  Bob and Captain Cornell bounded down the long stairway at a breakneck pace, but one which, fortunately, did not succeed in mishap, and emerging upon a rutted dirt roadway on the shaded side of the huge amphitheatre, paused to catch breath and take their bearings. Through the lucky circumstance of having been on the topmost row of seats, they had been enabled to reach the stairway ahead of Ramirez and Ramon. They had brushed by the guard at the head of the stairs without that barefooted swarthy devotee of the bull fight even being aware of their departure. The army man was first to reach the outside, and he was taking a rapid survey of the surroundings when Bob came to a halt beside him. Big Bob was still chuckling over the neat way in which he had managed to take a hand in the adventure, knowing well that a moment more and Mr. Hampton would have laid on him an injunction to stay which he would not have cared to disobey, and fully and keenly aware, besides, that right now Jack and Frank were filled with envy of him. What they saw was a broad straggling roadway encircling the amphitheatre which stood on the edge of town. The last houses of Nueva Laredo lay to their left and some distance away, too far to afford cover in case they wanted to hide while spying on the movements of the two Mexicans who any moment would appear behind them. Across the roadway, however, were parked hundreds of automobiles whose owners, Americans and Mexicans, were somewhere in the crowd watching the bull fight. Captain Cornell’s roving glance fell on these cars, and he made a quick decision. “Come on.” He raced diagonally toward the parked cars, running toward the right in order to get out of the range of vision of anyone descending the stairs. First casting a quick glance behind him and noting that Ramirez and Ramon had not yet come into view, Bob followed. Captain Cornell ducked in behind the first of the cars, a disreputable member of a universally known family, and halted. Bob was hard on his heels. “What now?” asked Bob, with a laugh. Without waiting for the other’s reply he ran an appraising eye over the parked cars. They presented a far different sight from an orderly automobile park in any American city, for they were scattered about the uneven hummocky surface of a sandy field in what looked like inextricable confusion. Nor were any caretakers in sight. As a matter of fact, all male human beings and a good many of the other sex who were anywhere near that amphitheatre were inside of it. Who cared to watch automobiles when he could watch a bull fight, instead! At that moment a renewed outburst of cheering signalized the advent in the arena of the bull which Juan Salento would be called on to fight, and big Bob heaved a sigh. “Golly, listen to that. Did we come out here on a wild goose chase? I don’t believe those two rascals are going to appear, after all. And we’ll go and miss the fight.” But hardly had he completed his lament than Captain Cornell’s warning voice ordered him to stoop below the side of the car, and Bob crouched down. None too soon, if he wanted to escape being seen, for two figures emerged from the exit and stood looking about. There was no mistaking them. Bob was too busy watching through eyes which just topped the side of the car that hid him from view, to talk. He wondered what they would do, but was not long left in doubt. Apparently satisfied, after a long look behind him up the stairway, that he was not for the moment pursued, Ramirez started to cross the road. He did not head directly toward the position where the two Americans crouched in hiding, but, instead, made an almost straight line from the exit. This enabled the two in hiding to keep the body of the car between them. Ramirez would reach the parked cars, however, not twenty-five feet away. Captain Cornell did some rapid thinking. How to keep his quarry in sight would be a problem if, as he suspected, Ramirez got into his own car. The two Mexicans would drive off, and— “Hey,” whispered Bob, “if they have a car here, we’ll be out of luck, unless—” “Unless what?” “Unless we steal one and follow. This flivver right here isn’t locked. And you can start her battery with almost any old key,” said Bob. “Good boy,” approved the army man. “We may have to do that very thing. Some poor devil would be out a car, but, of course, we could square that. And there’s not much chance,” he added, thinking fast, “that he’d discover his loss and start the police on our track before the end of the bull fight. By which time we ought to be all right, hey?” “Wonder what’s the matter now?” Bob whispered, disregarding the other’s remarks. He raised his head a trifle, cautiously, staring toward Ramirez and Ramon. Captain Cornell did likewise. The two Mexicans had halted in front of a car of midnight blue, long-snouted, with German nickel trimmings. It stood on the edge of the parked cars, indicating its owner had arrived early at the bull fight. Late comers had been forced to go farther along the road or to burrow deeper into the field. Here, with one foot on the running board and a hand extended to grasp the handle of the left front door, Ramirez paused and, facing about, appeared to be scolding his companion. “He’s certainly giving