HELD FOR RANSOM

Four unsatisfactory days passed. The Americans were allowed every privilege save one, that of boarding the _F 8_ and taking their departure. Regularly once a day General Roza made a fresh and more liberal offer for the services of the dirigible’s crew. By the fourth day the proposed pay of the commissioned officers had advanced to three hundred and twenty-five pesos a month. Mr. Weeks was courteous in his refusals, but it became evident that the general was losing patience. On the third day a detachment of travel-worn and ragged troops came into Perdero from the northwest, bringing three wretched peon prisoners. These, the Americans learned, were accused of giving information to the enemy, in this case the Federalists. They were a sorry, degraded trio, and if their plight worried them they failed to show it. Very stolid they looked, as, guarded by two soldiers, they sat on the ground outside headquarters and smoked corn-husk _cigarillos_. Later, it appeared, there was some sort of trial, and the poor men were hustled across to the little _cárcel_ in which military and civilian offenders were jailed.

Now and then a small scouting party set forth or returned, and once a very stout _cabellero_ on a diminutive buckskin horse galloped dramatically into town and pulled up before General Roza’s headquarters. Once there, however, instead of throwing himself from his steed and dashing into the house, he rolled a cigarette leisurely and lighted it. Then, dismounting unhurriedly, he gave the horse over to a soldier, set his _sombrero_ carefully over his eyes, adjusted his belt and at last disappeared indoors. Jack and Hugh, who had watched his arrival, agreed that he bore tidings of much importance. But nothing happened to prove them right. No commotion ensued. No orderly rushed forth to summon officers to a council. No bugle sounded “To Arms.” After ten minutes of waiting they wandered off, disappointed.

“Guess it must have been a false alarm,” said Hugh. “These Mexicans are a queer lot, aren’t they? They make war about the way a gang of kids would play it!”

For the Americans nothing of moment occurred during those days of waiting, with the exception of one incident that for a time strained diplomatic relations. For awhile they had wondered where the airplane that had peppered them was located, for nothing that looked like a hangar had met their sight. At last, however, Lieutenant Gandell solved the problem. Cruising about the outskirts of the town in company with one of the affable Mexican officers one day, he had come on a structure of tent-cloth. The khaki-colored canvas so closely resembled the yellow-drab desert that the improvised hangar was easily overlooked. The Lieutenant’s companion very proudly exhibited the contents, two French biplanes. One was evidently out of commission, for its engine was strewn about the ground in sections and a few mechanics were half-heartedly messing around it. The second machine, doubtless the one that had visited them several days ago, appeared to be all right. Of the flyers none was visible. The Mexican officer spoke grandly of “our Air Squadron,” but Lieutenant Gandell was not vastly impressed. Relating the discovery afterwards to his companions, he remarked that it might be a good idea to go over to the hangar some dark night and “fix” the good machine so that, if they should happen to get away in the _Fate_, it couldn’t pursue them. No one, however, took the suggestion seriously, and no one thought much more of the matter save Mate Wason.

