GUESTS OF TITO ROZA

Captain Fosdes, who appeared to have been constituted their guide and mentor, appeared shortly after the commander’s departure and suggested a stroll. The sentinel watched them go with sullen indifference and made no move to accompany them. Nor, save for the captain, was any guard placed about them.

“Guess Roza knows,” said Hugh as they followed the captain along the road, “that we’re safe enough. Look at that desert out there, will you? A fat chance we’d have of getting away!”

“With horses,” began Jack in low tones.

“They’d catch us. We don’t know the trails. Guess the only way we’ll get out of this forsaken hole is the way we came, by air.”

“We didn’t; we came on horseback.”

“Oh, well, you know what I mean. Gee, I’m beginning to get a little bit warm for the first time since last night. Who’d ever think it could be as cold as this in Mexico!”

“I suppose you can be cold anywhere if you get three or four thousand feet up.”

“Wish I was up three thousand more. I wouldn’t mind the cold a bit!”

They wandered around the little town for most an hour, the captain striving heroically to entertain them. They saw the tiny church and shook hands with the derby-hatted priest, who knew a few words of English and was delighted to use them. They visited the market place and squandered a few silver coins for green oranges, prickly pears, nuts and villainous tasting cheeses. Considering the size of the town, it was remarkable how many tattered, dirty merchants sat on the ground with their wares spread before them on squares of cloth or ragged baskets or, failing these, on a flat stone. They were a sad, dull lot, those Indians and half-breeds; scantily clad, unwashed, unshaven, starved-looking. There were many women and young girls among them, bare of head, their black hair plastered flat; bare of foot as well in spite of the cold ground, and clothed in rags. Jack was glad to see the last of them.

More cheering was the sight of the _F 8_, securely moored to a wizened tree and guarded by a score or so of Roza’s soldiers. They walked around her and were vastly relieved to find that everything appeared to be all right.

“We might get that rudder in place while we’re marking time here,” said Lieutenant Gandell. “I don’t believe the general would object. She’s not much use without it.”

To this the captain agreed. “We will see the general and ask him,” he said. “No doubt he will be most willing, señors. And the soldiers shall help.”

From there they worked back through the lazy village to the drill ground where several companies of Roza’s infantry were going through the daily evolutions. Save that they were well armed and displayed a certain listless, careless response to the commands of their khaki-clad officers, one might more readily have taken them for a crowd of picturesque beggars. Asked how many soldiers comprised General Roza’s army, Captain Fosdes was very vague. “Many thousands,” was his most explicit reply. He led them to infer that only a very small portion of the army was quartered at Perdero, although where the balance was he did not say. A battery of machine-guns and a small troop of cavalry dashed out of the village while they were still looking on, and these supplied more interest. But, at the best, discipline seemed lax and morale low, and Lieutenant Gandell confided to Hugh and Jack on the way back that he could lick Tito Roza’s whole army with a handful of Uncle Sam’s gobs and three marines!

Mr. Weeks was awaiting them when they reached their quarters. Two murderous-looking brigands in immense straw sombreros and ridiculously tight trousers were with him, and they were formally presented as Colonel Rodas and Major Demedina. The officers were both wide and short, swarthy of skin, black-haired. Each wore a fierce mustache, waxed and pointed. But Colonel Rodas had a sharp, pointed beak of a nose and Major Demedina’s features looked as if they had been treated with a steam-roller at an early age. Villains in a musical comedy were what they reminded Jack of, and yet they proved to be _caballeros_ with charming manners and fine white teeth that flashed frequently under their fierce mustaches. As greatly as they desired to hear the result of the commander’s visit to General Roza, Jack’s companions were forced to wait until, after more than an hour, the likeable brigands took their departure. Major Demedina spoke English fluently but far from correctly, and his mistakes amused him quite as much as they did the others. He had, it seemed, fought in many lands and under many flags, and he frankly admitted that he was less interested in Roza’s cause than in his exchequer. Colonel Rodas and Captain Fosdes smiled humoringly, apparently wishing to convey the idea that the Major was not to be taken too seriously, but Jack felt that the leather-hued soldier-of-fortune was speaking no more than the truth. When the three officers took themselves off it was with flattering expressions of regard and numerous bows, leaving the Americans unable for the moment to realize that they were virtually prisoners of war. Wason, gazing after the retreating forms of the Mexicans, muttered inaudibly.

“What’s that, Dan?” asked Mr. Weeks.

The mate shifted his weight from one big foot to the other in embarrassment. “I――I said it seemed like we were the life of the party,” he stammered.

