  Estramadura was enjoying his triumph to the full. Bowing this way and that, a slender, graceful figure, looking in his red costume like a flash of fire against the sun-drenched yellow sands of the arena and the colorful stands beyond, he showed no disposition to retire so long as the ovation continued. And the hysterically delighted Mexicans apparently did not intend to subside so long as they had breath to cheer. Minute after minute rolled by while the uproar continued and, if anything, grew in volume. All about and below the little group of Americans on the topmost tier of seats on the shady side of the arena were men and women who apparently had become temporarily insane. At least, so their actions would seem to indicate. They threw their arms about each other in true Latin abandon. They sent straw sombreros sailing out. Some fell in the arena, others on the heads of those below, and when the latter accident occurred it merely tended to heighten the general excitement. Silver pieces of various denominations spouted up and out from the crowded stands to go whirling and sparkling in the sunshine and fall to the floor of the arena where Estramadura’s attendants scurried hither and thither, retrieving this largess of his worshippers. Doubtless, somewhere in the background waited Juan Salento, champion matador of Mexico. But he was not in evidence. And doubtless he was saying to himself that he would have to produce a sterling performance, indeed, in order to bear comparison with the daring and skill of this invader from Spain. But not a cry was as yet raised for him, not a voice as yet pleaded for a resumption of the program. The populace still thrilled to Estramadura’s deeds. “Won’t they ever stop?” demanded Mr. Hampton of the army flyer. So tremendous was the tumult that, even though there was none behind them, and they were above the uproar, he had to bend close and raise his voice in order to make himself heard. Captain Cornell started to make some laughing response, but while he was in the midst of it he felt a sharp tug of his arm. They were all standing up in order to see above the heads of those below them who likewise had risen to their feet and, in many cases had climbed upon the seats. Turning he saw the tug had been given by Frank, who was staring past him to attract Mr. Hampton’s attention. “Hey, what’s the matter? The fight got you excited, too?” he demanded, noting the flush of excitement on Frank’s cheeks and the glitter in his eyes. “Jack wants you two to look. Down there, two rows below us and to the left.” Frank was shouting, although bending close to the pair on his right. “He says that’s your cook—what’s-his-name—Ramon, Mr. Hampton. And he has an idea, Captain, that the man with him is Ramirez.” “Where? I don’t see,” cried Captain Cornell, staring. But Mr. Hampton’s eye had picked out Ramon, and in a word or two he directed the flyer so that the latter likewise saw. Ramon was a true Mexican. Like his neighbors he had cast restraint aside under the fever engendered by the recent exhibition in the arena below, and he was standing up, cheering himself hoarse. Having once located the old cook, the flyer’s glance passed on to the man on Ramon’s left. His gaze narrowed. Then he gave a sharp exclamation. “D’you mean that’s Ramirez?” demanded Mr. Hampton, who had been watching his companion. “I don’t know,” confessed the flyer. “I never saw Ramirez. But I’d say that that man certainly answers the description of the so-called ‘Master Mind’ which Jack Hannaford, the old Ranger, gave me. Blue marks on his cheek as if from powder burns and a nose beaked like a parrot’s. If I could only see him walk now, and see whether he has a limp of the right leg!” All five stared intently at the unconscious pair who continued to whoop it up along with the rest of their compatriots, as if they had no thought in the world except to do honor to the Spanish matador. But there is something compelling in the concentrated gaze upon the back of one’s head of even one individual, something which frequently compels the object of such attentions to face the quarter whence the stare emanates. How much more compelling, then, if five persons fix their minds and thoughts upon one poor human target! It was so with Ramon. Suddenly he faced about a puzzled frown on his features. His eyes roamed this way and that, as if searching. They passed unrecognizingly over the faces of the flyer and of Bob and Frank. But then they lighted up with recognition as they fell first upon Jack and then upon his father. With recognition and with something more. What was it? Fear? At any rate, Ramon suddenly turned back, gripped his companion by an arm and began to address him. His words, of course, could not be heard by the watchers above him, but that he was talking about them there could be no manner of doubt. “By golly,” exclaimed Jack, suddenly, leaning forward to call to his father. “He’s recognized you and me. Duck, the rest of you. Let Ramirez see only us when he looks.” There was such a tone of command in Jack’s voice that instinctively his listeners obeyed. They had only to sink back into their seats to be protected from the burning gaze of Ramirez by the figures of those standing up in their seats in the row between them, should the renegade turn around. And turn around he did, a moment later, thus justifying Jack’s precaution. Obviously unwilling to face again the gaze of the Hamptons whom he had left in the lurch when he deserted their desert household, Ramon, nevertheless, faced about along with Ramirez. That he did so at the latter’s command was plain to be seen, for Ramirez gripped the older man by an arm. Ramon indicated his former employers, then dropped his gaze. Not so Ramirez, however, whose deep eyes stared boldly, insolently, as if he sought to engrave the features of the Hamptons in his memory. Jack and his father withstood the scrutiny, which lasted only a moment, and, in fact, did a bit of staring in return. The face of the renegade was a mask of evil. Once seen, it would not soon be forgotten, Jack for one felt assured. And he congratulated himself on his forethought in persuading his companions to drop out of sight before Ramirez turned that camera-like eye upon them. Otherwise Ramirez