SOLDIERS OF LIBERTY

Jack, whipping his weapon upwards, pulled the trigger. The barking of his automatic for the instant drowned all other sounds for him. Then he became aware of a sharp _r-r-ripping_ noise, heard an angry ejaculation from beside him, felt the sand at his feet spurting as though suddenly alive and saw the plane swing its nose up. The engine roared, a great shadow flitted past, a gust of wind swirled the dust and the enemy was gone! Bullets followed, but already the plane was out of range. Up, up it climbed, the high-pitched voice of its engines growing fainter each moment. Silence fell, a silence broken after an instant by Mr. Gandell’s deep chuckle.

“We got the guy in front,” he said. “I saw him flop. But he came back all right.”

“And we peppered the wings pretty well,” said Mr. Jordan. “Did they get you, Ben?”

“Nothing to matter. Spattered my ankle. They were rotten shots!” replied Mr. Traine.

“Come on up and let me fix it,” said Lieutenant Gandell. “Any other casualties?”

There were none, it appeared. The commander, reloading his automatic, gazed thoughtfully after the lessening form of the plane. “Wonder if they’ll try it again,” he mused. “Let’s hustle with that rudder, Pete. They’ve certainly got my thanks for not peppering the _Fate_ instead of us! I’d like to know whether they were Federalists or not! Any one ever hear of Roza having any planes?”

“No, but I’ll bet that one was his,” answered Mr. Gandell. “We’re sort of in his bailiwick, aren’t we? Maybe it would be a clever idea to get away from here before they bring three or four more back to call on us!”

“My idea, too,” answered the commander. “All hands on that rudder and let’s get it shipped. It’s a fine piece of business to send us down here with only automatics! If we had a gun on that mount as we should have――All right, Ben?”

“Yes, only a scratch, thanks. Wish you’d given the word a second sooner, Bob. I had that greaser covered. He’d never have started that gun if I’d had the first word!”

“Sorry he got you, Ben, but I couldn’t afford to disobey orders, you know. Mr. Clode, take these glasses and go up and keep a sharp watch, please. Let me know if you see anything.”

“Right, sir!”

“Now, then, lift her up, Mr. Mate! Easy! Watch out for that guy! Better pass that cable back through the wheel, Ben, and be all ready to connect up. Mr. Sterling, cast off that bow line from the stake. The other will hold her, I think. Pull the stake up, too, please. And you might look around and see that we’ve left nothing. Start your engine whenever you’re ready, Sam. We’ll be through back here in ten minutes.”

But the commander was wrong. At the end of ten minutes the rudder plane was still unshipped, for the stern-post proved now, in spite of former inspection, to have been twisted so far out of true that the rudder, when hung to it, bound at top and bottom and was out of control. Mr. Weeks concealed his annoyance if he held any, but that he was anxious was shown by the frequency with which he scanned the sky to the north. Meanwhile, since it was not possible under the circumstances to take down the stern-post and straighten it, they set to work to bend the rudder-post to conform with it. To do that it was necessary to undo much of their work by removing the fabric at the back, and that was a slow job. Half-past three came, and four o’clock as well. Jack, who had taken Hugh’s place in the boat and was keeping a sharp lookout from the radio cockpit, dropped his gaze from the sky and closed his eyes momentarily. Staring like that into the blue void made them ache after a time. When he opened them again something peculiar in the northeast caught his attention. The clarity of the atmosphere along the horizon was disturbed by what seemed at first glance a low-lying cloud. Then he realized that it was dust, and was puzzled. The breeze was still blowing from a point approximately east southeast, and while the dust cloud trailed off toward the northwest the heavy part of it remained stationary or, it might be, moved toward the observer on a course nearly at right angles to the wind. At every other point desert and sky met clearly. Here, then, was a phenomenon that required some explaining, for, if it was not a dust storm, what was it? At about that period of his cogitations Jack recalled two things: the binoculars beside him and his orders to report anything suspicious to the commander. The latter was aiding in the work aft, but he was soon springing up the ladder after Jack had hailed him.

