The Border Boys with the Mexican Rangers

“I sincerely hope that he will set them on the track of those ruffians,” said the man of science severely, “Mexico should be known as a land of law and order like the United States.”

“Yet I have heard that you occasionally have train robbers and all sorts of terrible criminals in the United States, senor.”

The senorita spoke gently, but like all of her race, she was patriotic and a flash of fire was in her eye as she spoke.

“But we try to get rid of them, senorita,” stammered the scientist, somewhat taken aback at this self-possessed young lady’s reply.

“And so do we, senor,” was the answer, which caused Coyote Pete to chuckle, “but you see, they won’t always wait to be caught.”

“You speak English charmingly, senorita,” said the professor, in an endeavor to change the subject and pay a compliment at the same time.

“That is to the credit of one of your American colleges, senor. I was educated at Vassar University.”

The boys exchanged glances. So that explained the senorita’s poise and self-possession, which were far more those of an American girl than of a languishing Spanish beauty.

“I must compliment Vassar,” said the professor, bowing his angular form. But he had forgotten that he was riding bareback and was not the most accomplished of horsemen in any event. His attempt at courtliness almost caused his downfall, for, losing his balance, he would have slipped from his gaunt steed if he had not grasped it desperately by the wither lock with one hand while his arm encircled its neck.

From this undignified position he was rescued by Coyote Pete, who spurred swiftly to his side, – it will be recalled that Coyote had saved his spurs out of the general loss of property – and aided him to recover his balance.

They all had the grace to refrain from laughing, although the temptation was a sore one. The man of science, glancing suspiciously about him, was unable to detect the shadow of a smile on any of their faces, although the senorita did find it necessary to lean over and adjust her stirrup leather. When she looked up, however, her face was quite demure.

From time to time, as they rode forward over the level savannah, they glanced behind them. But the intervals grew longer as the distance between them and the Mexicans increased, and there was still no sign of pursuit.

“I guess they’ve discovered our escape, all right,” said Jack, “but don’t venture to chase us toward the town.”

“That’s it, I reckon,” said Coyote Pete, “and in any event, with our horses we could outdistance them all with a mile start.”

“All of them except that big black of Ramon’s,” said Jack.

“Guess you’re right,” agreed Coyote, “I’d like to know if there air any relatives of that animal hangin’ around. I’d buy ’em if it bust me. You don’t meet up with a bit of horseflesh like that every day of your life.”

An hour later, without any incident worthy of mention having occurred, they clattered through the sleeping town of Santa Anita, and, as daylight broke wanly, they found themselves outside the white walls surrounding the princely hacienda of the wealthy Don Alverado. But if the town was asleep, all seemed to be awake here. Lights could be seen flashing in the house which stood on a small eminence some distance from the outer walls.

As they neared the gate of the estate, it flew open and a dozen horsemen, fully armed, dashed out.

“Surrender, caballeros,” they cried in Mexican, “or we shall kill you without mercy.”

“Hold your horses,” hailed back Coyote Pete, quite oblivious of the fact that, in all probability, none of the horsemen understood that free and easy form of English.

But to the boys’ surprise the cow-puncher’s words were greeted with a shout of laughter from the advancing ranks, and a fresh young voice cried:

“Who are you, – for the love of Mike?”

“We are Americans who have brought back the Senorita Alverado,” cried Pete, and was going on, but his words were drowned in a ringing cheer. The next minute explanations ensued. It appeared that the party which had sallied out at their approach was made up of young American mining engineers, resident in the neighborhood, who, on hearing of Don Alverado’s loss, had at once formed themselves into a posse.

They had been starting out on a hunt for the abductors of the Don’s beautiful daughter when they heard the advance of our party. Surmising that it might be the outlaws returning to commit further outrages, they had concealed themselves and dashed out intent on capturing or killing the disturbers of law and order.

Their enthusiasm over the news of Senorita Isabella Alverado’s rescue knew no bounds. Wheeling their horses they dashed off up the broad drive leading to the house to inform the Don, – who was anxiously pacing his library, – of the good news. They were followed, at a more sober gait, by the Border Boys and their party.

