Bert Wilson at Panama

by Madeline Leslie

  CHAPTER VI

  THE EXECUTION OF EL TIGRE

  With a quick jerk, Dick snapped the rope that held him and rushed towardhis comrades. He ranged himself alongside, and his revolver barked inunison with theirs.

  The surprise had been complete. At the first shot, the bandits hadleaped to their feet, and with wild yells scattered in every direction.Most of them had left their arms in their tents, and had nothing buttheir knives to defend them from attack. And these were whollyinsufficient weapons, with which to meet the little band that flungthemselves so recklessly upon them. For all they knew, they might be thevanguard of a force many times stronger, and they fled in wild confusion.

  The guerilla chief was the only one who kept his head. He drew arevolver from his belt and returned shot for shot. He backed up slowlyin the direction of his hut. With his eyes on the enemy in front, he hadforgotten that the second snake was right behind him. He slipped on theslimy folds, and, the next instant, the enraged reptile struck at one ofhis hands as he attempted to rise. A burning pain shot through his indexfinger. He shook off the clinging snake, and, jumping upon it, stampedits head into pulp. Then he drew his knife and slashed his finger to thebone. The next instant he had reached his hut and slammed the doorbehind him.

  The whole thing had happened in the twinkling of an eye. A dozen of theguerillas lay dead or wounded on the ground. The odds had been reducedwith a vengeance, but they were still heavy. The attackers had playedtheir trump card--that of the surprise. It had taken a trick, but thegame was not yet over. No one knew this better than the oldfrontiersman. They had emptied their revolvers.

  "Back to the woods," he shouted, "and reload."

  Waiting only to recover his bowie and slash the bonds of the Chinaman,who lay there more dead than alive, he led the way. Soon they were undercover, and not till then did Dick throw his arms around Bert and Tom, ina hug that almost made their bones crack. Then he shook hands withMelton, with a fervor that made that hardy hero wince.

  "I can never tell you," began Dick, and then he choked.

  "You don't have to," returned Melton, gruffly, to conceal his own deepfeeling, while Bert and Tom, in the grip of strong emotion, could onlypat Dick's arms, without speaking; "It's nothing that any white manwouldn't do for another. Besides, we're not yet out of the woods. Thosefellows will get their nerve back in a minute or two, and then look outfor trouble. They've probably guessed by this time how few we are, andthey'll be wild to get back at us. That leader of theirs is a beast allright, but he's no coward. The way he cut that poison out of his fleshshows that. Load your guns quick, and each get behind a big tree. Haveyour knives ready too, if it comes to close quarters."

  "But you're wounded," cried Dick, as he saw a little trickle of bloodfrom Melton's left shoulder.

  "Only a scratch," laughed Melton; "the chief winged me there with hislast shot. That's one I owe him and I always pay my debts. Just twistyour handkerchief about it, and then we'll forget it."

  It proved to be, as he said, only a graze, and they returned to theirattitude of strained attention.

  In the meantime, the Chinaman had come hobbling out to them, and in hishollow eyes there was a speechless gratitude that made them know that hewas their slave for life. He was of no value as a reinforcement, andafter having settled him in the shelter of a huge tree, they peered frombehind their cover for some sign of the expected foe.

  Five--ten--twenty minutes passed, and nothing happened. The waitingwas more nerve racking than the actual combat. The only sound that brokethe stillness was the groans of the wounded, as they crawled into andbehind their tents. It would have been an easy thing to finish the work,but none of them could fire on a helpless man, even though a murderer andan outlaw. They had put them out of the running, and that was enough.

  Then suddenly, just as they began to think that after all the bandits haddecamped, came a volley of bullets that pattered among the leaves andthudded into the trees.

  "I was sure of it," muttered Melton. "Keep close under cover," hecommanded, "and make every shot tell."

  Even as he spoke, his rifle cracked, and a crouching figure rose with ayell, and lurched heavily forward on his face.

  "One less," he grunted, "but there's still a mighty lot of them left."

  The shots that had been more or less scattered now grew into a fusillade.It was evident that the fighting was being intelligently directed, andthat the bandits were regaining confidence. Melton and the boys shotcoolly and carefully whenever they saw a head or an arm exposed, and theyells that followed the shot told that the bullet had found its mark.But there seemed no let up in the enemy's volleys, and what made Meltonmore uneasy than anything else was that the zone of fire was steadilywidening. His long experience told him unerringly that the foe wastrying to surround them. If his little band had to face four ways atonce, it would go hard with them.

  Suddenly he felt a touch on his arm. He looked up and saw the Chinaman.The latter pointed down the road.

  "Men coming," he said. "Blig lots of men. Horses too."

  Melton sprang to his feet. Sure enough, there were horsemen coming upthe road. Was it a detachment of the guerilla band returning? Were theyto be taken by fresh forces in the rear? He grabbed Bert by theshoulder.

