FOUR AGAINST MANY

The carefully planned conspiracy had worked as well as any had dared to hope for. It had been decided that the commander and Mr. Jordan were to get aboard if possible, but neither had expected to succeed. The distance from their posts at the cables to the ladder had been too great, and that Lieutenant Jordan had so nearly reached his goal was a tribute to his dexterity in the use of his fists, for it had been agreed that no shots were to be fired save in defense of their lives. Mr. Traine and Mr. Jordan had momentarily held the Mexicans at bay while their comrades had severed the ropes, but, that done, their automatics had been thrust back into holsters and in the mêlée that followed their fists alone had served them as weapons. Fortunately for them, their opponents had no liking for such fighting, and after three or four of the Mexicans had measured their lengths on the ground the rest held themselves at respectful distances. Rifles were clubbed or bayonets were thrust, but the blows usually fell short and, judging from the occasional howls that arose above the confusion, the bayonets did more damage to friends than foes. Fighting, step by step the four Americans drew together, and by the time the dirigible was well above the earth they were back to back, facing the enemy with leveled automatics. The Mexicans fell away from them and more than one rifle was at the shoulder when Captain Fosdes shouted an order. Instantly the soldiers turned their attention to the escaping dirigible and shot followed shot. To the four Americans it seemed a miracle that none of the bullets did apparent damage to balloon or passengers. Perhaps firing almost straight overhead was too novel a performance for the soldiers, or perhaps the sunlight bothered them. In either case, although the fusillade was continued long after any chance of success remained, and long after the sound of the shots had ceased to reach the boys in the car, the dirigible mounted upward untroubled, the sun gleaming on her great silver body. At last the order to cease firing, many times repeated, was obeyed, and the chagrined officers gave their attention to the four prisoners. As for the soldiers, the sport of shooting, even unsuccessfully, at the balloon had restored their good-temper, and they were laughing and joking merrily now. The loss of the dirigible meant nothing to them.

But the Mexican officers, six in number, and shortly to be reinforced by most of the remaining members of the general’s staff, who, hearing the shooting, were already hurrying toward the scene, were not so amiable. Captain Fosdes was smiling gently, but the smile was not cordial, while as for the two young lieutenants who had been so unceremoniously dumped over the side of the boat, they were fairly beside themselves with anger. But while all flourished revolvers and threatened in their choicest Spanish, none seemed inclined to draw the first shot from the business-like automatics of the little group of Americans. Doubtless what they said, all talking at once, was quite to the point, but, since none of the hearers could understand them, they might just as well have saved their breath.

“Watch the fat one,” said Commander Weeks calmly to the others. “He’s handling that gun of his too nervously for my happiness.”

“I’ve got him covered,” growled Mr. Jordan. “If he crooks that finger another fraction of an inch――――”

“They don’t mean to shoot,” said Mr. Traine. “They’d rather have the money we’ll fetch, what? Great Scott, aren’t they ever going to shut up?”

Captain Fosdes, who had retained rather more calm than his brother officers, stepped nearer and addressed the commander in his precise English, and after a few final sputters the others subsided.

“Señor,” said the captain, “you have performed one of your Yankee tricks very successfully, but you will regret it. Myself, I admire courage and smartness, but my general――――” He shrugged his shoulders. “We shall see! Señors, you are under arrest. Have the kindness to throw your side-arms on the ground here.”

“Not so fast, captain,” replied Mr. Weeks. “Let’s understand each other first. What we have done we had the right to do. Our detention was illegal. We――――”

“Señor, you were tried by military tribunal and your dirigible was declared confiscate to the government. In conniving at its escape you made yourself liable to punishment. But I will not waste our time in talk. Be so good as to deliver your revolvers, señor.”

“Only on condition that we receive fair and respectful treatment, Captain Fosdes. We will consent to return peaceably to our quarters and remain there under guard until we are either rescued or ransomed, but we must have your solemn word of honor that we shall be unharmed and properly fed during our detention.”

“I have no authority to bargain with you,” replied the captain coldly. “If you do not yield your arms I will order my men to shoot.”