“My poor father! He must have known heavy grief in the past few hours,” breathed the senorita, as they approached the house. Jack was struck by the unselfishness of the thought. Of herself the senorita made no mention nor of all that she had endured at the hands of the outlaws. It was only of her father that she appeared to think.

Don Alverado, a tall, dignified looking old Spanish gentleman, with a gray goatee and aristocratically pointed moustaches, stood on the steps of the porch as they came up. His daughter threw herself from her mount as they drew close, and rushing into her father’s arms, was held there for a brief interval. After his first emotion at recovering his daughter had subsided, Don Alverado bade the servants take the Americans’ horses, and came forward, warmly thanking them for their services. It made the boys feel rather shamefaced to be thanked in such emotional fashion, for the Don would insist on kissing each of them, and by the time he got through his face was almost as black as their own sooty countenances.

Then they entered the house where, after they had enjoyed refreshing baths, a hasty breakfast, but magnificent in its appointments, was served. In the meantime, Senorita Alverado had slipped upstairs and donned a clinging gown of black, in the bosom of which flashed an immense diamond. The boys gazed at the wearer of the gem with more admiration than at the stone itself. If Senorita Alverado had looked beautiful in the lone rancho she appeared absolutely regal now.

“I see you regarding that diamond with interest, gentlemen,” said Don Alverado, “it has an interesting history. It was the present to me many years since of a man who had received it from an Indian sheep herder. This man, according to my friend, had found a wonderful cave in some mountain that he called the Trembling Mountain. My friend tried to get him to give some detail, but the Indian declared that devils lived in the mountain who would kill him if they knew he had revealed the secret of their dwelling place to the outside world; so that except for the fact that there is the stone, – and you can see for yourselves it is a beautiful one, – I regret I can tell you no more details. But, even as it is, the diamond is doubly interesting outside of its intrinsic value on account of its history.”

As the professor made no mention of their own peculiar interest in the legend of the Trembling Mountain, Jack and the rest said nothing about it. But, perhaps, all their hearts beat a little faster at this convincing proof that the strange story of Mr. Stetson’s dead protege was true.

But it had been a long night and the lads could hardly keep their eyes open, even their sense of politeness flagging under the leaden feeling that had come into their eyelids. The Don noted this, and at once suggested bed. It was high time, too, as the early sun was already beginning to light up the magnificent grounds about the place, and the boys felt like regular night owls.

Servants in gorgeous livery escorted each lad to a bedroom furnished with the gloomy magnificence characteristic of the Spanish race. But not one of them noted his surroundings as, tumbling into the deliciously cool, clean sheets and sinking into the downy mattresses, they dropped into slumber as profound as it was dreamless.

CHAPTER XIV

EL FIESTA

It was evening before the party reassembled. On arising each member of our party found, neatly folded upon his bed, a complete outfit. Investing themselves in which, they felt more like human beings again. For this kindness the Don would not hear of being paid.

“It is only a small part of my indebtedness to you,” he declared.

After the evening meal that night, which the boys vowed was a starlight breakfast, the Don informed them that the next day being a Saint’s Day and a holiday in the village, he had arranged for a series of sports of the country and a great fete. This was partly in recognition of his gratitude at his daughter’s recovery.

“As you are all good horsemen, possibly you may wish to participate,” went on the Don; “the prizes will be worth competing for. In the lassoing contest the prize will be a double-cinched saddle of Cordovan leather, silver mounted. In a novel game called Tilting the Ring, my daughter has donated as first prize a pair of silver spurs. The second prize in both events will be bridles fitted with silver-mounted bits and appendages. There will be other games, races and so on, but these two contests are the most interesting.”

Of course, this set the boys all agog. Their first rather bashful feelings at the sumptuousness with which they were surrounded, vanished, under the stimulus of discussion of the forthcoming contests. They all, with the exception of the professor, entered for the Tilting the Ring contest, which will be described later, while Coyote Pete and Walt Phelps put down their names as contestants in the lassoing events. Besides these, there were races and jumping contests, in all of which the boys decided to compete.