would have been able to recognize them all again. And Jack had a feeling that somebody was going to be needed to keep an eye on this fellow, as soon as the crowd in the arena broke up and they all took their departure. That Ramirez would wait until the ending of the event he did not question. What was his surprise, therefore, to see the latter face about and, gripping Ramon by an arm, start to make his way through the crowded stand toward the nearest stairway exit. Jack and his father looked at each other. Their thought was the same. Ramirez and Ramon should be followed. But for either of them to shadow the precious pair would be foolish, inasmuch as they were known. Somebody else, someone of their companions, would have to play detective, if the others were to be kept in sight. The cheering continued. They were as much alone in that mass of frenzied Mexicans as if on a desert island, so far as any recognition of their presence extended. For Jack to have questioned his father would have been perfectly safe. Nobody would have overheard who it was not intended should overhear. But spoken words were unnecessary. A question was asked and answered in glances alone. Then Mr. Hampton bent down and addressed the flyer, acquainting him in a few brief words with the fact that Ramon and Ramirez were leaving. “They know both Jack and me,” he said, “so it would be useless for us to follow them. But I’m worried about my friend Don Ferdinand. These men may know something about him. At least we ought not to let them get out of our sight, if we——” Captain Cornell did not wait for further words. He climbed up on the seat and prepared to make his way along it toward the stairway. A quick glance showed him Ramirez and Ramon attempting to thrust their way toward the same destination, and making heavy going of it because of the densely packed mass of humanity that intervened. Another swift appraisal brought out the fact that he would be able to reach the stairway well ahead of them, in all likelihood, inasmuch as all the occupants of the topmost row of seats were standing up, thus leaving the bench free for him to walk on, with no interference such as Ramirez and Ramon were experiencing from another row of persons above. “Keep out of trouble,” warned Mr. Hampton anxiously, and the flyer laughed. “We’ll be waiting at the hotel to hear from you.” As the Border Patrol man darted away along the bench, hastening so as to accomplish his purpose before the occupants resumed their seats, Bob who was the last in line of the party swung up behind him. “The Army can’t get all the fun,” he chuckled, brushing aside the restraining hand which Jack instinctively thrust out to halt him. A moment later he was too far away to be dragged back, and all his companions could do was to stare after him with mouths open in dismay. “No, you don’t, Frank,” said Mr. Hampton suddenly, making a dive for Frank. The latter had attempted to climb up on the seat and set off in pursuit of his big pal. “Come on, Mr. Hampton,” begged Frank, “be a Sport.” The older man shook his head. “Two will be plenty for the job,” he said. “I wish Bob hadn’t gone, and I’d have stopped him if I could. I hope no trouble comes of it. And I suppose Bob will be all right, because Captain Cornell can get help by making his rank known, in case the necessity of an appeal to the Mexican police arises. Nevertheless, I won’t be comfortable until I hear from Bob and the army man again. And I’d feel even more uncomfortable if you had gone, too.” “Oh, I say,” protested Frank. “I can take care of myself as well as Bob.” “Yes, I know,” answered Mr. Hampton. “The truth is you probably can take care of yourself better than Bob, that is you think a bit faster. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. But, there. Cornell and Bob, as you see, have reached the stairway and disappeared down it, while Ramirez and Ramon are still ten or twelve feet distant and held up by the crowd. That’s good. Our boys will be able to wait for them outside, and should manage to follow them without arousing suspicion.” “I was thinking of Don Ferdinand, Dad,” said Jack. “And so were you, I could tell. I wonder now whether Ramirez is really mixed up with the Don’s failure to keep his appointment with us today?” “I’d say he was,” said Frank. “Remember that telegram spoke of ‘important developments’.” Mr. Hampton nodded. “Yes, and that’s why I thought it would be wise for Cornell to trail those two rascals. But I can’t help wishing that Bob hadn’t gone.” “Well, it’s too late to be mended now,” said Jack, practically. “There. Ramirez and Ramon also have reached the stairway. There, they have started down. It’s a good thing Bob and Captain Cornell were so situated that they managed to get down first. It certainly will make matters easier for them.” Mr. Hampton nodded. “Yes, and a good thing they got away when they did, for, see, the crowd is beginning to subside at last.” The boys gazed below them at the stands. Many still shouted, but large sections were desisting and beginning to sink back into their seats. As for Estramadura, the matador, he had disappeared. The corpse of the slain bull likewise had been removed while their attention was otherwise engaged, without their having been aware of what was transpiring in the arena. “Now I expect this other matador, the Mexican, Juan Salento, will have his chance to show his prowess,” said Mr. Hampton. “Well, I suppose we may as well see it out. We’d have a hard time leaving now, anyhow, for once the next bull fight begins it would be much as our lives would be worth to try to pass in front of these fellows in making our way to the exit.” They resumed their seats, and Jack leaning over the parapet behind them searched the ground far below for signs of his companions or their quarry but without success. The exit was hidden from his view. Then he turned back to Frank and seeing the latter’s woe-begone expression he burst into a laugh. “Brace up, old thing,” he said, slapping Frank on the back. “I feel just as bad about being left behind as you. But what must be, must. We’ll have our chance yet, never fear. I feel in my bones that something is going on that spells action for us.” |
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