Dan’s resentment still smoldered, it seemed, and the next day, quite alone, he set forth to find the hangar. What happened was never entirely clear, for Dan knew no Spanish and so was not able to give an accurate account of the conversation that he held with the dashing aviator he discovered in the tent. But according to the mate’s version of the incident, he asked the flyer if he was one of the “fresh guys” who had trained the machine gun on the dirigible crew. The flyer, polite as you please, smiled agreeably and said “_Si, si, señor!_” Dan knew that to mean yes. Whereupon he inquired, not nearly so courteous as the airman, what the latter had done it for. By this time an audience of half a dozen was smilingly grouped around. Not knowing what the American was saying, but polite to the last, the flyer again smiled and said “_Si, si!_” even more enthusiastically. Despairing at last of getting a sensible reply, let alone a decent apology, Mate Wason shot out a large competent fist and knocked the aviator flat. Confusion and excitement ensued. Dan declared that he had never seen “a bunch of guys act as crazy as those did!” Two of them pulled guns and Dan had to knock them down as well. After that retreat looked not dishonorable and he made his escape. Only the fact that the marksmanship of the outraged enemy was utterly discreditable allowed him to gain the shelter of an adobe hut. Bullets hit the ground on all sides, but never came very close to the mate, and, once around the first house, the rest was easy. A few minutes later he lolled into the quarters looking somewhat heated but very much pleased and satisfied. It required much diplomacy on the part of Mr. Weeks to appease the general and his staff, to say nothing of the assaulted aviator, who, it turned out, was a major and a flyer of much renown in the country. General Roza at last suggested that an apology to the major was in order and that if it was made he would consider the honor of the Army of Liberty satisfied. Whereupon Lieutenant Commander Weeks replied that as soon as an apology was made to him for firing on them he would apologize to the major. The general waved aside the idea of an apology, although graciously acknowledging that the incident had been unfortunate, and Mr. Weeks firmly refused to be satisfied. The affair reached a deadlock. In the end, tiring of the whole business, General Roza shrugged, spread his hands and ordered his dinner.

But the matter apparently convinced the general that further efforts to enlist the sympathy and services of the Americans in the cause of Mexican liberty were useless, and the next day he again summoned Mr. Weeks before him and, as the commander put it, “talked turkey.” The dirigible was confiscated by the Army of Liberty under the laws of the Independent State of Coahuila. Its personnel had been tried and found guilty of invading a friendly country under force of arms. The penalty was very severe, but the Court was inclined to be lenient and had decided to impose fines instead of imprisonment. Therefore the commander was fined fifty thousand pesos, the other commissioned officers twenty-five thousand pesos each and the remaining offender fifteen thousand pesos. Pending the payment of the fines, the Americans were to be kept prisoners.

“When did this trial take place, general?” asked the commander.

“An hour since, señor.”

“Is it not required by your laws that the accused shall be represented by counsel?”

“Assuredly, señor.”

“But we were not so represented!”

“Pardon, señor, I myself appointed counsel for you.”

“Oh!” The commander smiled slightly. “I see, General. Well, since all formalities were properly complied with, I have nothing to say. Doubtless the trial was quite fair, although in my country it is customary to allow the accused to be present at it. But that is only a detail.”

“Absolutely, señor. Can you say when you expect the fines to be paid?”

“Certainly, general. I expect them to be paid――never!”

“Never! The señor jokes, _si_?” The general frowned, his sharp eyes searching the commander’s face.

“No, general, I do not joke. The fines, as you choose to call them, will not be paid unless I advise it, and I surely shall not advise it. Your position is untenable, as you very well know. Our detention is unlawful, the confiscation of our airship is unlawful, this imposition of fines is unlawful. For your own sake I advise you strongly to let this matter go no further. Release us and our dirigible at once and, so far as I am concerned, there shall be an end of it. Proceed on your most ill-advised course, General Roza, and much trouble will come of it. That I promise you. You cannot put such indignity on officers of the United States Navy, sir, and escape unpunished.”

“Señor, I am well within the law of my country. What you say does not trouble me. I regret the unfortunate circumstances, but my duty is plain. It is my intention to dispatch a messenger at once to the _telégrafo_ at Rosita Blanco. The consul of your country at Monterey will be appraised of your conviction and of the amount of the fines imposed by the court.” Perhaps the general caught a flicker of satisfaction in the commander’s eye, for he added quickly: “But be convinced, señor, that the place of your detention shall not be made known. On receipt of the fines by my agent at a certain town which shall be specified you will be released and given safe conduct to the border.”

“I see,” answered the other thoughtfully. “You think that such a message, with no confirmatory word from me, would result in the payment of this money?”

“Certainly, _Señor Comandante_. Why not?”

“Because my government, friends, whoever might be moved to pay this ransom, would not know whether it was true. Ninety-five thousand dollars is a large sum of money, General. One doesn’t let go of it so easily.”

The general looked doubtful, a trifle worried. “What, then, do you advise, señor?” he asked.

