Bert Wilson at Panama

by Madeline Leslie

  Produced by Jim Ludwig

  Bert Wilson at Panama

  BY J.W. Duffield

  Copyright, 1914, By

  SULLY AND KLEINTEICH

  Published and Printed, 1924 byWestern Printing & Lithographing CompanyRacine, WisconsinPrinted in U.S.A.

  CONTENTS

  CHAPTERS I. The Hold-Up II. The Pursuit III. A Gallant Comrade IV. The Captured Sentry V. A Fiendish Torture VI. The Execution of El Tigre VII. Off for Panama VIII. The Great Canal IX. The Treacherous Bog X. A Perilous Adventure XI. The Deserted City XII. Wah Lee's Boss XIII. Marked for Destruction XIV. Snatched from the Sea XV. Cutting the Wires XVI. The Foiling of the Plot

  CHAPTER I

  THE HOLD-UP

  "Hands up! Quick!"

  Now, in wild countries, such a command is never disobeyed, except by afool or a would-be suicide. As Dick Trent was neither, his hands went upat once. And as he looked into the wicked muzzles of two bulldogrevolvers, he inwardly cursed the carelessness that had led him so farafield, unarmed.

  For that he had been careless there was not the shadow of a doubt. Allthat morning, as his train wound its way through Central Mexico, therehad been unmistakable evidence on every side of the disturbed state ofthe nation. From the car windows he had seen a fertile country turnedinto a desert. The railroad line itself had been fairly well guarded bystrong detachments of Federal forces; but outside the direct zone oftravel there were abundant witnesses of strife and desolation. Smoke wasrising from the remains of burned villages, the fields were bare ofcattle driven off by marauding bands, harvests remained ungatheredbecause the tillers of the soil had either fled for safety to the largertowns or been forced to take up arms with one of the contending factions.There were at least four important leaders, backed by considerableforces, who claimed to represent the people of Mexico, while countlessbands of guerillas hung on the flanks of the regular armies. These lastwere murderers, pure and simple. It mattered nothing to them which sidewon. They robbed and slaughtered impartially, wherever booty or victimsawaited them, and their ranks were recruited from the very scum of theearth.

  Only that morning a brisk action had taken place at a small town on theline, and although the guerillas had been driven off they had managed toinflict considerable damage. A desperate attempt to destroy a bridge hadbeen foiled, but one of the trestles had been so weakened that the heavytrain did not dare to cross until repairs were made. This caused a delayof an hour or two, and, in the meantime, most of the passengers left thetrain and strolled about, watching the progress of the work.

  Among these had been Bert Wilson and Tom Henderson, Dick's inseparablefriends and companions. A strong bond of friendship united the three andthis had been cemented by many experiences shared in common. They wereso thoroughly congenial, had "summered and wintered" each other so longthat each almost knew what the others were thinking. Together they hadfaced dangers: together they had come to hand grips with death andnarrowly escaped. Each knew that the others would back him to the limitand would die rather than desert him in an emergency. By dint ofstrength and natural capacity Bert was the leader, but the othersfollowed close behind. All were tall and muscular, and as they stoodbeside the train they formed a striking trio--the choicest type of youngAmerican manhood.

  They were on their way to Panama to witness the opening of the PanamaCanal. That stupendous triumph of engineering skill had appealed to themstrongly while in course of construction, and now that it was to bethrown open to the vessels of the world, their enthusiasm had reachedfever heat. All of them had chosen their life work along engineering andscientific lines, and this of course added to the interest they feltsimply as patriotic Americans. They had devoured with eagerness everyscrap of news as the colossal work went on, but had scarcely dared tohope that they might see it in person. A lucky combination ofcircumstances had made it possible at the last moment to take the triptogether; and from the time that trip became a certainty they thought andtalked of little else than the great canal.

  "How shall we go?" asked Tom, when they began to plan for the journey.

  "Oh, by boat or train, I suppose," said Dick flippantly. "It's a littletoo far to walk."

  "Yes, Socrates," retorted Tom, "I had imagined as much. But bring yoursoaring intellect down to earth and get busy with common things. Whichshall it be?"

  "I'd leave it to the toss of a coin," was the answer. "I don't careeither way."

