CHAPTER XXII.

TO THE RESCUE.

Two taxicabs and the big touring car from the aviation field, his friends in them and anxious to go, stood at the curb as Captain Cornell with Hannaford beside him, came down the steps.

“Snap into it, Cornell,” called Captain Murray, impatiently. “Get into one of the taxis. We’re loaded.”

He stepped on the starter and the big car began to roar. Captain Cornell cleared the sidewalk in one jump, and landed on the running board. “Stop your engine. I’ve got news.”

“News?”

“You bet.” The excited Captain Cornell turned toward the two taxis and waved their occupants to approach. The three boys who were in the nearer taxi were by his side in a moment, for they sensed from his manner that he had something important to divulge. The three older men who were in the farther taxi were slower to approach. Yet they, too, hurried their pace on noting Captain Cornell’s air of suppressed excitement.

“Fellows,” he said, low-voiced, as the tense group gathered around him and Hannaford, “I know where Ramirez is. And we’re going for him right away.”

Quickly he explained what Hannaford had just revealed to him.

“And don’t worry none about bein’ legal,” said Hannaford. “I’m a deputy sheriff, and bein’ as how you got somethin’ on Ramirez which makes it all right for us to go after him, I’ll swear you all in as members o’ my posse.”

“All right, Hannaford, step on it,” said Captain Murray. “Climb in with us, and show us the way.”

Hannaford was bundled into the foremost car, Captain Cornell joined the boys in the first taxi, and both cars got off to an almost equal start. That bearing Mr. Hampton and Mr. Temple and Don Ferdinand was slower in getting under way, but kept the others in sight.

“This shoulder of mine has felt better in its time,” grunted Mr. Hampton to his companions. “I planned to wait until we got to the flying field, where I could have the flight surgeon examine and treat it, and wouldn’t have to make embarrassing explanations. But, maybe, this Doctor Garfield can fix me up.”

Several minutes later found the three cars drawn up together on a deserted side street near the International Bridge. Hannaford had called a halt. Doctor Garfield’s home and office lay in the next block, and the old ex-Ranger felt it was necessary to prepare a plan of campaign before going farther.

“Doc Garfield was in a hurry when he phoned,” said Hannaford. “I know where his phone is—in a little room separated from his office. He was speaking low and hurried, while Ramirez waited. Doc couldn’t tell me much, only that Ramirez come in a car which he left standing at the curb, and he thinks there’s a woman in the car and a couple or three men.”

“This doctor, his office it is in the next block?” asked Don Ferdinand. Jack Hannaford nodded. “It grows dusk,” said the old Don, “but,” he added, in a tone of conviction, “but I am certain that ees my friend’s car I see.” He pointed.

Twilight had come. Purple dusk lay over the quiet street. Graceful pepper trees lining the curbing enhanced the shadows beneath them. Yet it was not so dark but what those who had seen it before felt pretty certain that the car parked at the opposite curb in the next block was that borrowed from his friend by Don Ferdinand and stolen from the latter by Ramirez. The shadows were growing deeper, yet the lines of the car and the occasional glimmer of polished trimmings could not be mistaken. Hannaford gave confirmation.

“That’s where Doc Garfield’s house is.”

“Look here,” said Jack, taking the initiative. “We’ve got the advantage of surprise. They won’t be expecting us. Let’s dash up beside them, and demand their surrender. We’ll be on them before they can know what is happening. Mr. Hannaford, who knows the house, can lead a group inside in a dash that ought to bag Ramirez without trouble, especially as he’s got a busted arm.”

Nobody could suggest any better plan.

“Furthermore,” said Jack, addressing the aviators, “the car you fellows are driving better fall to the rear. Ramirez’s men have seen it.”

Arrangements were quickly made, a number of aviators transferring to the taxi previously occupied by the older men, while Captain Cornell took his place in that occupied by the three boys. One was to range up alongside the stolen car, the other to draw up behind it, whereupon its occupants could pile out and take the gangsters on the other side. As for Hannaford and his group, who were to enter the house, they were to go up a side street and approach from the rear.

“Ramirez may see what’s going on out front, and take to his heels out the back door,” said Hannaford. “If he does, we’ll bag him.”

This arrangement was satisfactory to everybody except the three older men. Mr. Hampton was regretful because his wounded shoulder would keep him out of action. Mr. Temple was plainly nervous and disinclined to have the boys running into danger. And Don Ferdinand bounced up and down, demanding a revolver, so that he could take a hand in the fray. But there was none to spare, and he and his two companions were to stay in the aviators’ car. As for the drivers of the two rented taxis, they were not without experience in affrays of one sort and another in this tempestuous community, and their fares were sufficient guarantee that they would be compensated for any damages sustained. Moreover, they knew Jack Hannaford, whose word with them was law.

“Let’s go,” said Captain Cornell, impatiently.

The discussion of details, quickly though the latter had been arranged, had consumed several minutes. Dusk was deepening. Jumping into the leading taxi, Captain Cornell seated himself beside the driver, a position which fortunately would put him next to the car ahead. The boys were in the rear compartment, Jack crouching by the door and ready to throw it open and leap out at the crucial moment.

In such tense moments, it is emotion, not reason, which sways one. Certainly, Jack was in the grip of strong emotion. Certainly, the others were, too, as they bore down upon the car ahead. But how different in every case! Jack was filled with rage bordering upon despair as he thought of the possibility that Rafaela might have come to harm through the machinations of Ramirez. His whole idea was to lay hands on Ramirez at the earliest possible moment and to choke the truth out of him, to force him to confess where he had hidden Rafaela, if he or his lieutenants had stolen her from her home during her father’s absence. To none of the others, except Rafaela’s father, no, not even to Jack’s two comrades, did the affair appear in the same light as to him. They likewise were stirred by emotions, but only such as are incident to men hunting a criminal, in whose evil-doing their own personal fortunes or the fortunes of dear ones are not involved.

