“SEÑOR GONZALES”

Captain Fosdes was making the introductions. There was nothing to suggest that the Americans were present in the rôle of prisoners; rather, the captain’s manner gave the impression that they were honored guests. Nor was the little man at the table less cordial in his response.

“General,” proclaimed Captain Fosdes, “I have the honor to present Lieutenant Commander Weeks, of the United States Navy. Señor, General Roza of the Army of Liberty!”

The man at the table arose to his full height of five feet and four inches and saluted. Mr. Weeks returned the salute.

“Señor Weeks,” said Tito Roza, “it is an honor and a pleasure to receive you. Present me, pray, to your officers.”

When that had been done chairs were mysteriously produced, the three Mexicans who had been in conference with the general retiring, after being in turn presented, and General Roza motioned to a box of cigars on a shelf behind him. Captain Fosdes took it down and smilingly passed it around. He, however, was the only one to accept the general’s invitation, and Jack amusedly observed him place one of the thin, greenish-black cigars in his mouth and two more in a pocket. By that time the general was exchanging compliments with Commander Weeks. The general, it seemed, held a warm regard for the United States and a great admiration for her so gallant navy. He spoke of the Navy’s deeds in the recent war, showing a really remarkable knowledge of the facts. In return, Mr. Weeks proved himself no mean diplomat. His compliments were, if anything, even more cordial than the general’s. There was much bowing, much smiling, and cordiality reigned supreme. Captain Fosdes, in obedience to a request of General Roza’s, lighted two small oil lamps which presently dissipated some of the gloom of twilight and smoke. Thus far General Roza had not recognized Jack, possibly because during the introductions the latter had been in the background and his face in shadow. Now, his eyes moving amiably about the group as he talked, the general’s gaze halted on Jack and a slightly puzzled look came to his countenance.

“The señor there, the young gentleman beyond,” he interrupted himself to say. “I did not catch his name, sir.”

“Mr. Sterling, sir,” replied the commander. “One of our radio men.”

“Sterling? But it is not familiar to me, and yet――Señor, have I not had the honor of meeting you before?”

“On the train, General, some two weeks since,” answered Jack.

“Ah! _Sin duda!_ I remember perfectly now. Señor, it gives me much pleasure to meet you again.” He turned to Mr. Weeks. “The señor and I had much amusing talk together. He was most amiable, most polite. Is it not strange that we should meet again like this? As the saying is, ‘the world is indeed but a small place’! And now, señor, if your comrades will pardon us? Captain Fosdes, take the señors in your care, please, and entertain them while Mister Weeks and I have our little talk. Señors, I regret that there is so little of interest in our poor village. You must be amiable and make the best of what we have to offer for your entertainment. The capitan will show you the quarters I have had prepared for you. I am sad that they are not better. Gentlemen!” The general arose and saluted.

Outside again, in the purple twilight, the captain led the way along the uncertain street to a smaller house of crumbling adobe. A sour-visaged soldier arose from the ground as they approached and saluted sketchily. The captain addressed him in Spanish and he hurried into the darkened interior.

“One little moment, señors,” said the captain. “I have told him to make a light. This place is not much, but――” he shrugged――“the village offers little. It is what you call a ‘jay town’; _si?_” He laughed as he waved toward the room within, now faintly illumined by a glass hand-lamp placed on a small table in the center of the apartment. A fire burned sluggishly in a stone recess and a small pile of faggots lay beside it. In one corner a steep flight of wooden steps led up through a narrow hole in the ceiling, to the attic above. Two square openings did duty as windows. Four iron cot-beds, four chairs and the table comprised the furnishings. The floor was of earth, but hard, and in places worn well below the general level. The fire thus far had had small effect on the damp chilliness of the hut.

“Above are three other beds, señors,” explained the captain. “Food will be brought presently. The soldier at the door will get whatever you wish if it is to be obtained. I regret that we are unable to offer you more commodious quarters.”

“Oh, this is all right,” replied Lieutenant Jordan cheerfully. “I dare say there’s a place to wash, eh, captain?”

“Wash, señor? Ah, _lavado_! _Si, señor_, without; on the outside of the house you will find all.”

“Sort of public for a bath,” laughed Mr. Jordan. “Well, that’s all right, too. Let’s sit down. Take a chair, captain. Bed’s good enough for me. How’s the scrap going?”

“Scrap? Ah, the _revolucion_! Beautiful, señor! One month more――two――and it is all over. Liberty will triumph, señor! The tyrants already tremble! Then my country will know peace and prosperity and my people will be again happy.”

“Hope so, I’m sure,” said Mr. Traine, dryly. “It’s been some time since the people were that, what? Folks around here like this General Roza, captain?”

“They love him, señor! All over this state, all over the north he is most popular. Why not, since he is the _Salvador_ of his Country?”

“Well, there have been so many ‘salvadors,’” said Lieutenant Gandell, dubiously. “It’s a good game, though.”

“Game? Game, señor! I do not like that, me!” The captain drew himself up haughtily, indignantly. “You mean play, _si_? You mean joke? Señor, you insult me! My comandante! My country! My cause! You――――”

“No, no, Captain! You misunderstand; _entender mal, señor!_ My friend meant that it was a worthy undertaking――er, _empresa! Sabe?_”

“The señor speaks the Spanish? I am surprised! But, no, I did not understand. I beg your pardon, señor, a thousand pardons! Often I mistake your language, the――the _sutileza_――I do not know how you say it――――”

“Subtlety,” prompted Mr. Traine. “You’re right, captain; English is a difficult language to master. Not like your Spanish. Now, there’s a language for you, what? I don’t know much of it, but――――”

He was interrupted by the entrance of the commander, and after a few moments the captain, again all affability, took himself away. Mr. Weeks drew a chair to the fire and thoughtfully filled his pipe. Mr. Jordan put the question that they all wanted an answer to.