  "I vote for the train," broke in Bert. "We've had a good deal of seatravel in our trip to the Olympic Games and that last voyage to China.Besides, I'd like to see Mexico and Central America. It's the land offlowers and romance, of guitars and senoritas, of Cortes and theAztecs----"

  "Yes," interrupted Dick grimly, "and of bandits and beggars and greasersand guerillas. Perhaps you'll see a good deal more of Mexico than youwant. Still, I'm game, and if Tom----"

  "Count me in," said Tom promptly. "A spice of danger will make it allthe more exciting. If the Chinese pirates didn't get us, I guess theMexicans won't."

  So Mexico it was, and up to the time they stopped at the broken bridge nopersonal danger had threatened, although it was evident that the countrywas a seething volcano. How near they were to that volcano's rim theylittle dreamed as they sauntered lazily down to the bridge and watchedthe men at work.

  The damage proved greater than at first thought, and it was evident thatsome time must elapse before it could be thoroughly repaired. Bert andTom climbed down the ravine a little way to get a better view of thetrestle. Dick chatted a while with the engineer as he stood, oil can inhand, near the tender. Then the impulse seized him to walk a little wayup the road that ran beside the track and get some of the kinks out ofhis six feet of bone and muscle.

  It was a perfect day. The sun shone hotly, but there was a coolingbreeze that tempered the heat and made it bearable. Great trees besidethe road afforded a grateful shade and beneath them Dick walked on.Everything was so different from what he had been accustomed to that ateach moment he saw something new. Strange, gaily-plumaged birdsfluttered in the branches overhead. Slender feathery palms rose ahundred feet in the air. Here a scorpion ran through the chapparal;there a tarantula scurried away beneath the dusty leaves of a cactusplant. Up in the transparent blue a vulture soared, and made Dick thinkof the abundant feasts that were spread for these carrion birds all overMexico. And just then as he rounded a curve in the road, his heartleaped into his throat and his hands went up in response to a quick,sharp word of command.

  "Fool, fool," he groaned to himself. Then he rose to the emergency. Hetook a grip on himself. And his cool gray eyes gave no sign of hisinward tumult as he looked steadily at his captor and returned gaze forgaze. And as he gazed, the conviction grew that his life was not worth amoment's purchase.

  Before him, surrounded by his followers, stood a man of medium height,but evidently possessed of great muscular strength. He wore anondescript costume of buckskin, studded with silver buttons andsurmounted by a serape that had once been red, but now was sadly faded bywind and weather. A murderous machete was thrust into a flaunting sashthat served as a belt and a black sombrero overshadowed his face.

  That face! Dick had never seen one so hideous except in nightmare. Asword cut had slashed the right cheek from the temple to the chin. Themouth from which several teeth were missing was like a gash. His eyes,narrowed beneath drooping lids, were glinting with ferocity. They werethe eyes of a demon and the soul that looked through them was scarred andseamed by every evil passion. So the old pirates might have looked asthey forced their victims to walk the plank. So an Apache Indian mighthave gloated over a captive at the stake. Dick's soul turned sick withinhim, but outward
ly he was as cold as ice and hard as steel, as he staredunflinchingly into the cruel eyes before him.

  Perhaps that level gaze saved his life. The bandit's hand was tremblingon the trigger. One dead man more or less made no difference to him andhe could rob as easily after shooting as before. Something told Dickthat, had he weakened for a moment, a bullet would have found lodgment inhis heart. He braced himself for the strange duel and as he looked, hesaw the savage eyes change into a half-resentful admiration. It had beena case of touch and go, but Dick, by sheer nerve had won a briefreprieve. Without lowering the revolvers, the bandit called to one ofthe scoundrels, of whom twenty stood near by with carbines ready:

  "Search him, Pedro," he commanded.

  The fellow come forward quickly. Every movement showed the awe and fearin which the chief was held. He went through every pocket with a skillborn of long experience. Dick's watch and money were taken from him,and, at a sign from the leader, his coat and shoes were also added to theloot.

  "Now tie him and put him on one of the horses," said the captain, "andwe'll be off. There may be some more of these accursed Americanos nearby."