“Yes,” laughed the commander, “I wonder how they got along down here without us! We’ve made a hit all around, it seems,” he went on with mock gravity, “for the general has kindly offered us all commissions in the Army of Liberty.”

“Get out!” scoffed Mr. Gandell.

“Fact, though. Very flattering, isn’t it? I gathered that we’d all get an advanced rating and the pay is really not to be sneezed at. Two hundred and fifty pesos a month, I think he said.”

“How much is a peso?” asked Mr. Jordan.

“One dollar.”

“American or Mex.?”

“Mex.”

“Oh! That means about a hundred and twenty-five in real money, then, doesn’t it?”

“Something like that, I suppose. But you’ve got to acknowledge that it sounds well! Also, he has offered to buy the _F 8_ at a fair price, to be determined by a board of appraisement. That is to be paid for, though, when the shindig is over and he’s got his fist in the coffers at Mexico City. Meanwhile we get a note signed by the general and the President of the Free State of Coahuila and the Treasurer and Secretary of State and a few others, all of which he is. Don’t see but what we’ve hit it pretty soft, gentlemen!”

“Soft is right,” agreed Mr. Jordan, grinning. “What did you say to him, Bob?”

“Why, I wanted to be tactful, you know, and so I told him that we were navy men and would hardly fit into the army. But he sure is obliging, I’ll tell the world! Said that would be all right. Said he’d been thinking for some time of having a navy and he might as well start now. So we’re admirals and commodores and such, the moment we give the word. Wouldn’t wonder if you were a lieutenant commander, at least, Dan.”

“Much good that’d do me if I had to live on the sort of chow we get here, sir,” answered Wason.

“I hope you told him where to get off!” said Mr. Traine hotly.

“N-no, I didn’t――exactly, Ben. I thought there was no use riling him. I just told him we were quite satisfied with our present jobs, and that we couldn’t very well sell the _Fate_ since it unfortunately belonged to Uncle Sam. He didn’t think a heap of that last argument, though. I could see that. I sort of dropped in his estimation right then and there. Well, that completed the proceedings for that time. We exchanged avowals of life-long friendship and parted.”

“I’d like to part him――with a cutlass!” growled Mr. Gandell. “He didn’t say anything about letting us go?”

“He did not. In fact, I gathered that letting us go at present is far from his scheme of things, Sam. Guess he’s getting fonder of us every day. Sort of embarrassing, isn’t it?”

“You might say that,” agreed the other dryly. “I say, can that greaser there understand what we say?” He nodded at the sentry by the door.

“_Muchacho_,” said Mr. Weeks, “_habla usted Ingles_?”

The sentry awoke from his doze and shook his head, glowering.

“That’s all right, then,” said Mr. Weeks cheerfully.

“Well, he shook his head, but maybe he meant that he didn’t understand what you asked him,” jeered Mr. Gandell. “Anyway, he looks like a liar, and so the chances are that he savvys everything we say. Let’s talk lower, anyway. Now, Bob, what’s the program?”

“Sit tight, Sam.”

“Sit tight! Hang it, we’ve been sitting tight and it hasn’t got us anything. I’m for action! Let’s――let’s do something, Bob! We’ve still got our popguns. Let’s shoot up the place and start something. And let’s start on that little runt of a general!”

The commander smiled and shook his head. “We’re in a country where haste is considered bad form, Sam. If you give one of those ‘Do It Now’ signs to a Mexican he turns it over and writes ‘_Mañana_’ on the back of it and then hangs it over his desk wrong side to! I’ll bet that if Tito Roza took us out and stood us up in front of a nice whitewashed wall to-morrow morning we wouldn’t get shot until the next day! Joking aside, though, what I want to do first of all is to deliver the _F 8_ back to Camp Stanton, safe and sound. If I can deliver the rest of us along with her, all the better. But my first duty, and yours, fellows, is to the ship. We’re Navy men still, even if we sail the air instead of the water, and you know what that means. I propose to give Roza plenty of time and plenty of rope. In my opinion nothing is to be gained by forcing his hand. He’s got us dead to rights. We can talk all we please about indignities and reprisals, and it won’t bother him a mite. What he wants to do now is to get the balloon and us to sail her, and he’s willing to act square, according to his lights. Failing that――well, that remains to be seen. He will probably try to keep the balloon, though. As for us, he may give us safe conduct, or he may keep us cooling our heels right here until he gets tired of us.”

“Fine!” growled Mr. Jordan. “Then what?”