The next morning dawned fair and still. Jack, on opening the leaded sash of his window, gazed with delight at the landscape below him. Softly rolling hills spread far and near, dotted with park-like groves of trees. Cattle could be seen in the distance, and Jack guessed that they were part of the herds controlled by Don Alverado. At the foot of the hill upon which the hacienda stood, lay the red roofs and white walls of the village, with its cathedral towers rising above the green vegetation which picturesquely was intermingled with the dwellings. Blue smoke ascending into the still air from the chimneys proclaimed the fact that Santa Anita was astir early on the day of the Don’s fete.

Breakfast was a merry meal, and the boys gazed admiringly at the senorita, who looked more beautiful than ever in a white morning gown with a dewy rose stuck jauntily in her black hair.

“Say, she looks like an old Spanish painting, only more so,” observed Jack to Ralph, as, leaving Walt and Pete to look after the stock and the professor to examine the Don’s extensive library, they sauntered off to view the preparations.

“Seems to me you are taking a lot of interest in old Spanish paintings, my gallant youth,” chuckled Ralph with a knowing look.

Jack reddened.

“The Don has a whole gallery full of them,” he said, “and naturally I made comparisons.”

“With the advantage in favor of the living type,” chuckled Ralph; “say, you’re as easy to see through as a spy glass, and – ”

“See here, Ralph Stetson, you shut up or I’ll soak you,” sputtered Jack, looking rather sheepish over his companion’s raillery.

Ralph deemed it prudent to change the subject.

“They certainly do things in style here,” he said, gazing in admiration at the scene of busy preparation which was going forward on the level fields at the base of the hill on which the hacienda was situated. Jack agreed with him. Already a big force of men was at work roping off a course for the sports, and decorating the poles in the national colors.

At one end of the course several peons were erecting a rather tall pole with a swing cross-bar affixed to the top. From this cross-bar depended a cord to which was attached a ring by a snap contrivance. At the other end of the bar hung a heavy bag filled with sawdust. This was for the game of Tilt the Ring, as they were to learn later. Each contestant was required to pass a lance through the ring so skillfully as to remove it from the snap bolt. If he did not succeed it was obvious that the bag of sawdust would swing around and deal him a blow before he could get out of its reach.

“Looks like a bully game,” opined Jack, after the two boys had asked some questions of an English-speaking peon, “but what happens to you if the sack hits you?”

“Maybe stick on. More maybe you fall off,” grinned the man.

“Humph,” grunted Ralph, “I don’t know so much about that game. Looks pretty strenuous to me.”

Soon after, they visited the stables where Coyote Pete and Walt already were. Coyote had his lariat out, stretching it and getting it supple and ready for the afternoon’s test, for the sports were to commence after the midday meal. Walt was rubbing the knees of his horse with care. Firewater and Petticoats, – for Ralph had given his new pony the old name, – whinnied as Ralph and Jack entered, and their glowing eyes and shiny coats showed that they were in fine fettle. In a stall by them stood the horse they had appropriated from the outlaws. It was a fine beast, somewhat heavy, perhaps, but strongly limbed and sinewed.

“I’ll bet Ramon would give a lot to have that horse back,” observed Jack, gazing at the beast admiringly.

“Yes, considering that we chose him in the dark and in such a hurry, I don’t think we made a bad choice,” was Walt’s rejoinder.

The boys ate sparingly at noon day, despite the variety and splendor of the dishes set before them. They felt that they were the representatives of America at the games, and that it would not do to risk a tummy-ache or any other uncomfortable feeling. Ralph, however, eyed the various dishes longingly, having, as we know, a fastidious appetite. But Jack’s whispered, “You’re in training,” was enough to keep him to the agreement they had made before luncheon.

“I will have your horses saddled for you and brought round,” said the Don, after the conclusion of the meal. He was preparing to give the order to a servant when Jack interposed.

“Without meaning any discourtesy, Don Alverado,” he said, “we would rather saddle up Ourselves. You see – ”

“Say no more, say no more. It shall be as you wish,” said the Don, but it was plain to see that he was rather nettled over the Americans’ independence.

“You see,” Jack explained to his chums later, as they wended their way to the stables, “the lower orders of Mexicans have no love for Americans, and they are capable of putting up any tricks on us. I don’t say that they would, but then again it’s best to be on the safe side.”

