CHAPTER VIII.

“IMPORTANT DEVELOPMENTS.”

Sleepy-eyed still after their late hours of the night before, the boys met at a belated eleven o’clock breakfast in the dining room of the hotel next morning. While they were dressing the Sunday morning church bells had been ringing in their ears. At the table, Bob reported that his father and Mr. Hampton had departed to attend church services.

“Tried to get me to go along,” said Bob, who was first of the boys to arise, “but I wanted to wait around for you fellows.”

Truth to tell, Bob had had a hard time persuading his father that it would be all right for them to attend the bull fight in the Mexican town across the Border that afternoon. Mr. Temple was what would be termed an old-fashioned man. To him attendance at a bull fight under any circumstances was to be frowned on. And Sunday attendance was little short of a sin. However, the youths were now at the age of discretion, he pointed out, and could do as they pleased. Bob had pointed out that, inasmuch as bull fights were not held except on a Sunday, this would be their only opportunity to behold one. Then the matter had been dropped.

“Well, that was some night,” said Jack, between bites of grape fruit. “Wonder when Don Ferdinand will show up and, likewise, what sort of story he will have to tell.”

“It ought to be exciting,” said Frank. “Think of your finding him here, on the trail of that fellow—what’s-his-name?”

“Ramirez,” said Jack. “I can’t get over the feeling, fellows, that we’re in for a bit of excitement through our acquaintance with Don Ferdinand.”

“Aw, shucks,” yawned big Bob, stretching his arms widely. “Nothing’ll happen. Nothing ever does happen.”

Frank looked at him, grinning. “You mean to say nothing ever happens to us?”

“That’s my story,” said Bob, “and I’ll stick to it. Oh, we’ve had a few little adventures in our lives, but that day’s gone. What’s there left? Now that we’ve graduated, we’ll have to settle down in business. Pretty soon some girl’ll come along and marry us, and then we’ll be raising families and paying taxes and pew rent. Then we’ll be getting fatter and fatter, and pretty soon some kid’ll say: ‘Him? Oh, he used to be in the backfield for Yale—but that was a long time ago.’”

Jack and Frank gazed in amused astonishment at their big comrade, and then as if with one accord burst into a hearty laugh. Bob’s drooping expression did not change, however.

“Laugh, doggone ye,” he said. “But Dad’s been talking to me like a father this morning. Said last night’s little ruckus convinced him I ought to come to my senses and settle down. First thing you know, I’ll be sitting in an office and learning the export trade. No, I mean it. Nothing’s ever going to happen to us again—to me, anyhow.”

A bellboy came through the lobby calling. He poked his head in the doorway, looked around, saw only the three at table, and was about to withdraw, but thought better of it. Maybe the man he wanted was in that group. He’d give one call, anyway.

“Mis-ter Hamp-ton,” he droned. “Mis-ter Hamp-ton.”

“Hey.” Jack leaped startled to his feet. “What is it?”

The bellboy advanced, holding out a telegram in a yellow envelope.

“Must be for your father,” suggested Frank.

Jack took it and read the typewritten superscription. “No, it’s for me.”

He handed the bellboy a tip, and the latter turned away. Then Jack slit open the envelope, drew out the telegram and read it. The next moment, he whirled to his companions, throwing the message down on the table between them.

“Hum. Read that. Then say nothing exciting is going to happen.”

With quickened interest, Bob and Frank put their heads together and bent to read. This is what they saw:

“Do not look for me today. Important developments. Thousand pardons.

“F.”

They looked up puzzled.

“F. must be Don Ferdinand,” said Jack. “Now d’you see?”

“All I can see is that he says he can’t be here,” said Bob.

Jack punched him disgustedly. “Wake up, Bob. If important developments have occurred, it can only have to do with this fellow Ramirez. Don Ferdinand was after him last night, when he smashed into our taxi and was so delayed that he lost him. Now the old fire-eater has got track of Ramirez again and is going after him.”

“Well, what’s that got to do with us?” grumbled Bob, whose pessimism this morning was too deep to be quickly dispelled.

“Oh, Bob, don’t be so gloomy,” said Frank, his quick eager face alight. “Jack’s right. I seem to smell excitement, and I’m sure that we’re going to get into it some way.”

“That’s the way I feel, too,” said Jack. “Something’s going on, something big, or else old Don Ferdinand wouldn’t be here. He’s trailed Ramirez more than two hundred miles—probably on horseback. He had a dozen armed men at his back when he started. Probably they’re somewhere around. Something’s going to happen. I don’t know what. I can’t even guess. But I’ll bet we get into it. Come on, you’ve finished breakfast. Let’s get outside and get some air.”

Pushing back their chairs, the others rose and followed him into the lobby. As they started for the elevator in order to ascend to their rooms and get their hats preparatory to taking a stroll about Laredo, Captain Cornell espied them. He was in civilian clothes—but this time, his own. Crossing the lobby he joined them, and all four went up to the sitting room of their suite.

Jack told the flyer of Don Ferdinand’s telegram, advancing his explanation of it.

Captain Cornell displayed a quickened interest.

“Told you I was going to try and find out something about this fellow Ramirez,” he said. “Well, this morning I bumped into Jack Hannaford on my way here. Nobody knows anything about Ramirez, out at the field, by the way. But Jack’s an old-timer. Used to be a Ranger. He’s the same man who told me last night that the government was about to close the International Bridge at nine o’clock at night hereafter.”

“‘Ramirez?’ said Hannaford, ‘Ramirez?’ He looked thoughtful. ‘Would he be a little fellow now, with blue powder burns on the left cheek an’ a hooked nose like a poll parrot an’ a limp in ’is right leg?’

