CHAPTER XI.
BILLY BARNES IS TRAPPED.
Billy Barnes, impulsive as the dash he had made seemed, had not takenthe step without duly balancing the dangers and difficulties that wouldattend it. True, he had come to his decision with what appeared to becareless haste, but the truth was that he was a young man who was bytraining quick to arrive at conclusions and just as speedy to executethem. He knew perfectly well that if he had talked over his meditatedcourse with the boys, that they would have vetoed his undertaking, andsince the adventure of the jaguar, in which he felt he had not shown upto very good advantage, he was eager to distinguish himself in some way.
Moreover, he was urged forward by his newspaper pride, which counseledhim to attempt, at any rate, to accomplish what would be the biggest“scoop” of years and make a story that would be talked about for manydays, even by the short memoried denizens of Park Row. So Billy plungedforward into the jungle with a light heart. He knew nothing whatever ofwoodcraft, but that fact did not daunt him in the least. He was wellprovided with money, and so felt no particular apprehension that hewould starve, or suffer any serious discomforts. He figured on reachingRogero’s camp in at least two days’ time. What action he would takeafter he arrived there he had decided to leave according to the waythings shaped themselves.
The first day of his journey nothing of note occurred. At Amagana, avillage on the San Juan river, he had hired a horse, a decrepit,antiquated animal with plenty of “fine points,” its owner averred,—“youcould hang your hat on some of them,” remarked Billy to himself. Thesteed, however, came up to his simple requirements and his owner assuredhim that there wasn’t a kick in the beast. The young reporter alsostocked up his food bags with such portable provender as he could obtainand struck out in the direction in which the last reports had placedRogero’s forces.
He made camp the first night out with a number of wild-lookingNicaraguans from the interior on their way to the coast with a shaggyherd of small cattle. They were in a big hurry, as either Rogero orEstrada would undoubtedly have levied on their cattle if they hadencountered them. From them Billy learned that they had heard heavyfiring the day before at a place about twenty-five miles from where theywere then encamped, and by signs and such English as he could commandthe leader of the herders indicated to Billy that by following up theriver he would undoubtedly get within the line of the government troopswhich were following its course on their way to Greytown.
Bright and early the next morning Billy saddled his disreputable-lookingsteed, amid much merriment from the graziers, and jogged off along atrail that led through the jungle along the river bank. He rode hard allthat day and at nightfall was rewarded for his progress by a number ofuniformed men suddenly appearing from the jungle at his horse’s head andpointing their rifles at him.
“Americano—me Americano!” shouted Billy in all the Spanish he knew,“take me to General Rogero.”
All that the soldiers of Zelaya could make of this speech was Billy’sexplanation of his nationality and the name of their General. One man,who seemed to be their leader, motioned to Billy to dismount, and thenbriefly ordered one of the privates to take charge of the reporter’shorse. This done, the man who had given the order signed to Billy tofollow him and struck off into a path that wound in a direction awayfrom the river bank.
Now, Billy had as stout a heart as most of his craft, and he had been intight places before,—most reporters have,—but to say that it did notbeat a little faster as he stepped out after his guide, would not betrue. It was a bold bit of bluff that he had decided on—a plan that ifit made good, would result in the complete discomfiture of Rogero—but,on the other hand, there was more than a chance that it might fail, inwhich case, as Billy fully realized, he would find himself in a mightytight place.
He had an unpleasant consciousness also that the soldiers, one of whomwas leading his horse, had closed in about him so that even if he hadchanged his mind at the eleventh hour and decided not to risk puttinghis head in the lion’s mouth, escape was now impossible.
“You’re in this thing for fair now,” he remarked to himself, “so gothrough with it with a good front.”
After about half-an-hour of threading the winding path they emergedsuddenly on a sloping hillside bare of trees, and here was campedRogero’s army. Billy had seen the Greytown contingent on the day thatthey marched away from the coast, and the men that he saw scatteredabout the camp now engaged in cooking the evening meal, gambling orstrumming guitars differed in nowise, except in degrees of raggedness,from the soldiers he and the boys had been so amused at.
His arrival in camp seemed to create a lot of curiosity and excitement,but his guide paid no attention to the men who thronged about, pouringin questions upon him, but marched Billy up to a tent over which floatedthe blue and white standard of Nicaragua. There were angry voices insidethe tent as he approached; one of which he recognized as that of Rogero.
A ragged orderly paced up and down in front of the tent-flap, which wasopen to admit the cool air of the evening, and after Billy’s guide hadrapidly jabbered a few words to him, he abruptly marched into the tentand in a moment emerged and beckoned to them to enter. A second laterBilly Barnes stood face to face with Rogero and a little dark-skinnedNicaraguan officer. Outwardly he was calm enough and bowed to thecommander of the Zelayan forces with all the Chesterfieldian grace athis command. Inwardly, however, his heart beat fast and thick for herealized that the time to make good his bluff had at last arrived.
Rogero’s face, as his eyes fell on Billy, was a study. He had beenrolling a cigarette when the reporter was ushered in, but he set downhis tobacco and papers while he palpably allowed the situation slowly todawn on him, and stared at Billy as if he had been some strange wildbeast or natural curiosity.