A chorus of assent greeted this. It did not take long to saddle up, the necessary trappings being among the gifts which Don Alverado had insisted on showering on the saviors of his daughter. The party had protested that they were well able to pay their own way, but the Don would not hear of it.

“We do not treat our guests thus, in Mexico,” he said, “and you, of course, know that the hospitality of the old dons of Spain was proverbial.”

The Americans made a fine-looking cavalcade as they rode at an easy trot down to the field where the contests were to be held. All wore sombreros, held under the chin by a strap of rawhide. Riding trousers of the loose, Mexican style, red sashes and short jackets completed their attire. It was in fact only by their clear, cleanlooking skins and erect bearing that you could have told they were not of the Spanish race.

A large crowd had already gathered when they reached the “lists,” as the scene of the contests might be called. People came in costly carriages with great C-shaped springs, in humbler vehicles, and in back-country burro carts. From the town a great procession streamed out on foot, and everywhere there were Caballeros dashing about on fiery horses, riding with the reckless abandon of the Mexican horseman.

“We’re up against a likely looking lot of horsemen,” said Ralph, as they came in full view of the gay scene.

“We’ll have to do our best,” said Jack simply, “the more skilled our opponents are, the more credit it will be to us to defeat them if we can.”

In a corral some distance off were the cattle that were to be used in the lassoing contests. A curious crowd was gathered about them expatiating on their good points. All at once a band broke out into the Mexican national hymn as the Don and his daughter, accompanied by a party of guests, rode up to their seats in a small stand, protected by a striped awning, placed immediately opposite the tilting ring apparatus.

“Gee whillakers, it’s hard to believe that we’re in the twentieth century, ain’t it?” asked Coyote Pete, as he gazed about him.

“It’s like Don Quixote,” cried Ralph, quite carried away by the shifting pictures of color and life on the greensward about them.

“Donkey who?” inquired Coyote Pete, whose reading in the classics had not been extensive.

“Oh, a certain old gentleman in Spain whose specialty was going about rescuing beautiful maidens and getting into trouble.”

“Wall, that seems to be us,” observed Pete dryly. “But look, the Don is announcing the first contest. It’s the race to the town and back agin, carrying a letter to the city hall, or whatever they call it, and returning with an answer. Whoever makes the best time wins a fine horse blanket and a silver-mounted quirt. Any of you boys in it?”

“No, I want to keep my mount fresh for the tilting,” said Jack.

“Same here,” announced the others.

They watched the contest with interest, however. It was won by a small Mexican on a wiry little animal who sped into the town and back in seemingly incredible time. As soon as he could escape from the congratulatory crowd, the wiry little horse was spurred toward where our friends stood in a group waiting for their contests to be announced.

“For you I have the letter,” he said, as he rode up and extended a bit of paper.

“A letter for us. Impossible!” exclaimed Jack. “Who could have sent it?”

“It’s addressed ‘Senor Jack Merrill,’ sure enough,” cried Ralph, “and the address is printed, too.”

“Somebody trying to disguise his hand,” commented Jack, taking the note. “Well, let’s see what it is, any how.”

The note was only folded and when opened proved to contain but a few words, but those words were fraught with meaning.

“Be on the lookout to-day. You are in great danger.”

“Well, what do you know about that!” exclaimed Coyote Pete. “Is it a genuine warning, I wonder, or jest a trick to keep us out of the contests?”

“Hard to say,” rejoined Jack. “Where’s that little Mexican who brought it?”

But the man on the wiry little horse had vanished and a diligent search by the adventurers failed to disclose him.

CHAPTER XV

BY FAIR MEANS OR FOUL

A bugle note cut short their search. It proclaimed that the start of the tilting contest was at hand. The boys, accordingly, rode up to the stand where the senorita handed each of them and the other contestants a sharply tipped lance decorated with white, green and red, the national colors.

They were then informed of the rules of the contest, which were simple. Each contestant was allowed twenty-five tries at the rings, and the one gaining the greatest number of points was to be the winner. A blow with the sawdust bag was to count one point off. As the Don finished announcing the rules, the Mexicans gave a yell and a flourish of their lances and galloped off to the starting point.