“I laughed. ‘How do I know what he looks like when I’ve never seen him?’

“‘Yes,’ said Jack, not one bit phased by my remark, ‘yes,’ that would be him. An’ what would ye be after wantin’ with Ramirez? He’s a bad hombre.’

“‘I gathered that much,’ I said. ‘But I don’t want to find him. Somebody else does, though. So he’s a bad hombre, Jack? How bad? Is he a Mexican revolutionist?’

“‘Revolutionist?’ snorts Hannaford. ‘No, he ain’t no petty bandit callin’ himself a General. He’s a bigger crook than that. Why, he’s the biggest crook on the Border by all odds. Government’s been after him for twenty years, but never could get the goods on him. You know all about him. Why d’ye ask me?’

“‘Crook?’ said I. ‘How come, Hannaford?’

“‘Smuggler,’ said he.

“Then I did get excited, fellows. It all came back to me. I remembered the name. When you first mentioned it, Jack, back there at your home it sounded familiar. But like you I got to thinking of revolutionists. That put me off the track. So now I said to Hannaford, ‘Look here. You mean the Master Mind?’

“Hannaford snorted again. ‘Yeah, that’s what the newspapers call him. But he ain’t any Master Mind. He’s just a doggone smart crook. But he’ll get his some day. I only hope it’s on this side of the Line, so I can get a crack at him. His gang croaked my old side-kick, years ago. Just the same, you’ll have to admit he is smart. Why, he fools you boys of the Border Patrol in your airplanes just as easy as he used to fool us when we chased him on horseback. He’s smuggled everything from Chinamen to diamonds in his time. What he’s up to now, I don’t know. You’re the first that’s mentioned him in a year.’

“So then I asked Jack if that was true, if he hadn’t heard any rumors of recent activity on the part of Ramirez, and he said he hadn’t. We talked a little more, and then I came on here. Thought this much would be interesting, anyhow, and that your friend Don Ferdinand might complete the picture. Now here you get a telegram which as good as says he’s on Ramirez’s track once more. Nothing to do but wait I guess.”

And the flyer subsided.

He had contributed real news, however. And their plans for a stroll forgotten, the four talked on until the subject had been exhausted.

Then the conversation turned to Jack’s radio experiments, and Captain Cornell, who was really interested despite his humorous lamentation that he couldn’t understand anything at all about the subject, asked numerous questions which Jack was kept busy answering.

Presently, acting on a sudden thought, Frank got up and unlocked a trunk. Delving into it, he reappeared with a small square box. This he placed on a table with an air of triumph, and throwing open the lid stepped back, gesturing like a showman, and said: “Behold.”

“Looks like some kind of a radio set,” said Jack, examining the contents. “And here, strapped in the lid, is a head-piece. Looks like radio, tastes like radio, must be radio. What is it, Frank?”

“It’s just what you said. Only it’s a trick set. Had a little time last Winter, and got to playing with an idea. Here, I’ll show.”

And carefully removing the whole business from the box, Frank proudly held it up for inspection.

“Why,” said Captain Cornell, “it looks like some kind of a belt.”

“And that’s just what it is,” declared Frank.

“It’s a radio receiving set for hikers. It contains three ‘peanut’ tubes, Jack. See? And A and B batteries. I snap it around my waist. Like this. See?”

There it was. A complete receiving set. Around the bottom of the broad belt ran a shelf bracketed at right angle, and on it were the batteries, the three little tubes, and the various dials.

“Here,” said Frank, pointing, “I hook on the head-phone. As for aerial, this little loop turns the trick.” Lifting out what seemed to be the bottom of the cabinet, he disclosed a tiny loop beneath, laid in a shallow drawer. “And, Jack, you think you’re some punkins with your experiments in long-distance receptivity. Well, how far do you think I can receive?”

“I give up,” said Jack, laughing. “How far?”

“Two or three hundred miles,” Frank replied. “Pretty good, eh, what?”

“Certainly is,” said Jack. “Let me try it. Maybe, someone is broadcasting now.”

“No use,” said Frank. “I took a look at the local paper this morning and read the broadcasting program. Nothing on until 4 o’clock. And by then we’ll be at the bull fight.”

“All right,” said Jack. “Take it along, and we’ll try it there. I want to know whether it’ll work. If it does, we ought to get some fun out of it.”

Frank promised to do so, and the set was replaced in the box. Then Mr. Hampton and Mr. Temple returned, and the matter was forgotten in the more important matter of explaining Don Ferdinand’s telegram and repeating what Captain Cornell had learned about Ramirez from the former Ranger.

“Hope nothing has happened to my old friend,” said Mr. Hampton thoughtfully. “Didn’t give the address of the friends he’s staying with, did he, Jack? No? Well, we can’t look him up there, then. Some rich Mexican family living on the American side of the Border, I suppose.”

“Must be rich, all right,” agreed Captain Cornell. “That car and the liveried chauffeur both spelled ready money.”

“Well,” said Mr. Hampton, “nothing for us to do then except to wait. We’ll hear from Don Ferdinand sooner or later. But I do hope he doesn’t endanger himself, if only for the sake of his daughter.” He looked sidelong at Jack, but the latter appeared elaborately unconscious of this mention of Rafaela. “Well,” sighed Mr. Hampton, then, “I hate to appear to be getting old, but this heat certainly makes me feel sleepy. Run along, you fellows, until time to go down into Nueva Laredo. I’m going to take a nap.”