ve got.” He grinned. “Maybe the fellows won’t be——”
Two sounds reaching his ears almost simultaneously broke the rest of the sentenceoff with a jerk. One was the report of an exploding shell, dangerously near, the other the faint clatter of horses, evidently tearing along at a furious speed.
“By Jove! I really believe they’re comin’ back at last!” shouted the Tacoma lad joyously. “Whoop! Oh! if it’s only so—anyway—it’s certainly somebody, who wants to get somewhere else in a few ticks of the clock.”
The street close at hand was now beginning to show some signs of life again. The burning building proved an attraction which brought a number of men running toward the scene, and Cranny once more heard a loud jargon of Spanish. He saw some of the people as they pattered up dividing their attention between him and the fire; though he was perfectly indifferent to their stares, for the clatter of the galloping horses was momentarily rising higher.
“There they come!” The lad excitedly spoke his thoughts aloud.
Far ahead around a bend two riders, enveloped in the soft haze of the early morning, had suddenly appeared into view. At first glance it looked as if their horses were beyondcontrol, for neck to neck the animals raced, while the riders sat astride their backs with all the ease of Mexican vaqueros.
But the anxious Cranny Beaumont, his nerves tingling with expectancy and hope, quickly perceived that the horsemen were neither Mexican vaqueros, nor any of the riders who had so recently disappeared.
“Great Julius Cæsar!” he burst out explosively. With eyes fairly bulging, he watched the Mexicans scattering to let the horsemen pass. He heard a few shouts of “Gringo! Gringo!” Then a wave of wild exultation swept through him. In the exuberance of his joy he tossed his wide-brimmed sombrero high in the air and caught it as it fell.
“Whoop! whoop!” he yelled. “Go it, Tom! Go it! Show ‘Whirly-gig’ your heels! This is a bit of luck, sure enough! Great Scott! I’m more glad’n ever to be alive!”
Amidst a whirling cloud of yellow dust Bob Somers and Tom Clifton pulled up their panting, steaming mustangs, to gaze, with expressions of the utmost surprise, at the highly delighted Tacoma lad.