Jack, Ralph and Walt saluted with a wave of their hats and flourish of their lances, and then headed off after them. Their little display of gallantry caused quite a murmur of admiration to run through the crowd. This was increased to enthusiasm when it was seen how easily and well they sat their active little horses.

“Diablo! Those Gringoes can ride!” exclaimed more than one Mexican in evident amazement that any American could sit on a horse at all.

At the starting line the lads dismounted, as they did not wish to impose any more exertion than was necessary upon their ponies. Leaning their lances against the ropes of the course, they gave themselves over to studying intently the methods used by the tilters, some of whom were old hands at the game, or so one would judge by the confidence they displayed.

“By George, those fellows are doing magnificently,” Jack had to admit, as one after another the Mexican contestants dashed down the human-fringed lane and neatly transfixed the ring without bringing the heavy sack around.

The next instant a roar proclaimed that one victim had been struck, and peering down the course the boys could see the one who had failed galloping off, shaking his spear angrily, while his hat hung all awry on his head from the force of the blow the sack had dealt him.

But while everybody was still laughing at the mishap, and addressing all kinds of jocular remarks to the victim, Jack suddenly turned around as he heard a peculiar noise behind him. He was glad he had done so, for as he faced about the figure of a Mexican slipped away in the crowd. The fellow had been standing by the group of lances assigned to the Americans. With a few quick steps Jack reached the implements and found that an attempt had been made to saw one of them through in the middle. The rascal who had attempted the trick, however, had been detected so quickly by Jack’s vigilance that he had not had time to do much more than scratch the tough ash handle.

“Guess I’ll take charge of those lances,” said Jack to himself, and he proceeded to do so.

The next minute Walt was summoned to take his turn, and leaped into the saddle with a bound. Jack handed him a lance, making no mention of what he had discovered, for he had no wish to make his chum nervous.

Down dropped the starter’s flag, and off dashed Walt down the lane of faces, his mount going like the wind. As he neared the post he crouched and drove his lance, as he thought, straight for the ring. But alas! he hit the arm of the tilting apparatus and around came the sawdust bag, hitting the Border Boy a blow on the head that almost knocked him out of the saddle. A chorus of yells and jeers that made Walt’s ears burn, greeted his failure. He was much downcast, as he rode back to the starting place to await his turn to try again.

Ralph came next and fared no better than Walt. But he was more easy-going about it.

“Guess I’ll do better next time,” he shouted to the laughing Mexicans, none of whom understood him.

Now came Jack. On account of his mount, – little Firewater, – he perhaps attracted more attention than the others. At all events, a great ripple of sound swept like a wave through the crowd as he dashed down the lists. But as the Border Boy neared the ring and couched his lance for the tilt, a sombrero was hurled from the crowd, striking Firewater full in the eyes and causing him to stop and swing with an abruptness that would have sent a less practiced rider flying, and perhaps have caused him serious injury. But if this had been the intent of the man who hurled the hat, it failed, for Jack kept his seat almost without a perceptible shifting.

“A hundred pesos to the man who finds and captures that scoundrel!” shouted the Don angrily. “Senor Merrill, come here.”

Thus summoned to the stand, Jack became the center of all eyes.

Jack swept by in a cloud of dust and transfixed the ring.

“That was an outrage, senor, for which I apologize to you in the name of my country,” said the Don, his voice quivering with real chagrin.

“Oh, it was cowardly!” cried the senorita, clasping her hands impulsively.

“Most probably it was the act of some irresponsible person,” declared Jack, unwilling to give his host more pain.

“He shall suffer for it if he is caught,” was the rejoinder; then turning to one of the officials of the course, the Don told him to announce that Jack would try again.

This time a roar of genuine surprise went up as Jack swept by in a cloud of dust and transfixed the ring as deftly as any of his predecessors.

“Bravo!” cried the Don, “and shame on any of my countrymen who will not say likewise.”

This had its effect on those within hearing of the Don, but on the outskirts of the crowd, where the lower element of the town predominated, low hootings and expressions of dissatisfaction were heard.