“It looks like a cloud of dust, sir,” said Jack, handing him the glasses, “but there’s nothing to see.”

“Possibly sheep or cattle,” mused Mr. Weeks, studying the yellowish haze. “Or possibly――――” He stopped, leaned over the turtle-back and called Mr. Traine. “How soon can we get out of here, Ben, if we have to?” he asked.

“Twenty minutes if we leave the rudder behind. Anything up?”

“I think so. There’s a cloud of dust two or three miles north, and it seems to be moving this way.”

“Troops?” asked Mr. Traine, climbing quickly to the cockpit.

“I’m afraid so. Cavalry, probably. Have a look.”

“Cavalry’s right, Bob! I caught a dazzle then. Sun struck on something bright. How long will it take them to get here?”

“Can’t say. They’re coming fast. Think we’d better get off?”

“We might lash the rudder alongside here and go up, only―――― Hang it, Bob, those greasers haven’t any call to make trouble! We aren’t at war with ’em!”

“But if they’re some of Tito Roza’s bunch that fact won’t cut any ice with ’em. I’m not keen on running away, though. Call the others and we’ll hear what they say. If we knew how many of those chaps there were we’d know better what to do. From the dust they’re kicking up there might be a thousand!”

“Or a dozen, Bob. There’s a lot of ’dobe mixed up with this sand and it’s as dry as talc. If there aren’t too many for us I guess we can stand ’em off, what?”

That was the verdict of the others, called into conference. While Lieutenants Gandell and Jordan and Mate Wason went back to their hurried labors on the rudder, the rest of the crew examined their automatics and watched the approach of the column of yellow dust. Ten minutes later it was possible to see objects moving under the billowing cloud, and, with the glasses, to make out easily enough a body of horsemen.

“Can’t tell how many there are yet,” said Mr. Weeks. “They’re coming at a good, hard lope, though. I’d say there are easily thirty, Ben.”

“Thirty, eh? That’s a cinch. Keep ’em down to that many, Bob, and we’ll send ’em home howling.”

“It may be that they aren’t looking for trouble,” Hugh suggested. “Perhaps they just want to see what a dirigible looks like.”

“I hope you’re right, Clode,” said Mr. Weeks, “but from the way those airmen acted I’m afraid you’re not. I presume the plane flew back to camp and reported what they’d found. I sort of expected trouble from those fellows.”

“They couldn’t have been very far away,” mused Lieutenant Traine. “See any better now, Bob?”

“Yes,” replied the commander, grimly, after a moment. “I can see a heap more than I want to, Ben. There are about forty-five of them; maybe fifty. The usual half-breed sort, I guess. Well, we’ll talk soft if they do. If they don’t――――” He shook his head. “If they mean trouble, gentlemen, there isn’t much we can do. No use fighting that bunch.”

“Any danger of their damaging the ship, do you think?” asked Mr. Traine anxiously.

“N-no, I don’t believe so. I sort of wish we’d got away, though, while we had a chance, Ben.”

“Well, it’s too late now. We’ll put up a bluff, anyway. Gee, they’re a ragged looking outfit!”

“Good mounts, though, most of them,” commented Mr. Weeks. He laid the binoculars aside and summoned the workers into the boat. “We’ll talk to them from here, Pete. Wish I knew a little more Spanish.”

“Let Ben loose on them,” suggested Mr. Jordan, grinning. “He’s a great little linguist.”

“Sure,” replied Mr. Traine. “I know a lot of Spanish; about two dozen words. I fancy, though, that the movie villain on the roan horse riding ahead can talk English better than you can, Sam.”

A few hundred yards distant the horsemen pulled down to a walk and came on rather circumspectly. The leader, a smallish man whose costume proclaimed him a person of some consequence, halted his nondescript following at a little distance and saluted ceremoniously. Then, digging spurs into his horse, he galloped up spectacularly to within a dozen paces of the balloon, pulled his mount back on its haunches and doffed his great felt hat with a wide, graceful sweep.