  In a twinkling a lariat was dragged from the saddlehorn of the broncho,and Dick's arms were roughly tied behind his back. The rope cut cruellyinto his flesh, but, with such an undaunted prisoner, they weredetermined to take no chances. Then he was lifted to the saddle and hisfeet tied beneath the horse. A bandit leaped up behind him and graspedthe reins with one hand, while he held Dick with the other. Not till hewas thus securely trussed and unable to move hand or foot, did the chieflower the revolvers with which he had kept the prisoner covered. A sharpcommand, a quick vaulting into the saddles, and the guerilla band was offto its eyrie in the mountains.

  Events had passed so rapidly that Dick's brain was in a whirl. It seemedas though he were in a frightful dream from which he must presentlyawake. Scarcely ten minutes had wrought this fearful change in hisfortunes. A quarter of an hour ago he was free, serene, apparentlymaster of himself and his fate. Now he was a captive, stripped of moneyand goods, tied hand and foot, in the power of a desperate scoundrel,while every step was carrying him further away from happiness and friendsand life.

  For he did not disguise to himself that death probably yawned for him atthe journey's end. Whatever the whim that had saved his life so far, itwas unlikely to continue. He tried to figure out why the revolver hadnot barked when it had him so surely at its mercy. It was absurd tothink that this human tiger had been deterred by any scruple. He was ofthe type that revelled in blood, who like a wild beast lusted for thekill. Perhaps he had not wanted to leave the evidence of his crime soclose to the victim's friends, whose fury might prompt to bloody revenge.The noise of the shooting might have brought them like hornets about hisears. Or did some idea of ransom, if it could be managed, appeal to hisavarice? Or, possibly, he might be held as a hostage to be exchanged forsome precious rascal now held by the enemy. In these last suppositionsthere were some glimmerings of hope and Dick drew from them such comfortas he might; but underneath them all was the grim probability that wouldnot down that he was probably bound on his last journey.

  His tortured thoughts turned back to Bert and Tom. He could see them nowin his mind's eye, chatting and laughing on the edge of the ravine, whilethe men shored up the tottering trestle. Presently they would turn backand idly wonder what had become of Dick. A little longer and theirwonder would change into a certain uneasiness. Still they would notpermit themselves to think for a moment that anything could have happenedto him. They would guess that he might be in the smoker or the buffetand would saunter leisurely through the various cars. Only then whenthey failed to find him would they become seriously alarmed. And hecould see the look of fierce determination and deadly resolution thatwould leap to their eyes when they realized that he must have met withdisaster.

  For they would come after him. He had no doubt of that. Some time, someway, they would come upon him, dead or alive, unless their own lives werelost in the effort. He knew that they would stick to the trail likebloodhounds and never falter for an instant. They had faced too manyperils together to quail at this supreme test when his life was at stake.Dear old Bert! Good old Tom! His heart warmed at the thought of themand a mist came over his eyes.

  But what chance did they have of finding him? They were in a strangeland where even the language was unknown to them, and where the nativeslooked with suspicion on everything American. The country through whichthey were passing was of the wildest kind, and the hard sunbaked trailleft little trace. The woods were thick and at times his captors had touse their machetes to cut a way through the dense under growth. Inplaces where streams were met, they walked their horses through the waterto confuse the trail still further. They were evidently familiar withevery foot of ground, and no doubt their camp had been located in someplace where it would be practically impossible for pursuers ta come uponthem without abundant warning. The chances of success were so remote asto be well nigh hopeless. There was no use in deluding himself, and Dickpulled himself together and resolutely faced the probability of death.

  He did not want to die. Every fibre in him flamed out in fierce revoltagainst the thought. Why, he had scarcely begun to live. He stood atthe very threshold of life. Some lines he had read only a few daysbefore, curiously enough came back to him:

  _"'Tis life, of which our nerves are scant, O life, not death, for which we pant, More life and fuller that we want."_

  Yes, that was it. He wanted life, wanted it eagerly, wanted itthirstily, wanted it desperately. Never before had it seemed so sweet.An hour earlier it had stretched before him, full of promise. The bloodran warm and riotous through every vein. He had everything to livefor--health, strength, home and friends. And now the ending of all hisdreams and hopes and plans was--what?

  A shadow fell across him. He looked up. It was the vulture, circlinglower now, as though its instinct told it of a coming feast. Dickshuddered. The air seemed suddenly to have grown deadly chill.