“You already have my advice, General,” replied the commander gravely.

The other shrugged impatiently. “But, señor, supposing that I do not choose to heed that? What then, I ask you.”

“Allow me to consult with my companions, sir,” said Mr. Weeks after a moment’s thought. “It is late now. Doubtless to-morrow will do as well as to-day for the sending of the message. Give me until to-morrow, General, to consider the matter.”

“By all means, señor! There is, as you say, no need for haste. To-morrow we will talk again. _Adios, señor._”

Back at the little adobe hut that bade fair to be home for a long time, the commander told his story. His companions listened in silence, save for occasional grunts of derision, and when he had finished it was the irrepressible Lieutenant Jordan who made the first comment.

“Where does he get that stuff?” he asked in pretended indignation. “How’s it come I’m worth only twenty-five thousand? Looks to me like that’s a fighting insult!”

“He’s plain dippy,” said Mr. Traine impatiently. “Who’s going to plank down a couple of hundred thousand dollars to get us out of here, what?”

“Only ninety-five, I make it,” corrected the commander soothingly, “at the present rate of exchange.”

“Well, it might as well be one as t’other! I can see the Navy doing it――not! Oh, he’s crazy!”

“Tell you what I’ll do,” said Mr. Jordan. “When I get back home I’ll get a bill into Congress. It won’t take more’n a couple of years, and――――”

“When _you_ get back!” cried Mr. Gandell, scornfully. “Who the dickens do you think is going to pay twenty-five thousand pesos for you, you sawed-off apology?”

“Me? The United States Government, sir! The Government will always spend its money for good value. But, I say, Bob, was his nibbs talking cash or terms? Maybe if we pay cash we can get a bully good discount!”

“Let’s cut the comedy stuff,” said Mr. Traine. “We’ve got to decide what’s to be done, fellows. I’ve no intention of sticking around here until the war’s over. Is there any way of double-crossing him, Bob?”

“I don’t see any. He wants to be paid in Mexican money, you see. If it wasn’t for that we might work off a truck load of Confederate bills or a bunch of oil mine stock on him.”

“You seem to think it’s a sort of a funny joke, too,” Mr. Traine grumbled. “Wish I could!”

“Well, it is a joke,” replied the commander, “but maybe it isn’t funny.” Silence followed until Hugh spoke.

“How does he mean to get word to our friends, sir, or whoever it is he expects to ransom us?”

“Send a messenger to the nearest telegraph office and wire our consul at Monterey.”

“Too bad we haven’t got our wireless working,” said Jack thoughtfully. “It would save time, wouldn’t it?”

“Yes, and――” Mr. Weeks stopped and stared intently for a long moment at the crumbling wall. “Look here!” He dropped his voice and they leaned closer. “If we can get him to let us fix that wireless of ours and send the message from here we might slip something over on him.”

“I’m afraid he’s too foxy,” said Mr. Jordan, doubtfully. “I don’t believe we could do it.”

“We might, though,” said Lieutenant Traine. “Funny thing he hasn’t a wireless of his own here, isn’t it?”

“If we could work a couple of code words into the message showing our location,” began Hugh eagerly.

“But can the pesky thing be fixed?” demanded Mr. Jordan.

“I think so, here. It’s a case of making a new part. It might take some time, though.”

“What Roza would do,” observed Mr. Gandell decidedly, “is just this. He’d either dig up some one here who could send messages or he’d make mighty sure that we didn’t play any tricks on him. Frankly, I don’t think the scheme would pan out.”

“Guess you’re right, Pete,” said the commander. “Besides, even if we managed to tell the Navy Department where we are I’m not sure they’d do anything more than send Roza a note. So long as we aren’t at war――――”

“Then they deserve to lose the ship,” said Mr. Traine disgustedly.

“Maybe, but I don’t! At least, I don’t want to, and I don’t mean to! Look here, now, here’s another idea. Wait a sec: let me think: maybe it wouldn’t――――” The commander studied a minute. Then: “I believe it might work, gentlemen,” he said. “How does this strike you?”