CHAPTER VII.

DON FERDINAND AGAIN.

Captain Cornell was first to emerge from the taxi which had lost its left front wheel in the impact against the pole and canted downward like a ship sinking by the head. He emerged as if shot from a cannon, for the crazy door had been wrenched open by the shock, and he had been tossed through the aperture. Alighting on hands and knees, he quickly got to his feet and turned to see how his companions fared.

“Anybody hurt?” he sang out, peering inside.

From the heap, three muffled voices filled with various degrees of mirth answered that their owners were not in desperate straits, and he experienced a sense of relief. Any or all of his charges well might have been seriously injured. But as he saw them struggling to untangle themselves, he grinned through a split lip caused by his face brushing the sidewalk.

“Lucky for me,” he thought. “Wouldn’t have dared face their fathers.”

Then he felt someone plucking his sleeve and whirled about. A mixed crowd of Mexicans and tourists drawn by the crash hemmed him in, and over the heads of the crowd he could see several be-spangled dance hall girls from a nearby resort standing on tiptoe to behold.

The tug came from his taxi driver.

“Hey, you hurt?” asked the flyer, rubbing futilely at the smudged knees of his—or, rather, Bob’s—white flannels.

“Naw, except lost a little breath,” said the latter, a hardened night hawk. “Wheel stopped me,” he added. “But, say, who pays for this? If you don’t wanta pony up yerself, better help me ketch the old hombre what rammed us. There he goes.”

He pointed to a high-powered, long-snouted touring car of midnight blue, with shining German silver trimmings, gleaming in the street. A uniformed driver had just finished inspecting his car for possible damage, and was climbing back to the driver’s seat. From the rear, a shrill voice in broken English shrieked adjurations to the chauffeur to hurry.

“Old billy goat in the back’s all excited,” explained the jehu. “Been a-chasin’ somebody, I gather, an’ rammed us in ’is hurry. Payin’ no attention to us.”

“Here, that won’t do. We want an explanation, anyhow,” declared the army flyer, firmly.

“Wait here, I’ll be back,” he said.

And thrusting aside several Mexicans who stood in his way, he made a run for the big car just as it got into motion. The crowd stared in astonishment. One or two tourists raised a cheer. The jehu leaned on his tilting taxi with a sour grin riding his features. Bob emerging from the taxi at that moment, one hand raised to caress a considerable-sized bump on his head, saw Captain Cornell make a flying leap and land on the running board of the other car, just as the chauffeur picking up speed stepped on the gas and it leaped ahead.

“Hey, where you goin’?” yelled Bob.

But if any reply was vouchsafed by the doughty flyer, the speed with which the big car got under way neutralized it. Bob made a step forward into the street in astonishment, but the jehu’s hand on his arm arrested him.

“Easy, pal,” said the latter. “I wanta be paid for me damage. Stick around.”

Bob laughed. “You’ll be paid. Don’t worry. But where did Cap—where did our friend go?”

The jehu explained. Frank and Jack, little worse for the accident, with the exception of minor body bruises, joined Bob on the sidewalk, and likewise received the benefit of the explanation.

“Old fellow was in a tearin’ hurry to git some body seems he was a-chasin’, far as I could make out,” said the jehu.

“Well, Cap’ll be back,” laughed Bob. “Nothing to do but wait.” He gazed at the crowd surrounding them, half a hundred or more, and sighed. “Worse than Fifth Avenue,” he said. “I guess any time an accident happens, no matter where it is, a crowd gathers.”

The crowd parted to make way for a Mexican policeman, swarthy, medium-sized, heavy-mustached, swinging a long nightstick and with the handles of two six-shooters protruding at his sides. He started to question them haltingly in broken English, but at his first words Jack addressed him in Spanish. The policeman’s face lighted up, and he nodded violently as Jack continued in a voice so low that the crowd could not hear. Then he turned and with voice and club-thrust began to scatter the crowd.

The tourists seeing the show was over, so to speak, turned away, and the Mexican barflies shuffled off. Finally, the crowd was dispelled, and the policeman returned and Jack shook hands with him gravely, only a slight twitching at the corners of his mouth betraying to his companions that he nursed a secret sense of amusement. Then, swinging his stick in a jaunty salute, the policeman made off with a “Mil’ gracias, senor,” to which Jack responded with “Buenos noches.”

“How much d’ye give ’im?” asked the jehu, leering wisely and spitting into the street.

Jack was inclined to resent the familiarity, but shrugged and replied:

“Five dollars.”

“Huh.” The jehu shrugged. Then he straightened out of his slouch as his roving eye caught sight of something in the street, and he pointed. “Say. What d’ye know? Bringin’ him back.”