Only a very brief space of time was required to cover the ground intervening between the last halting place and the field of action, and, before the two taxis closed on the car ahead, the big car from the aviation field, under command of Jack Hannaford, swung into the intervening cross street. Mr. Hampton, who was among its occupants, shook his head as he lost sight of his son. He knew, if nobody else did, how Jack was shaken emotionally.

Hannaford pointed and, at his accompanying word of command, the young aviator at the wheel swung the car to the curb. Then the grizzled old Texan and the aviator—it was young Harincourt who had been detailed to this task—leaped out. Quickly he outlined his plan.

They were at the mouth of an alley running along the rear of Doctor Garfield’s house. Hannaford and young Harincourt would enter the house from the rear. Mr. Hampton, Mr. Temple and Don Ferdinand were to keep guard at the alley’s mouth. If Ramirez escaped Hannaford and came down the alley, it would be their job to pot him. Don Ferdinand, raging, protested. He wanted to be in the forefront.

“Two’s enough,” said Hannaford brusquely. “More would git in their own way. You stay here. Come on, lad.”

And with Harincourt at his heels, the old ex-Ranger darted up the deserted narrow alley, in which the shadows were deepening at the near approach of night, as briskly as a boy.

Mr. Hampton shook his head in admiration, a little smile on his lips.

“A tough breed,” he commented.

In the meantime, up the shadowy street in front of the house, with its air of Sabbath calm, sped the two taxis, while peal on peal of bells from the tower of a nearby church floated down on the still air. What irony, thought Jack, church bells and he and his comrades speeding on such a mission! Yet their mission was of the best, he comforted himself.

And then all thought except of the matter in hand fled, crouching against the door, ready to fling it open and spring out, his eyes, just tipping the rim of the panelled glass, beheld the other car at the curb, ahead, abreast. Now, now. As the brakes squeaked, and the taxi ground to a stop so suddenly as to fling all its occupants about, Jack thrust the door outward and sprang upon the running board of the other car, pistol in hand. Beside him was Captain Cornell, leaping down from the driver’s side, and at his back Bob and Frank, crowding close.

But what was this revealed in the depths of that other car? What, but one man struggling desperately yet unavailingly in the grasp of another? And of a third man cowering in a corner, with his upflung arms protecting his face, while over him bent a fury in woman’s clothes, one hand gripped in his hair and the other reaching talon-like for his features?

Ramon, the Hamptons’ old cook, face distorted. “Senor Jack, queek or he escape. I—cannot—hold—heem—”

And then Captain Cornell’s pistol butt falling on the head of him whom Ramon clasped, and the other lying still and Ramon rising to his knees with a sob of thankfulness.

And then, wonder of wonders, the fury faced about, and it was Rafaela. Rafaela, her face appearing as through a mist to Jack’s unbelieving eyes. And quick as thought he threw an arm about her and drew her close, while all the fighting fury which had nerved her to the attack went out of her, and she collapsed with a little trembling cry. And Bob and Frank, over there, on the other side of the car—though how they got there was a mystery to Jack!—sitting on the form of the ruffian whom Rafaela had faced and outfaced and at their back, only half-seen in the growing darkness, the other aviators from the second taxi.

“Is it all over? Anybody hurt?” the young aviators demanded.

But Jack could think of nothing except that here was Rafaela whom he had thought far away, and safe in his arms, when he had feared she was in Ramirez’s power. Safe in his arms—

For the first time he was aware of the broad grins upon the faces of his two comrades, and the scarcely less-pronounced smiles of his Border Patrol friends. He knew the reason, but he merely pressed Rafaela tighter in the circle of his arm. It was she who pulled away, with a “Thank you, Senor, but I can stand now.” And then—they were now in the street between car and taxi—the little witch must needs add, as if utterly surprised, “Oh, it is you, Jack.” And Jack, looking no more foolish than he felt, could only add, “Yes, it’s I. Who—who did you think it was?”

The grins became broader, someone laughed. Rafaela only shrugged.

Across the embarrassment cut Captain Cornell’s voice. “Tie ’em up, boys, and into the house, quick.”

“Oh, but, Senor, not Ramon,” protested Rafaela, facing the group about the volubly expostulating cook. The two other captives were sullen and silent. “He have been of a help to me.”

“Senor Jack,” Ramon held out supplicating hands.

Jack hesitated, but the old cook’s appeal coupled with a glance from Rafaela decided him. “I’ll answer for Ramon,” he said.

And Bob, remembering the old cook’s recalcitrance toward Ramirez outside the bull ring that afternoon—was it only a few short hours before?—spoke up with, “He’s all right. Let’s beat it into the house.”

A swirl and a whoop, a patter of running feet, and away dashed the others, up the walk toward Doctor Garfield’s house behind a wide lawn. The two hastily yet securely-trussed captives lay on the sidewalk, with Ramon leering about them, lighting a cigarette. The taxi driver looked down interestedly from his seat at the two young people standing so close to each other between his cab and the other car.

“Aw, rats,” he muttered, but grinning as he spoke the words. “Ain’t they the sweet young things.”

Then he climbed down stiffly and walked around on the other side of his taxi to talk to his brother chauffeur in the other car.