  "Here," he said, "face around with me. You other fellows stay as youare."

  They crouched low with their eyes on the road. The tramp of hoofs becamelouder and the jingle of spurs and accoutrements fell upon their ears.Then their hearts leaped, as round the curve, riding hard, swept a squadof Mexican cavalry, fully a hundred in number, their brilliant uniformsglittering in the sunlight. With a wild hurrah and waving their hands,they rushed forward to meet them.

  There was a hasty movement among the front ranks, as though to repel anassault, but as they saw how few they were and realized the absence ofhostile intentions, their carbines were lowered and the captain incommand swung himself to the ground.

  He was a young, well set up, soldierly looking man, and it took only amoment for him to grasp the situation, as it was rapidly sketched out byMelton. He had been educated in the Mexican military school and spokeEnglish fluently.

  "How large a force have you?" he asked.

  "Here they are," replied Melton, with a wave of his hand.

  "What!" the officer gasped in amazement. "You don't mean to say thatwith only four men, you attacked El Tigre and his band. It was suicide."

  "Well," laughed Melton, "it hasn't come to that yet, but I'm not denyingthat things are getting too warm for comfort. The rascals would have hadus surrounded in a little while, and I'm mighty glad you've come."

  "You've done wonders," rejoined the captain, "but now you can rest onyour arms, while I clear out this nest of hornets."

  "Not a bit of it," replied Melton. "We're going to be in at the death."

  "You stubborn Americanos," laughed the captain. "So be it then. You'vecertainly earned the right to have your way in this."

  His dispositions were quickly taken. At the word of command, histroopers dismounted and tethered their horses. Then they deployed in along line across the woods. A bugle blew the charge, and with a rousingcheer they rushed up the slope and across the clearing. A volley ofbullets met them and several of them went down, but the rest kept onwithout a pause. Their carbines cracked without cessation, and oneoutlaw after the other fell, until not more than fifteen were left.These last were gathered in a corner of the camp, where under theleadership of El Tigre, who fought with a fury worthy of his name, theymade their last despairing stand.

  But their hour had come. The blood of their victims was at last to beavenged. One final charge, and the troops swept over them. The guerillachief, seeing that all was lost, lifted his revolver with the last bulletleft, and put it to his head to blow out his brains. He had alwaysboasted that he would never be taken alive. But just as his finger wason the trigger, Dick, who, with his friends, had been in the forefront ofthe fight
, knocked his hand aside and bore him to the ground. In anothersecond, he was tightly bound and the fight was over. With four of hisband, the only survivors, he was put under guard, and left to await thepleasure of his captors.

  Then at last, they drew breath. The work was done and well done. Dickwas with them, safe and sound, and none the worse for his terribleexperience. The band which had been the scourge of that distractedcountry had been practically wiped out, and the leader, who for so longhad defied God and man, was a prisoner, awaiting his fate. What thatfate would be no one could doubt, who knew how richly he merited death.

  "I suppose," said Dick, as they sat a little apart from the others takinglunch with the captain of the troop, at his invitation, "that he'll betaken to Montillo for trial."

  "Guess again," chuckled Melton, who knew something of the methods of theMexican Government in dealing with guerillas.

  "My orders were to take no prisoners," smiled the captain, and there wasa meaning in his smile that boded ill for the remnant of the bandit crew.

  "And, of course, I must obey my orders," he added drily. "The morereadily," he went on, as his face grew dark, "because there is a privatescore that I have to settle with this scoundrel. The blood of my youngerbrother is on his hands. You can guess then, senors, whether I was glad,when I was trusted on this mission."

  "Are they to be shot, then?" ventured Bert.

  "All but the leader," answered the captain. "He must hang. And yet heshall not die by hanging."

  Before they could ask an explanation, he rose and excused himself, as hehad to give some orders to the soldiers, and they were left to ponder invain for his meaning.

  The next two hours were spent in clearing up the camp and burying thedead. The bodies of the guerillas were thrown hastily into a narrowtrench, but those of the soldiers received full military honors, thebugler playing taps, and a salvo of musketry being fired over the graves.In the meantime the boys had wandered over the camp, now shorn of theterror that had so long been connected with it. On the upper end, itterminated at the very brink of a precipice. All of Mexico seemed to bestretched out before them. The abyss fell sheer down for a thousand feetto the rocks below. They shuddered as they stood on the edge and lookedthrough the empty space. On the brink stood a mighty oak tree, with oneof its limbs overhanging the chasm.

  A sudden recollection struck Melton.

  "This must be the place the consul told me about, in one of his stories,"he ejaculated. "He told me that one of the Tiger's favorite amusementswas to bring a prisoner here and prod him with bayonets over the brink.I guess," he scowled, "we don't need to waste much sympathy on thatfellow, no matter what the captain does to him."

