Border Boys Across the Frontier

by John Henry Goldfrap

  CHAPTER XXII.

  AT ROSARIO STATION.

  The dull gray of the dawn was illuminating the east, and the breath ofthe morning astir in the tree-tops, when Bill Whiting, station agent atRosario, began to bestir himself. The station agent was not about soearly on account of passengers that might be expected by an earlytrain--for the excellent reason that there was no morning train. Sincefighting had begun in Chihuahua, schedules had, to quote Bill, "gone topot." On a sidetrack lay a locomotive, smokeless and inert, just asher crew had abandoned her. Some loaded freight cars, their contentsuntouched, likewise stood on the spur. That Bill Whiting, however,meant to guard the railroad's property, was evidenced by the fact thatstrapped to his waist was a portly revolver, while a rifle lay handy inthe ticket office, in which, since the outbreak of trouble, he hadwatched and slept and cooked.

  Bill's first task, after tumbling out of his blankets and washing hisface in a tin basin standing in one corner of the office, was to tapthe telegraph key. The instrument gave out a lifeless "tick-tick."

  "No juice--blazes!" grunted Bill, and, being a philosophical young man,he bothered himself no more about the matter, and went about gettinghis breakfast.

  In the midst of his preparations, however, he suddenly straightened upand listened intently. To hear better, he even shoved aside thesizzling frying-pan from its position over one burner of his kerosenestove. What had attracted his attention was a distant sound--faint atfirst, but momentarily growing nearer.

  "Blazes!" muttered Bill, scratching his head, and making for a rearwindow, which commanded a view of the long, white road. "What's that,I wonder? Sounds like a sick cow."

  He gazed out of the window earnestly, and then suddenly recoiled with astartled exclamation.

  "Blazes! It ain't no cow. It's an automobubble. Yes, sir, as sure asyou live, it's a bubble. Whose can it be? Maybe it's old manStetson's himself."

  Chugging in a spasmodic sort of way, the car drew nearer, and thestation agent now saw that there were several people in it.

  "Looks like that car is spavined, or something," commented Bill. "Why,it's regularly limping; yes, sir--blazes!--it's limping, fer a fact."

  Buck Bradley's auto was, in fact, at almost its "last gasp." Ralph'stemporary repair had not lasted any longer than he had expected.Fortunately, at the time it gave out, the insurrectos had apparentlygiven up the chase, and the party was not far from the hacienda of afriend of the genial Buck. At his suggestion, therefore, they divertedfrom their road to the mine, and swung off to this house. Here a hastymeal and a warm welcome were enjoyed, and Ralph set the car in order asbest he could. Buck's friend, however, had news for them. He hadheard that there was an encampment of regulars at Rosario, from whichit was only a short run by rail to the branch on which the Esmeraldawas located.

  This information caused the party to change their plans. With the carin the condition in which it was, they doubted whether it would bepossible to travel over the rough roads intervening between themselvesand the mine. On the other hand, Rosario was not far off, and on asmooth, hard highway. If the information of Buck Bradley's friend wascorrect, and there was no reason to doubt it, the regulars were campedat Rosario guarding the line. What more easy than to explain theircase to the leader of the Mexican regulars, and steal a march on theinsurrectos by reaching the Esmeralda first by rail, and wiping out theband of Madero?

  But, alas for human plans! The party in the auto was doomed to bitterdisappointment. As they approached, and no camp was to be seen, theybegan to realize that their information had been inaccurate. BillWhiting speedily clinched all doubt in the matter.

  "Say, my friend," hailed Buck Bradley, as the agent emerged from hisshack, "where are the soldiers?"

  "You mean the greaser regulars?" was the rejoinder. "Blazes, they wentoff yesterday. Had a tip where Madero was, and they are after him,hot-foot, I reckon."

  The boys exchanged despondent glances. Here was a fine end to theirhigh hopes. The Esmeralda was now farther off than ever, and the autowas hopelessly crippled. One tire was worn almost to ribbons, a rimhad been sprung, and two spark plugs had cracked. Every one of theparty realized, as the car stopped with a sigh, that it couldn't moveagain until a tall lot of overhauling had been done.

  "Anything I can do to help yer?" volunteered Bill, noting the woebegonefaces of his countrymen.

  "Nothing, son, unless you've got a wire working," sputtered Buck, who,as he did with everything, had gone into this matter, heart and soul.

  "Wire!" echoed the station agent, "why, blazes, I couldn't put througha tap fer Diaz himself. The wire went dead two days ago, and I've beenon my own hook since."

  "What was the last word you had?" asked Jack, thinking, perhaps, thatthey might have some information in regard to affairs at the mine.

  The agent dived into his pocket and fished out a yellow paper.

  "Here it is," he exclaimed, "and it's signed by 'King Pin' Stetsonhimself: 'Keep freight moving at all hazards.'"

  "It's signed by Mr. Stetson, you say?" exclaimed Ralph eagerly.

  "Sure. He's the main boss on this road, you know, and----"

  "I know, I know!" cried Ralph eagerly, "but is he here across theborder?"

