Bert Wilson at Panama

by Madeline Leslie

  CHAPTER II

  THE PURSUIT

  Down at the ravine, stretched out at full length beneath the shade of agreat tree, Bert and Tom were watching the progress of the work, as itslowly neared completion. There was more to do than was at firstthought, but after making allowance for this, it seemed to drag onendlessly.

  "Not much genius in that crowd, I imagine," said Bert.

  "What do you mean?" asked Tom, looking up in surprise.

  "Why," returned Bert, "I forget what philosopher it was--Carlyle, Ithink--who says in one of his books that 'genius is only an infinitecapacity for hard work.' You don't see much of it straying around loosehere, do you?"

  "Well no," laughed Tom, "not so that you would notice it. I've just beenlooking at that fellow over there with a hammer. I'll bet I could take anap in the time it takes him to drive a nail."

  "They ought to have as foreman one of those husky, bull-necked fellowsI've seen in some of the section gangs laying out a railroad in theNorthwest," went on Bert. "Those fellows are 'steam engines inbreeches.' There isn't much loafing or lying down on the job when they'rearound. When they speak, the men jump as though they were shot."

  "Yes," answered Tom, "or perhaps a mate on a Mississippi steamboat wouldfill the bill. Those colored roustabouts certainly get a move on whenthey feel his gimlet eye boring through them."

  "After all, I suppose the climate is a good deal to blame," mused Bert."It's hard to show much ginger when you feel as though you were workingin a Turkish bath."

  "Right you are," responded Tom. "We fellows born and bred in a coldclimate don't realize how lucky we are. It's the fight with old mothernature that brings out all that's strong and tough in a man. I guess ifthe old Pilgrim Fathers had landed at Vera Cruz instead of on the 'sternand rock-bound coast' of New England they'd have become lotus eaterstoo."

  "Well, that's what we're getting to be already," said Bert with a yawn,"and if I lie here much longer I'll strike my roots into the bank."

  "Sure enough," assented Tom, "here we are talking about the laziness ofthese fellows, but I don't see that we're wearing any medals for energy."

  "Energy," drawled Bert. "Where have I heard that word before. It soundsfamiliar, but I wouldn't recognize it if I saw it. I don't believe thereis any such thing south of the Rio Grande."

  "Come, wake up," retorted Tom. "Get out of your trance. I'll tell youwhat I'll do. Do you see that tree up there? I'll race you to it. Thatis, if you give me a handicap."

  "Done," said Bert, who could never resist a challenge. "How much do youwant?"

  "How about a hundred feet? That oughtn't to be too much for a Marathonwinner to give a dub like me."

  "You don't want much, do you?" laughed Bert. "Your nerve hasn't sufferedfrom the heat. But get your lead and I'll start from scratch."

  Tom, quick as a cat, was not to be despised. On more than one occasionhe had circled the bases in fifteen seconds. But he was no match for thefellow who at the Olympic games had won the Marathon race from thegreatest runners of the world. For a little he seemed to hold his own,but when Bert once got into his stride--that space-devouring lope thatfairly burned up the ground--it was "all over but the shouting." Hecollared Tom fifty feet from the tree and cantered in an easy winner.

  Tom had "bellows to mend" and was perspiring profusely, but to Bert ithad simply been an "exercise gallop" and he had never turned a hair.

  "Well, you got me all right," admitted Tom disgustedly. "I've got nolicense to run with you under any conditions. But at any rate the runhas waked me up. I've lost some of my wind, but I've got back myself-respect. But now let's go and hunt Dick up. I wonder where he isanyway."

  "Probably stretched out on a couple of seats and taking a snooze,"guessed Bert. "I'll bet he's lazier even than we are, and that's sayinga good deal."

  "Well, let's rout him out," said Tom. "Come along."

  But when they reached their section of the car, Dick was nowhere to beseen.

  "Taking a snack in the buffet, perhaps," suggested Bert. "There'ssomething uncanny about that appetite of his. I'd hate to have him as asteady boarder."

  But here their search was equally unavailing. The attendant at thebuffet did not remember having seen any one of his description lately.

  "Great Scott," ejaculated Tom. "Where is the old rascal anyway?"

  Bert bent his brows in a puzzled frown. It certainly did seem a littlequeer.

  "He must be close by somewhere," he said slowly. "He can't have vanishedinto the thin air. Perhaps the porters or the train men have seensomething of him."

  With a growing sense of uneasiness they went from car to car, but themystery remained unsolved until they reached the engineer.

  "Sure," replied that worthy, "I know who you mean. He was talking to mealongside the engine here."

  "How long ago?" asked Bert, anxiously.

  "O, it must be all of two hours," was the reply. "I remember it was justa little while after the train stopped. When he left me he started upthat road," pointing to the path beside the track. "Said he was going tostretch his legs a little."

  "Two hours ago!" exclaimed Bert.

  "And not back yet!" cried Tom.

  The boys looked at each other and in their eyes a great fear was dawning.

  "O, I guess he's all right," said the engineer, "though he certainly wastaking chances if he went very far. Things are rather risky around herejust now, and it's good dope not to get too far away from the trainunless you're pretty well 'heeled' and have got some friends along."

  But his last words fell upon unheeding ears.With a bound, Bert was back in the car, closely followed by Tom. Theyrummaged hastily in their bags until they found their Coltrevolvers--the good old .45s that had done them such good service intheir fight with the pirates off the Chinese coast. Not a word wasspoken. There was no time for talk and each knew what was passing in themind of the other. Dick was gone--dear old Dick--and at this verymoment was perhaps in deadly peril. There were only two things to bedone. If he were alive, they would find him. If he were dead, theywould avenge him.