  And the boys, with a lively recollection of the snake and the buckskinthong, agreed with him.

  But now the bugle blew and they hurried back to the clearing. The troopstood at attention. Routine work connected with the raid had beendespatched, and the time had come for the military execution. Martiallaw is brief and stern, and, under his instructions, the captain had thepower of life or death without appeal. His face was set and solemn, asbefitted one on whom weighed so heavy a responsibility, but there was norelenting in his voice, as he bade a sergeant to bring out the prisoners.

  The four came out, sullen and apathetic. He looked them over for amoment, and then gave a sign. A trench was hastily dug and the prisonersplaced with their backs to it. Their eyes were bandaged. A firing squadof a dozen men advanced to within ten feet and leveled their rifles. Amoment's pause, then a sharp word of command, and death leaped from theguns. When the smoke cleared away, four motionless forms lay in thetrench, and justice had been done.

  "Don't bury them yet," commanded the captain. "Bring out El Tigre."

  There was a stir among the soldiers, as the dreaded chief, whose evilfame was known all over Mexico, was brought before the captain. He washarmless enough now. All his power had been stripped away, and all thatremained to him was his one redeeming quality of courage. He had heardthe firing, and, as he came from the tent, he passed close by the bodiesof his former followers. Doubtless the same fate awaited him, but he didnot waver, and his hideous face expressed only the bitterest venom andmalignity. If hate could kill, it would have blasted Dick, as for amoment the bandit caught sight of him, in passing. Then he faced hisjudge, who was also to be his executioner.

  "Do you know me, El Tigre?" asked the Captain.

  The outlaw glared at him.

  "No," he snarled.

  "Do you remember the boy you captured on that raid in the San Joaquinvalley, three months ago?"

  "What of him?"

  "He was my brother."

  The guerilla shot a swift glance at him.

  "Carramba," he muttered. Then after an instant's silence. "Yes, Iremember. He was great sport. He died hard. It was very amusing. Yes,he died hard."

  If his object was to provoke instant death, he almost succeeded. Thecaptain's eyes flamed and he snatched a revolver from his belt. But hesaw the stratagem in time and by a great effort held himself in check.The flush faded from his face, to be succeeded by a deadly pallor.

  "El Tigre," he said slowly, "the earth is weary of you and the devil iswaiting for you. I shall not keep him waiting long. Take him up to theoak," he commanded, pointing to the great tree on the edge of theprecipice.

  The soldiers fell into line and the procession started.

  When they halted under its branches, the hands and feet of the outlawwere securely tied. Then a soldier climbed into the tree, and far out onthe branch that overhung the chasm. At a distance of twenty feet, hefastened a stout rope. Then he crept back, and, making a noose in theother end, took his stand beside the prisoner and waited for orders.

  The ghastly preparations were telling on the nerve of the guerilla, andhe broke into a string of the wildest blasphemies. Without paying anyattention to his ravings, the soldier at a signal, slipped the noose overhis head. But instead of tightening it about the neck, as most of thelookers on, as well as the prisoner himself, expected, he adroitly drewit down to the waist, and thence up under the outlaw's arms. Then hepulled it tight. Four men took hold of El Tigre's arms and legs, borehim to the edge of the precipice, and pushed him off into space.

  Like a giant pendulum, he swung out in a great arc, and then, returning,almost reached the brink. Gradually the arc grew shorter, until heswayed perpendicularly from the branch. Below, he could see the rocks atthe foot of the cliff. The bones of many of his victims already reposedthere. How long before he would join them? Was he to be left hangingthere as a feast for the carrion birds? Wherever he looked was torture.Below, the rocks. Above, the vultures. In front, the enemies whom hehated with all the passion of his soul.

  Ah! A firing squad was coming forward. They were going to shoot himthen, after all. Good! Death would be welcome. He heard the roar ofthe guns, and still he was alive. Could they have missed him? Thenanother volley rang out. Still he lived. He could not understand. Hisglance went aloft. The rope was sagging. He could feel it give. Abroken strand brushed against his face. And then he understood.

  They were firing at the rope!

  A panic terror seized him. He had reached the limit of human endurance.Again the shots, and a trembling that told him that the rope was hit. Hetried to struggle upward. If he could only ease his weight. Hestretched his bound hands aloft in a hopeless effort to climb up to thebranch. He no longer dared to look below. Another volley and a sound oftearing. He drew in a long breath as though it would buoy him up. Hisfeet felt about for something to rest on and relieve the strain. Andstill he could hear the crackling and feel the yielding and once more theguns rang out and the rope broke. With curses on his lips and deliriumin his heart, he fell. Once he turned over in his awful flight. Then, amere atom in that immensity of space, he shot like a plummet to the rocksbelow.