  "Huh? Not he. He's in the best hotel in El Paso, consulting andsmoking two-bit seegars. But my job's here, and here I stick."

  But Ralph and Jack had not heard this speech. A light shone in theEastern boy's eyes, the light of a great idea.

  "There's a locomotive yonder, Jack," he whispered. "I can run one. Ilearned one summer when pop took me over the Squantock and Port Glosterline. You said there was a branch connecting with the Esmeralda. Whycan't we go by rail?"

  "By ginger, Ralph! Have you got the nerve?"

  "Look at me."

  Jack regarded his comrade an instant. There wasn't a flicker of aneyelash to show that Ralph was the least bit nervous. The experiencesof the last few days had taught him much.

  While Bill Whiting regarded them curiously, Jack hastily told theothers of what Ralph had proposed.

  "That appeals ter me as a ring-tailed roarer of a good idee," announcedBuck Bradley, when he had finished.

  "Waal, I'm more used ter doin' my fightin' ahorseback than from a loco,but I guess it goes here," chimed in Pete.

  "An eminently sensible suggestion," was the professor's contribution.The maimed ankle of the man of science was now almost well, and, as heput it, he was "restored to his customary salubriosity."

  "Then, all we've got to do, is to get permission to take thelocomotive," declared Jack. He turned to Bill Whiting, who had beeneyeing them curiously.

  "We've got to get through to the Esmeralda mine," he said. "Our autois broken down, and yet the fate of the mine, and perhaps the lives ofits defenders, hang upon our arrival there as soon as possible. Havewe your authority to run the locomotive through?"

  "Say, son," drawled Bill Whiting, "put on your brakes. That's acompound, and even supposing I could let you take her, how would yourun her?"

  "There's a boy here who can run her all right," cried Jack impatiently."All we need to have is your authority."

  Bill Whiting shook his head.

  "Sorry," he said. "I don't know you, and that loco's railroadproperty. I'm responsible fer it. Suppose you'd ditch her?No--blazes!--it wouldn't do at all."

  "I'll give yer a hundred dollars gold fer two hours use uv thatingine," cried Buck Bradley.

  "No good," declared Bill, shaking his head; "it's railroad property.I've got my job to look after, even if Chihuahua is turned inside out."

  "But this is a matter of the utmost urgency," argued Jack. "Listen."

  He rapidly detailed the outlines of their situation to the agent. Theman was obdurate, however.

  "Couldn't nobody touch that ingine but old man Stetson himself."

  "How about his son?" Ralph's voice rang out clearly above the excitedtones of the others.

  "Waal, I reckon he could, bu
t he ain't here."

  "He isn't, eh?" demanded Ralph, hopping out of the tonneau, "well, myname happens to be Ralph Stetson."

  "Oh, quit joking. You're Americans, like myself, and I'd like ter helpyou out, but I can't do it."

  "Will you give me a chance to prove to you I'm Ralph Stetson?" askedRalph eagerly.

  "Sure; a dozen, if yer want 'em," grinned the agent, gazing at theragged, tattered figure before him.

  Ralph dived into his pocket and pulled out a bundle of letters andpapers. Motioning the agent to sit beside him at the edge of theplatform, he skimmed through them for the other's benefit. The groupin the auto watched anxiously. A whole lot depended on Ralph's provinghis identity.

  "Say, blazes!" burst out the agent suddenly, "_you are_ Ralph Stetson,ain't you?"

  "I think those letters and papers prove it," answered the boy. "Now,do we get that loco?"

  "I reckon so, if you say so. But, will you sign a paper, releasing meof responsibility?"

  With what speed that paper was signed, may be imagined. In themeantime, Buck Bradley, who knew a thing or two about railroadinghimself, had his coat off, and was hard at work waking up the bankedfires. Presently the forced draught began to roar, and black smoke toroll from the smoke-stack. By the time the auto had been wheeled inunder a shed, and Bill Whiting asked to communicate with the governmenttroops as soon as possible, all was ready for the start.

  The engine was trembling under a good head of steam, white jets gushingfrom her safety valves.

  "All ab-o-a-r-d!" yelled Pete, in the manner of a conductor, and BuckBradley, who had stepped off after his labors to cool up a bit, beganto climb back again.

  "Why, are you going with us, Mr. Bradley?" demanded Jack amazedly."What about your show?"

  "Oh, Sam Stow kin look after that," was the easy rejoinder. "It won'tbe the first time. I've worked long enough; now I'm off for a littleplay."

  "Won't be much play about it, I'm thinking," grunted Pete.

  The engine bell clanged, a hoarse shriek came from her whistle, and thewheels began to revolve. Ralph was at the throttle, while Bill Whitingwas up ahead to throw the switch.

  "Good luck!" he cried, waving his hand as the locomotive swept by androlled out upon the main line.

  "Good-by!" cried the crowd of adventurers in the cab, waving theirhands back at him.

  Buck threw the furnace door open, and sent a big shovelful of coalskittering into the glaring interior. The cumbrous machine gave a leapforward, like a scared greyhound, as Ralph jerked the throttle open.

  The Border Boys were off on what was to prove one of the mostadventurous incidents of their lives.