  That they were taking their own lives in their hands in the effort to aidtheir comrade did not even occur to them. It seemed the simplest thingin the world. It was not even a problem. Not for a moment did theyweigh the cost. Were they hucksters to split hairs, to measure chances,when their comrade's life hung in the balance? As for the risks--well,let them come. They had faced death before and won out. Perhaps theywould again. If not--there were worse things than death. At least theycould die like men.

  They thrust their weapons in their belt, threw a handful of cartridges ineither pocket, leaped from the car and started on a run up the road.

  As they ran, they gathered speed. The road fell away like a white ribbonbehind them. The wind whistled in their ears. The canter they hadalready indulged in had put them in form and their anxiety gave wings totheir feet. No time to spare themselves when every minute wasprecious--fraught with the chances of life or death. More than oncethey had run for glory--now perhaps they were running for a life. Andat the thought they quickened their pace until they were fairly flying.

  Their keen eyes scanned each side of the path for some sign of Dick'spresence, but not until they came to the turn in the road was theirsearch rewarded. Then they stopped abruptly.

  Something had happened here. There were no signs of a struggle, but theground was torn up as though by the pawing of horses. The upturned earthwas fresh at the edges and the prints of hoofs could be clearly seen. Abit of cloth fluttered on a tree and a broken strap lay on the ground.An ace of spades near by made it look as though a card game had beensuddenly interrupted and this impression gathered force from the presenceof an empty bottle that still smelled strongly of mescal, the villainouswhisky of the Mexicans.

  Like hounds on the scent the boys circled round the spot, trying to getthe meaning of the signs. Their experience in camping had made them thekeenest
kind of woodmen and they could read the forest like an open book.Bert's sharp eyes caught sight of the bark of a sapling freshly gnawed.By its height from the ground he knew at once that this had been made bythe teeth of a broncho. The mark of a strap a little lower down showedthat the beast had been tethered there. All around the clearing he went,until he had satisfied himself that at least twenty horses had beenstanding there a little while before.

  Tom in the meantime had been studying the hoofprints. One of themespecially arrested his attention. He followed the trail some hundredfeet and came running back to Bert.

  "One of those horses has carried double," he panted. "See how muchdeeper and sharper his prints are than the others. And though he startedoff among the first he soon came back to the rear. The others with alighter load got on faster."

  Bert hastily confirmed this conclusion. There was no longer any room fordoubt. They saw the whole scene now as clearly as though they had beenon the spot when it happened. Dick had come unexpectedly and unarmedupon this band of guerillas. They had at least been twenty to one, andhe had had not the ghost of a chance. They had carried him off into themountains. For what purpose? God only knew.

  But at least they had spared his life. There was still a chance. Whilethere was life there was hope. And they would never leave the trailuntil that last spark of hope had gone out in utter darkness.

  Now that they had fully settled in their own minds just what hadhappened, the next thing in order was to plan the rescue. And thispromised to be a tremendous task. The chances were all against them.They had no delusions on that score. The odds of twenty to two wereenormous. Mere courage was not enough to settle the problem. With aheart of a lion they must have the cunning of a fox.

  The boys sat down on the grassy bank and cudgeled their brains. Thefierce excitement of the last few minutes had gone down, to be replacedby a steady flame of resolution. Bert's mental processes were quick aslightning. He could not only do, but plan. It was this instantperception and clear insight, as well as his pluck and muscle, that hadmade him a natural leader and won him the unquestioned position he heldamong his friends and comrades. Like a flash he reviewed in his mind thevarious plans that occurred to him, dismissing this, amending that, untilout of the turmoil of his thoughts he had reached a definite conclusion.

  He lifted his head from his hands and in short crisp sentences sketchedout his purpose.

  "Now, Tom," he said, "we've got to work harder and quicker than we everdid before. Here's the game. Make tracks for the train. It must bepretty nearly ready to move now. Go through Dick's bag and get hisrevolver. It may come in handy later on. Grab another big bunch ofcartridges. Get the pocket compass out of my valise. Go into the buffetand cram your pockets full of bread and meat. We might shoot small gameenough to keep us alive, but shooting makes a noise.

  "Do these things first of all, and then hunt up Melton. You know whom Imean--that cattleman from Montana that we were talking to yesterday.He's a good fellow and a game sport. He told me he was going to Montilloon business connected with his ranch. That's the first station on theother side of the bridge. The train will be there in an hour. TellMelton the fix we're in. He's chased outlaws himself and he'llunderstand. Ask him to go to the American Consul the minute he gets toMontillo and put it up to him that American citizens need help and needit quick. It's an important town and we'll probably have a consul there.If not, ask Melton to put the facts before the Mexican authorities.They don't love Americans very much, but they're a little afraid that theWashington people may mix in here, and they may not want to get in badwith them. Besides they hate the guerillas just about as much as we do.Anyway we'll have to take the chance."

  "How about following the trail?" suggested Tom. "There are plenty ofbloodhounds around. They use them to chase the peons and Yaquis. ShallI ask Melton to send some along if he can?"

  "No," replied Bert. "I thought of that, but their baying might give usaway. If they suspect pursuit, they might kill Dick and scatter beforewe could get to them. You and I are woodmen enough to follow a trailmade by twenty horses. If there were only one they might get away withit, but not when there are so many. Now get a move on, old man. I'llwait for you here studying the signs, and we'll start as soon as you getback. If reinforcements catch up to us, all right. If we can get Dickwithout them so much the better. If not, they'll help us later on."

  Without another word Tom leaped to his feet and was off down the roadlike the flight of an arrow.