The boys gazed in the direction indicated. There rolling up behind them was the big car which had bumped them and which had been boarded by Captain Cornell. They turned to it eagerly, as it rolled to a halt at the curb. Then the biggest surprise of all greeted them, for out stepped first Captain Cornell and after him an even more familiar figure—at least to Jack. The latter could hardly believe his eyes. He halted a moment in astonishment, then sprang forward with a cry of:

“Don Ferdinand.”

“You know this hombre?” demanded Captain Cornell, eyes popping.

Don Ferdinand, for he it was, stared a moment, then threw himself at Jack. Throwing his arms about the big fellow, he clasped him with Latin exuberance, then backed off.

“If you are acquainted with this man, Senor Jack,” he said excitedly, pointing to Captain Cornell, “tell him I will pay for any damage, but he must let me go. It is necessary. Ah, alas, though,” he groaned, “I fear it is now too late. That devil has escaped again.”

Jack was bewildered. Finding Don Ferdinand here, in Nueva Laredo, when the last heard of him he had disappeared from his home! All he could do was to stare in astonishment. But Don Ferdinand who had spoken to Jack in Spanish was wringing his hands in despair. Jack could not understand why.

Bob and Frank, who had not seen the old Spanish aristocrat for a number of years, had been slow to recognize him. But the conversation and Jack’s use of the older man’s name brought back recollection. They crowded forward and greeted him. He seemed like a man in a daze.

Then understanding suddenly came to Jack. Don Ferdinand had declared “that devil has escaped again.” The light dawned. He had been chasing that fellow in pursuit of whom he had left home and gone to the mine. What was his name? Ramirez! Yes, Ramirez, that was it!

“Was it Ramirez, Don Ferdinand?” he demanded eagerly, elbowing Bob aside to face his friend.

“Ssh.” Don Ferdinand put his finger to his lips. “Too late,” he said, low-voiced. “He has escaped me. But let us not talk about it here. Come, get into my car. But first I’ll pay this gentleman for his taxi,” he said, pulling out a wallet. “Only,” he added glaring at Captain Cornell, “he is a violent man. He put a revolver into my face and commanded me to order my driver to return here.”

“Sorry,” apologized the flyer. Remembering his conversation with Jack at the ranch regarding Don Ferdinand and his trouble at the mine with “that devil Ramirez,” he also was putting two and two together out of the conversation between the old aristocrat and Jack.

“Oh, I say, you two must be friends,” declared Jack, proceeding to introduce them. “As for the damage to the taxi—” And leaving the sentence unfinished, he reached for his own wallet.

But Don Ferdinand forestalled him. He thrust into the jehu’s hands a sheaf of bills the size of which made the latter’s eyes bulge.

“Is that sufficient?” he snapped in English.

The taxi bandit made a grotesque bow.

“For that price,” he said, “the ol’ boat’s yourn.”

Don Ferdinand never even smiled, but beckoning the four young fellows to follow, climbed into his car. Bob and Frank hung back, whispering. Then, just as Jack was about to enter behind Don Ferdinand, they halted him.

“Say, Jack, we haven’t seen anything yet of the town,” explained Frank. “And we’d like to. No use running away when we just came. As for the taxi we can always get another to take us back across the Bridge, I guess. Explain to Don Ferdinand, and then let the four of us knock around as we intended to do.”

Jack considered, turning to Captain Cornell with a question in his eyes. The latter nodded. He was young enough to enjoy a sightseeing tour and, since they had all escaped unscathed from the crash, saw no reason to return with their original purpose unfulfilled.

So Jack explained the situation to Don Ferdinand, adding that they were staying at the Hamilton Hotel on the American side of the River, with Mr. Hampton and Mr. Temple. He urged that Don Ferdinand, if he intended to return across the River, call on those two older men—both of whom were friends.

“Tonight I cannot, Jack,” said Don Ferdinand. “I am staying with friends who expect me. This is their car. But tomorrow I shall give myself the pleasure of calling upon you.”

“Good,” said Jack. “But”—as an afterthought—“come to the hotel before three o’clock tomorrow afternoon, as we all would like to come back here to see the bull fight.”

The old Don agreed to do so. Then with a bow all around, he gave the word to his chauffeur, and the latter pulled out into the street, backed and headed for the International Bridge.

Jack stood at the curb, gazing thoughtfully after the departing car.

“Now I wonder what brought him here, and I wonder about this mysterious Mr. Ramirez,” he said.

He had told Bob and Frank before dinner about the mysterious events transpiring at Don Ferdinand’s mine and about the latter’s disappearance. Captain Cornell likewise knew. So Jack’s remark was understood.

“Well, we’ll find out tomorrow,” said big Bob, stretching. “Come on, lads. Let’s saunter a bit and take in the sights. There’s a hot dog stand just ahead here, and I’m hungry enough to eat a kennel. That little bounce seems to have given me an appetite. Step up, me byes, and order your dogs, with mustard or without.”