“Captain, that order would result in unnecessary and regrettable accidents to you and your friends,” answered the commander sweetly. “I should not hesitate to shoot you, señor, at the first word of that command, and my companions will fire just as quickly. If you will pardon the conceit, Captain Fosdes, we are all very accurate shots.”

The captain did not flinch, but the sense of the commander’s announcement appeared to have reached the others, and there was a perceptible desire amongst them to become small and to retire each beyond another. One, he who Mr. Weeks had disrespectfully termed “the fat one,” even detached himself from the group and unostentatiously backed away, followed, however, by Mr. Jordan’s revolver. It was at that moment that reinforcements arrived. Major Demedina, Colonel Rodas and a handful of other officers, followed by a fair portion of the town’s population――much of it was already on the scene――came hurrying along the street. To the colonel, Captain Fosdes gave a rapid story of the incident. The eyes of the newcomers grew large as they stared at the empty space once occupied by the dirigible and from there to the lessening shape that traveled northwestward against the blue sky. Then all broke into exclamations of incredulity, of dismay, of wrath. Fists were shaken, revolvers were drawn. Colonel Rodas became as red of face as a boiled lobster. Of the number, Major Demedina alone seemed not on the verge of hysteria, and afterwards Mr. Gandell stoutly affirmed that he had seen the soldier of fortune laughing heartily! In the end, when the later arrivals had convinced themselves that the captain really spoke the truth and that their prize had escaped them, they conferred at some length, gesturing constantly, darting black looks at the four Americans, and presently the captain made known their decision.

“Señors, you will return your revolvers to their holsters and proceed to headquarters. You will not be molested. I give you my word of honor as an officer and a gentleman. There General Roza will hear your case and make decision. That is agreeable?”

“Quite, captain,” answered Mr. Weeks. “Your word is sufficient. Our revolvers will not be drawn unless we are attacked.” Suiting action to word, the commander returned his automatic to his belt and the others followed suit. Two-by-two, Mr. Weeks and Mr. Jordan leading, they started back along the wide, sandy thoroughfare through staring, unfriendly groups. Already word had been hurried to the general and when they drew in sight of headquarters a squad of unkempt soldiers was drawn up in front of the mud-walled house. Beside and behind the Americans walked the Mexican officers, back of them came the population of Perdero.

“Have you seen Dan Wason?” asked Mr. Weeks of Lieutenant Traine as they drew near the general’s headquarters.

“Not a sign of him,” was the answer. “They must have nabbed him.”

“I’m afraid so. If they have, and he failed at his stunt, we’ll soon know it. The poor old _Fate_ will last about two minutes under fire of that airplane of theirs!”

“If they give her enough of a start――――”

“They’d catch her, I guess. The most we can hope for is that Wason did his work before they got him. Maybe it was a crazy plan, after all. I hate to think of those two kids all alone in that balloon. Even if they escape the airplane, Ben, they’ll never get over the border. I’m afraid I’ve done no more than sacrifice their lives without saving the balloon or helping the rest of us. Maybe the wisest plan would have been to sit quiet, after all.”

“Don’t you believe it,” answered the other stoutly as they passed through the group of scowling soldiers outside the house. “And don’t trouble about the lads, Bob. They’ll make it if it’s possible. They’re a plucky, long-headed pair, and――――”

Mr. Traine stopped because the commander had laid a detaining hand on his arm, pausing on the threshold of the house. “Listen!” said the commander sharply. Above the chatter of the rabble pressed close behind them sounded the drone of an engine, and even as their gaze sought the sky above the huts to the east an airplane soared into sight. Heads turned and a sudden chorus of approval and triumph arose from the throng. With the sunlight on her yellow wings the airplane banked and, ever climbing, came speeding overhead, the clamor of her engines loud in the clear air. Straight into northwest it headed. A hand waved from the observer’s seat and an answering shout went up from below. At lightning speed the air craft shot past them. The drone of the engines died away, the yellow bird-like form melted indistinctly into the distance. Mr. Weeks sighed.

“It’s all up with the _Fate_!” he muttered.