“You seem to have a strange liking for putting yourself in dangerousplaces, Mr. Barnes,” he said at last, then turning to the littleofficer:
“Leave us alone,” he continued sharply in Spanish, “and,” he added, “ifthe thing is seen anywhere near the camp, fire on it with themachine-guns.”
Naturally Billy didn’t understand this, but the reader may be informedthat the general’s remark referred to “a strange thing” that some of thescouts reported having seen in the distant sky the preceding day. Ofcourse it was the _Golden Eagle_ on her way to the mountains. ThisRogero had been shrewd enough to guess, but that of the ship’sdestination he had no knowledge, goes without saying. The failure of thespy that he had sent to La Merced to disable the craft, had, however,been reported to him and had not tended to put him in an amiable frameof mind. He realized fully that if he attempted to damage Mr. Chester’sproperty or that of any of his friends, that the _Golden Eagle_ would beable, in the hands of her young navigators, to work terrible reprisalsupon his army.
“How did you come here and what do you want?” demanded Rogero the nextminute. “If you are anxious to be shot, I shall be glad to accommodateyou,” he went on with an amiable smile.
“No, I don’t think I’m quite ready to follow your pleasant suggestionyet,” retorted the reporter, “and I think that my country would make itpretty hot for you if you carried it out. I came here to talk business,”he went on.
“What business can you have to discuss with me?” demanded Rogerosharply.
“Just this,” answered Billy, whose nerve was fast returning. “As youknow I have a picture of yours which I don’t think you would like to seeput to the use for which I snapped it. Now, it’s not a professionalthing of me to do, but I want to help out my friends as much aspossible. I will destroy the negative, and refrain from notifying theNew York police of my suspicions of you, on one condition.”
“And what is that?” demanded the Nicaraguan general, his face growingblack as thunder and tapping impatiently with his riding-boot on thedirt floor of the tent.
“Well, you might call it a double-barreled condition, as a matter offact,” replied Billy eas
ily; “it’s simply this,—I want you to give awritten pledge not to injure, or permit any of your army to injure, anyportion of Mr. Chester’s or Don Pachecho’s estates or to destroy anyproperty owned by Americans——”
“In time of war more or less injury is unavoidable,” parried Rogero.
“Not in your case,” replied Billy; “you see you have been advertised byyour loving friends—as the wash-powder folks say—and your views onAmerican property-holders are pretty well known. I don’t think you’dhave a chance to wreak your spite on them.”
“Well, get on to your other condition—what is it?” growled Rogero.
“Just this,” responded Billy sweetly, “Frank and Harry Chester are goodfriends of mine. I haven’t known them very long, but Frank saved my lifethe other night.”
“Another grudge I owe him,” intercepted Rogero.
“Quite likely,” went on the unruffled Billy, “but I’d like to dosomething for them. Now, if I give you this picture will you agree totake a fourth share with the Chester boys and myself in certain minesthat you know of—you see I am on to a good many of your secrets.”
“What mines?” demanded Rogero evasively, “I know of no mines.”
“Well, they haven’t been worked very much recently, and that’s a fact,”rejoined Billy; “but I rather think that you have a bit of parchment inyour possession which contains the clue to them, and if they are as richas the legend has it, then you should be quite willing to take a fourthshare, particularly as you are getting back a picture and savingyourself a trip to the States that might have an unpleasanttermination.”
Rogero sat silent, as if in deep thought, for a few minutes and then,suddenly throwing off his disagreeable manner, he said quite amiably:
“There is a good deal of reason in what you say.”
“Ah,” cried the delighted Billy, “I thought that you’d see the goodsense of it.”
The general gave a peculiar smile. It was almost dark in the tent, butBilly could see his companion’s teeth gleam in their setting of blackbeard and mustache.
“If you will excuse me while I order some lights we will talk more ofthis,” he said slowly, like a man who has come to a sudden decision.
“Certainly,” politely replied the reporter, who was feeling so elatedover his success that the danger of his situation had completely slippedhis mind. Rogero stepped briskly out of the tent into the darkness. Hehad only been gone a few minutes, when from the darkness, which fallsrapidly after sundown in the tropics, the startled reporter heard theloud scream of an animal in pain. He sprang to his feet and made for thetent door.
He ran almost into Rogero’s arms as he reached the entrance.
“What was that awful cry?” he asked anxiously.
“I rather think it was some of my men cutting your horse’s throat,” wasthe calm response. “You see they haven’t had much fresh meat lately.”
A hot flame of anger swept over Billy. The wanton cruelty of the deedenraged him. He raised his voice in an indignant protest when Rogeroheld up his hand.
“You are exciting yourself unnecessarily, Señor,” he protested; “youwill not need the horse any more.”
“What—what do you mean——?” demanded Billy angrily.
“Because I like your company so much that I am going to keep you with mefor a time;” replied Rogero with a laugh.
Hardly realizing what he did, Billy made a dash for the sneering figurethat stood mocking him. Rogero stepped nimbly to one side before thereporter’s furious onslaught and the next minute Billy felt a crashingblow descend on the back of his head. The sky seemed to be filledsuddenly with shooting stars that roared and crackled. There was abright flash of light before the young reporter’s eyes and everythinggrew black.
The Boy Aviators in Nicaragua; or, In League with the Insurgents Page 12