“Well, sir, what’s the verdict? Shot at sunrise?”

Mr. Weeks smiled as he accepted a light from Hugh, and shook his head. “Not that bad, Sam. Fact is, I don’t know yet what the little cuss has up his sleeve. He’s a fox. Asked me a thousand questions. Wanted to know how we got here. Also why. Of course I didn’t tell him we’d started out on a reconnaissance. But he knows it, just the same. Reminded me politely that the presence of an American airship over Mexican soil just now was likely to be misunderstood, and so on. I bluffed as well as I could. He’s foxy, though. Said our people had tried his patience lately by invading his territory. I told him he had nothing on us there, and he pretended he didn’t know anything about Mexican raids into American territory; said they were the acts of brigands and not authorized by him. Said he’s fighting the present Government of Mexico and not the United States. Hang him, he had all the cards, and took most of the tricks. Of course I talked big about my country being peeved if he interfered with us, and all that, but he didn’t scare worth a cent. The chap’s got plenty of sand; I’ll say that for him!”

“He didn’t say how long he was going to keep us, then?” asked Mr. Gandell.

“No. All I could get out of him along that line was that he would see that we were well looked after and that we’d have another chin in the morning. One thing he did say, though, set me thinking, fellows. He said the chief thing that keeps his Army of Liberty from winning the game right off is lack of money. Maybe the crowd that was financing the revolution have shut down on him. Anyway, he gave me the impression that funds are what he’s looking for just now.”

“Well, what’s your idea?” prompted Mr. Gandell, after a moment’s silence.

“I was wondering how much we might be worth to our friends,” replied the commander dryly.

“What! You mean――ransom?”

Mr. Weeks nodded. “Yes, what do you suppose your value is, Pete?”

“Well, I’ll be switched! Hold us for ransom, eh? Why, the――the mean little pup! I’d like to――――”

“I don’t say that’s what he has in mind,” said the commander. “It just occurred to me, that’s all.”

The engineer’s mate had strolled idly to the door. Now he came back and spoke softly to the commander. “There’s only the one Mex on guard, sir,” he said, “and he’s half asleep. ’Twouldn’t be any trick to tap him on the head, sir.”

“We’d be no better off, Dan. We’re more than a hundred miles from the border and Roza’s troops are probably sprinkled all over the map around here. Besides, there’s the _Fate_. Guess I’ll have to stick by her. Look here, though! The rest of you might as well duck if you want to take the chance. There are horses across the road in that corral, and if you got a good start you might get through, with luck.”

“Rot!” growled Mr. Jordan. “We’d look well running off and leaving you to face the music alone, wouldn’t we? Anyway, I’d rather face a firing squad than a saddle!”

“I suppose there’d be no chance of getting to the dirigible along toward morning and cutting loose?” asked Mr. Gandell.

“I thought of that, but I’m afraid it wouldn’t work. He’s got it pretty well looked after, from what he said. As a last resort, though, we might try it. First, though, we’ll sit tight and see what he has to say to-morrow.”

“Sure,” agreed Mr. Jordan. “He may have a change of heart and let us go. Meanwhile, wasn’t something said about chow?”

“The captain said they were going to bring some supper to us,” answered Mr. Weeks. “What’s the time, anyway? Nearly eight, by Jove! I thought there must be reason for the empty feeling in my middle latitudes! Either the general dines late or he’s forgotten us, what?”

But supper appeared almost before the lieutenant had finished speaking. Boiled beef and rice, _tortillas_, which were made of corn and looked like good American pancakes, _chile con carne_, which was only brown beans in spite of the name, and much black coffee comprised the meal. Hunger made the repast seem a veritable banquet, and when, replete and cheerful, they piled the empty plates back in the shallow basket that did duty as tray and handed it to the sentry outside, life looked vastly brighter. Some of the precious faggots were tossed in the fire, pipes and cigarettes were lighted and, drawn as close to the warmth as possible, they forgot for the while that their fate lay in the hands of a small, dark-skinned gentleman named Tito Roza.

Jack didn’t sleep very soundly that night. He and Hugh and Mate Wason bunked in the loft, their noses but a few inches from the low roof. Strange noises disturbed the silence; the keen, straight wind sighed dolorously through crannies and crept beneath the one coarse blanket with which the bed was provided. Dogs barked continuously, nearby and afar. Somewhere a horse kicked monotonously against his stable wall. It was well past midnight when he finally fell asleep to dream troubled dreams, and well short of morning when he was rudely awakened by the strident crowing of a rooster beneath the casement. Other roosters answered the challenge, and a mule brayed in the nearby corral. Gradually quiet fell again and once more sleep came. Then it was daylight and a rosy glow filled the attic and in the room beneath some one was breaking faggots. Jack drew the blanket over his head and pretended he was not awake, but once the fire was started the smoke, which seemed to prefer the loft to the chimney, drove him down the stairs.

Breakfast, principally coffee and hard bread, was soon disposed of, and then, while the sun was still barely above the edge of the flat world, the commander was summoned by a grinning, black-eyed soldier of perhaps fifteen years to Headquarters. As he went out Lieutenant Jordan detained him. “Bob,” said the lieutenant gravely, “if that two-by-twice general puts a price of less than ten thousand on me I’ll bust him! You tell him that. I may not be pretty to look at, but I’ve got a market value.”

“You must want to spend the rest of your days here, Sam,” replied the commander. “Think any one would pay that much to get you home?”

“Well, there are my creditors, Bob!” was the answer. “Some one loves me!”