that old fellow, Ramon, fits about something,” whispered Bob. “Wish I could hear what he’s saying.” That a disagreement of some sort had arisen between the two Mexicans was plain. Old Ramon stood with hanging head, just out of reach of Ramirez, while the latter berated him in a voice too low for the words to carry to the eager ears of the two watchers. Bob strained his ears to hear, but that Captain Cornell’s thoughts were otherwise engaged was evidenced when he suddenly emitted a sharp exclamation under his breath, and then squeezed Bob’s arm. “Doesn’t that car look familiar to you?” he demanded. “Why, I don’t know.” Bob was puzzled. There was something vaguely familiar about the appearance of the big car beside which Ramirez stood, yet he could not identify what it was. “Well, it looks familiar to me,” said the flyer in an excited undertone. “That’s the car your friend Don Ferdinand was riding in last night when he bumped us, or I miss my guess. Look again.” “Golly,” breathed Bob, “you’re right.” “You bet I’m right.” “But how—” “Yes, how? How does this rascal Ramirez happen to be driving it today? Didn’t Don Ferdinand say he was visiting friends and either tell us outright or else leave us to infer that the car belonged to those friends?” “That’s what.” “Well, then, how does Ramirez happen to be here in it? Say, young feller, this is certainly worth investigation. The plot thickens. I wonder—” The flyer suddenly ceased talking. “Wonder what?” asked Bob, who did not take his eyes from the two Mexicans, and was interested to note that Ramirez had advanced threateningly toward Ramon who, in turn, had backed away. “Why, I wonder if your friend, Don Ferdinand, really is playing a deep game, and is in cahoots with this Ramirez.” Bob shook his head. “Oh, that’s a bit too thick, Captain, if you don’t mind my saying so.” “Yes,” admitted the Captain, “you’re probably right. But what then? How account for that car?” “I don’t know. Maybe Don Ferdinand is in trouble, captured, killed.” Bob’s voice grew troubled. “He’s such a reckless old firebrand. And this fellow Ramirez looks like a bad hombre.” “He is a bad hombre,” said the army flyer. “There.” His hand gripped Bob’s arm. “Look at that. By George, I can’t let that—” And without finishing his sentence, he whipped out his service automatic and would have darted into the open, but for the fact that Bob by main strength restrained him. “Hold on, you hot head,” said Bob. “He’s putting up his gun already. Ramon is giving in. You sure would have spilled the beans.” And he wiped his face, on which the perspiration had suddenly broke forth. Captain Cornell looked a trifle shame-faced, yet defiant, as he slid his weapon back into its scabbard. The little drama which had so roused him was over. Although unable to hear what was said between the two Mexicans, the watchers guessed at the meaning of the tableau which had just played itself out. Ramon apparently had been reluctant to accompany Ramirez further. The latter had argued. Then he had whipped out a revolver. It was this which had caused Captain Cornell to start to take a hand. But Ramirez had needed only to display his weapon. Ramon had yielded. Already he was in the front seat, and Ramirez was climbing to his seat behind the wheel. “Hate to steal a car,” said the flyer grimly, as Ramirez started his motor. “But I reckon we’ll have to do it. Of course, we can find the owner later and square it with him. But Ramirez mustn’t escape, with the fate of your friend, Don Ferdinand, undecided.” Bob nodded, his lips grimly compressed. With a roar, the big blue car pulled out into the rutted road, and started away in the opposite direction from them—the direction toward town. So worn was the road that Ramirez apparently was keeping the car in low gear and not making much speed. It was that fact which decided Bob. There would be a possibility of keeping the fugitive in sight. He vaulted into the flivver. “I’ve got a key here that I think will switch on the juice,” he said, bending toward the dash board of the ancient vehicle. “You get around front, Captain, and crank her. No self-starter on this model. Must be the vintage of ’76. Hurray,” he shouted the next moment, caution forgotten, “the switch is on. Now give her a twirl, and look out for the kick.” Captain Cornell leaped to the front, seized the crank and began to spin it. One turn, two, without result. He cast a glance of dismay toward the disappearing car bearing Ramirez and Ramon away. Then he gave the crank another desperate turn. This time the response was instant. There was a sputter. Bob fed more gas. Then the engine broke into a roar, and the old car shook and rattled as if with ague. “All aboard,” sang out Bob, who was now in the grip of the spirit of adventure, and had cast scruples to the wind. They needed a car, and Captain Cornell was an American Army officer. They could commandeer this flivver, if they wanted to! While Bob was thus consoling himself, he was at the same time steering the car out into the road. Captain Cornell leaped into place beside him, just as the big blue car rounded the distant curve of the amphitheatre. “Give her the gas,” shouted the flyer. “Let’s go.” |
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