“_Buenas tardes, Señors!_” he called. “I am Capitan Ramon Fosdes, of General Roza’s Army of Liberty.”

He spoke English well, and looked a harmless, good-natured little chap. In age he could have been hardly more than twenty-three or four. A good-looking, smiling, slightly impertinent countenance was his, with twinkling dark eyes and a tiny black mustache twisted into pin-points at the ends and heavily waxed. His monstrous sombrero was embroidered heavily and wound with blue and yellow bands about crown and brim. White riding breeches let into highly-polished boots from which gigantic silver spurs protruded, a white shirt open at the neck, a gay _faja_, or cloth belt, about his middle and a silver-embroidered jacket of dark green that stopped well above the _faja_ composed his picturesque costume. But his command boasted no such magnificence. Most of them appeared to be peons, many were Indians, and all were as sorry-looking as they were cheerful. Collarless shirts of all the faded hues under the sun, tight-fitting cotton trousers, an occasional coat, sometimes shoes but more often sandals, were their attire. All, however, were armed with rifles, and in most cases their horses were excellent. While their leader conversed they slouched in their saddles and smoked cigarettes or prepared them. Mr. Weeks’ estimate of fifty was none too liberal. Although, since they made no pretense of maintaining military formation, it was difficult to count them, their number appeared nearer sixty than fifty.

“How do you do, sir?” responded the commander. “I am Lieutenant Commander Weeks, United States Navy.”

The Mexican again swept off his big hat. “Señor, I am much honored,” he assured. “One of our aëroplanes announced your presence here and General Roza sent me to see if, indeed, it could be true. The presence of a dirigible balloon so far beyond the border of our country, señor, was scarcely believable.”

“We encountered a storm two nights since, Captain, and damaged our rudder. We descended here to make repairs. While so engaged an airplane, doubtless the one you refer to, flew past and peppered us with machine-gun fire. Will you be so good, sir, as to explain that?”

“Señor, it is most lamentable. I am empowered to convey General Roza’s regrets. He is much disturbed, señor. The _comandante_ acted without orders. The general will explain all, señor.”

“The general? He is not here, sir?”

“An hour’s ride, señor, but a little hour’s ride. I am instructed to show the way.” The captain smiled engagingly.

“I am very sorry not to have the pleasure of meeting the general,” replied Mr. Weeks. “We have been delayed too long and must continue our voyage at once. Please say to him, however, that my Government will learn with much displeasure of the unprovoked attack on us. Such conduct, if repeated, will make reprisals necessary. Fortunately, the only wound inflicted on us is of slight consequence.” The commander saluted and turned away.

“I am desolate, señor!” The captain, who, while conversing, had deftly rolled and lighted a cigarette, now let it hang dejectedly from a corner of his mouth while his shoulders drooped and his small hands gestured his regret. “For myself, I have no wish to delay the señors, but there are my orders! The señor _comandante_ himself knows what it is to be under orders. What can I do? I beg of you, señor, to make no increase of my difficulty! General Roza’s headquarters are but a very little distance and I have horses to ride. I beg the señor to be amiable!”

“He means mischief,” muttered Lieutenant Traine in his superior’s ear. “Shall we try a few shots?”

“No. We have orders, Ben, to avoid any engagement.” The commander addressed the Mexican again. “I can only repeat, sir, that we are unable to oblige you. Kindly present my compliments and regrets to the renowned General Roza.”

The Mexican, still smiling, shrugged his shoulders, whirled his horse and gave a command to his ragged following. Instantly, in a cloud of dust, the horsemen broke and scattered, wheeling left and right, and circled well out into the desert.

“What the mischief are they up to?” growled Lieutenant Gandell.

“Movie stuff!” grunted Mr. Jordan.

“They’ve called our bluff,” said the commander with a chuckle. “The captain’s no bad strategist. They’ve got us surrounded, they’re well out of range of our bullets and they can snipe us as they please. If there’s a clean white handkerchief in our midst the proud owner might as well produce it, for I guess a flag of truce is our one remaining bet!”