Bert Wilson at Panama. Duffield J. W.
the merciless, penetrating light of day. Their hopes were dashed, but they had to yield to the inevitable. They were turning back dejectedly to their improvised camp, when Bert stopped short in his tracks.
"What was that?" he whispered, as he grasped Tom's arm.
"I don't hear anything," returned Tom.
"I did. Listen."
They stood like stones, scarcely venturing to breathe. Then Tom, too, caught the sound. It was the faint, far-off tramp of horses. Bert threw himself down with his ear to the ground. A moment later he jumped to his feet.
"Three horses at least," he said quickly. "Get in the shadow of the rock and have your gun ready."
They crouched down where it was blackest and strained their eyes along the road up which they had come. Nearer and nearer came the cautious tread, and their fingers fidgeted on the trigger. Then a faint blur appeared on the moonlit path. Another moment and it resolved itself into a burly figure riding a wiry broncho and leading two others. The moonlight fell full on his rugged face and the boys gave a simultaneous gasp.
"Melton!" they cried, as they rushed toward him.
At the first sound, the newcomer had grasped a carbine that lay across his saddle, and in a flash the boys were covered. Then, as he recognized them, he lowered the weapon and grinned delightedly. In another second he was on the ground and his hands were almost wrung off in frantic welcome.
"Guessed it right the first time," he chuckled. "Melton sure enough. You didn't think I was bluffing, did you, when I said I'd come? If I'd left you two young fellows to make this fight alone, I could never have looked a white man in the face again. We Americans have got to stick together in this God-forsaken country. It's a long time since I've ridden the range and taken pot-shots at the greasers, but I guess I haven't forgotten how. But now let me get these bronchos hobbled and then we'll have a gabfest."
With the deftness of an' old frontiersman, he staked out the horses where the grazing was good, and then the three sought the shelter of the rock. The boys were jubilant at this notable addition to their forces. His skill and courage and long experience made him invaluable. And their hearts warmed toward this comparative stranger who had made their quarrel his, because they were his countrymen and because he saw in them a spirit kindred to his own. Not one in a thousand would have left his business and risked his life with such a fine disregard of the odds against him. Up to this time they had had only a fighting chance; now they were beginning to feel that it might be a winning chance.
The old cattleman settled his huge bulk on the pile of boughs and drew his pipe from his pocket. Not until it was filled and lighted and drawing well, would he "unlimber his jaw," to use his own phrase, and tell of the day's experience.
"I figured it all out on the trail," he began, as he leaned back comfortably against the rock, "and the minute we got to Montillo, I made a bee line to the American Consul. A fellow in brass buttons at the door wanted my card and told me I would have to wait in the anteroom. But I'm a rough and ready sort of fellow – always believe in taking the bull by the horns and cutting out the red tape – and I pushed him out of the way and streaked right into the consul's private office. I guessed the old man was kind o' shocked by my manners – or my lack of them – but he's a good sort all right, and when I gave him straight talk and told him I wanted him to mix war medicine right away, pronto, he got busy on the jump. He sent out one of his men to get me three of the best horses that could be had and then he scurried round with me to the big Mogul of the town – sort of mayor and chief of police rolled into one. I ain't much on the lingo, but I could see that the old boy was handing out a pretty stiff line of talk, and that the mayor was balky and backing up in the shafts. Not ugly, you know – anything but that. He was a slick proposition – that mayor. Smooth as oil and spreading on the salve a foot thick. Shrugging his shoulders and fairly wringing his hands. So sorry that anything had happened to these good Americanos whom he loved as though they were his brothers. He was desolated, broken-hearted – but what could he do? And every other word was manana – meaning tomorrow. That word is the curse of this country. Everything is manana – and then when to-morrow comes, it's manana again."
"Well, the old man stood this for a while, and then a sort of steely look came into his eyes that meant trouble and he sailed into him. Say, it did my heart good. Told him there wasn't going to be any manana in this. If there was, Mexico City would hear of it and Washington would hear of it, and before he knew it he'd be wishing he were dead. Those boys had to be helped mighty quick. He must call out his guards, get a troop of cavalry and send them off on the run. I backed up his play by looking fierce and rolling my eyes and resting my hand kind o' careless like on my hip pocket. I guess the mayor had visions of sudden death at the hands of a wild and woolly Westerner – one of those 'dear Americanos whom he loved as a brother – and he came down like Davy Crockett's coon. He started ringing all sorts of bells on his desk and sending this one here and the other one there, and promised by all the saints that he'd have them on the trail within an hour or two. To make it surer I asked the consul as a special favor to say that if they didn't come, I'd be back in a day or two – drop in kind o' casual as it were – to know the reason why."
He chuckled, as he refilled his pipe and went on:
"Of course, I couldn't wait around there on any such chance as that. We went straight back to the consul's office and these three horses were waiting for me. They ain't much to brag of and I've got some on my ranch that could lay all over them. But they're gritty little beasts and the best that could be got on such short notice. The consul lent me his rifle which seems to be a pretty good one, and I've got the pair of revolvers that I always carry with me.
"Then I struck the spurs pretty sharply into the broncho and lighted out. I knew there wasn't much daylight left and we certainly did some traveling. I wanted to get up to you before dark if I could, but you had too big a start. I had no trouble in following the trail – I've tracked Sioux Indians before now, and these Mexicans are babies compared to them, when it comes to covering up – and when the dark came on I knew I wasn't very far behind. Then as the horses were still full of go, I just dropped the reins on their neck and let them meander along. So many horses have passed this way that I felt sure they would get the scent and keep on in the right direction. And as you see I wasn't very far out.
"Well," he ruminated, "I guess that's about all."
"All!" exclaimed Bert, warmly. "As if that wasn't enough. I never knew a finer or more generous thing. You've put us in your debt for life."
"Yes," broke in Tom, "for sheer pluck and goodness of heart – "
"Come, come," laughed Melton, "that's nothing at all. It's I who owe you a lot for the chance to get into such a lively scrap as this promises to be. I was getting rusty and beginning to feel that I was out of it. But now I feel as though twenty years had dropped away since this morning, and I'm just aching to hear the bark of a gun. It takes me back to the wild old days, when a man's life depended upon his quickness with the trigger. My blood is shooting through my veins once more, and, by thunder, I'm just as young at this moment as either of you fellows."
"Did you get any idea at Montillo who this guerilla chief might be?" asked Bert.
"Why, yes," replied Melton, slowly and almost reluctantly. "Of course they're only guessing, and they may not have the right dope. But while the consul was spelling with that mayor fellow, I caught every once in a while the word 'El Tigre.' That means 'the Tiger' in our language, and on our way back to the office he told me enough to show how well the name fits him. Some of the stories – but there," he broke off, checking himself abruptly, "it's getting late, and we've got to be stirring at the first streak of daylight. Now you fellows turn in and I'll sit here and figure things out a little."
Bert and Tom vigorously protested that they would take turns in watching, but he waved them off with a good humor that still had in it a touch of finality.
"Not a bit of it," he said. "More than once I've gone days and nights together without a wink of sleep, and felt none the worse for it. I'm a tough old knot, but you young fellows have got to have your sleep. Besides, I've got a lot of things I want to think out before morning."
Under his kindly but forceful persistence, there was nothing else to be done without offending