The commander smiled, shrugged and twirled an imaginary mustache. “_Quien sabe_, as our linguistic friend Ben would say!”

“Well, anyway,” said Mr. Gandell, impatiently, “what’s to keep us from getting that rudder fixed? The old girl isn’t much use to any one until it is. I’ve got to do something besides watch the cactus grow or I’ll go nutty and bite the sentry!”

“And get poisoned and die in agony,” said Mr. Jordan.

“Right-o, Sam,” answered the commander. “I spoke of that and my friend the general agreed that it would be an excellent idea. He offered all his resources, including the entire Army of Liberty――to-morrow!”

“Hang to-morrow! Besides, we don’t want a lot of those greasy peons messing around underfoot. Three of us can do the job in a couple of hours. Let’s get at it, Bob!”

“I’m agreeable. Goodness knows I’m not crazy about this elegant leisure. Come on, then; let’s go!”

At first there was difficulty in getting access to the dirigible, for the ragged _sargento_ in charge of the squad suspected a plot to recapture the balloon. He was smiling, voluble, unintelligible and very firm. Ensued a half-hour during which Lieutenant Weeks returned to headquarters, General Roza summoned Captain Fosdes, an orderly tracked the captain from one end of the village to the other before he found him, and during which Lieutenant Gandell addressed his companions eloquently on the subject of Mexico and the Mexicans. Eventually, however, the amiable Captain Fosdes appeared, apologetic for delay, and the sergeant was persuaded. The American señors were to be allowed to make repairs to the planes but were not to enter the hull. Such, said the captain, were the general’s orders. For his part, it was sufficient that the señors should give their word not to attempt to leave, but――with an eloquent shrug――orders were orders, _si_?

That the general’s wishes should be observed, the sergeant himself mounted into the boat with eight of his command and remained there, with rifles suggestively evident, during the time of repairs. Had it been in the minds of the Americans to attempt an escape they would have reconsidered, for a dozen or so other soldiers lounged in the shade, and, as Hugh confided to Jack, several of them looked very much as if they would derive a lot of satisfaction from putting a bayonet or a bullet into a _Yanké_! To Mr. Gandell’s satisfaction, though, there was no headlong rush on the part of the guard to give assistance. The soldiers appeared quite content to leave the labor to the Gringoes. The most they offered was criticism, and as that was in Spanish it was not vastly helpful. As for Captain Fosdes, he was all eagerness to aid. He declared the fact many, many times and proved it by being forever in the way. That his offers of assistance were not accepted seemed, however, to sadden him but little. He rolled his interminable cigarettes and smoked them with apparent enjoyment.

At last the task was done, and well done, and by that time it was past noon and the captain was hinting of _comida_, which meant dinner. As breakfast had been sketchy, they were all quite ready for a hearty meal, and so returned to their quarters filled with pleasurable anticipations. What they found, however, was a very small quantity of stewed tripe, faintly redolent of onions, and some of the eternal _tortillas_. And that was all. Hugh and Jack sought the market place later and partly satisfied their hunger with bananas and some sticky candy like “fudge.”

The second day of their enforced sojourn in Perdero drew finally toward its end. Commander Weeks and Lieutenants Traine and Jordan dined with the General and a number of his officers at headquarters, but the others ate again around the small table in front of the smoldering faggots, their fare much the same as on the preceding evening. Later, as none offered to interfere, the quartette sallied forth for a walk in the purple twilight. The village was indoors to the last inhabitant, and no more deserted a scene could well be imagined than Perdero after dark. To be sure, at intervals a soldier, wrapped against the chill of evening in a frayed _serape_, his two-foot _sombrero_ pulled down over his eyes, leaned in some sheltered corner, and a squad of the Army of Liberty still guarded the dirigible. But for the rest, only flea-ridden, cringing dogs disputed their way. A half-hour of such amusement was enough, and they were all glad of the comparative warmth of the hut when they returned to it. It was necessary to step over the recumbent form of the sentry, for that noble patriot had fallen fast asleep with his rifle clutched to his breast. The commander and his two fortunate companions returned after awhile and were suspiciously non-communicative as to their entertainment. But Mr. Gandell was persistent and the truth came out.

“We didn’t want to talk about it, Sam,” said Mr. Weeks, “for it seemed a bit rough on the rest of you, what? Fact is, though, we had one swell dinner: chicken, sausages, tomatoes, rice――er――quite a lot of truck. We certainly wished you fellows had been there.”

Mr. Gandell only groaned.