The Radio Boys on the Mexican Border Part 31

"Good old Frank," said Bob, warmly. "We've got to tell him as soon as I've notified father."

"He certainly put up some fight, I'll bet," said Jack, thinking of the hurried radio reaching them from the cave as they neared the Calomares ranch in their airplane hours before. "And maybe he was hurt in that fight with Morales. He said he licked the Mexican, but that was all we heard. You remember? His voice was broken off after that."

"That's right," said Bob. "I hope nothing serious happened to him.

What a shame it would be if he was hurt, while here we came through practically without a scratch."

All this time they had been walking across the starlit landing field, where could be seen Bob's airplane, and now they drew near the brightly-lighted radio station.

Entering the sending room they were confronted by Muller. That young German operator, whose perspicacity almost had caused their undoing and whom Jack earlier had floored with a blow on the chin, was sitting in a chair reading. He had returned to the station after the attack of the Mexican regulars had been beaten off.

Muller jumped to his feet, surprise giving way to anger, but before he could draw and level the revolver swinging at his hip, one of the Mexican guards accompanying the boys pushed them aside and thrust himself forward.

"None of that," he said in Spanish. "The General has commanded that these young Americanos be well treated. They are friends."

"Friends," muttered Muller, sullenly, nevertheless withdrawing his hand from the revolver b.u.t.t. "That wasn't a very friendly way to treat me awhile ago."

He turned to Jack.

"And why, if you are friends," he demanded, "do you two appear in the clothing of Herr von Arnheim and Captain Morales?"

"A number of events have occurred," said Jack, quietly. "That is why.

However, Don Fernandez has heard the tale, and that is sufficient. He has given orders personally to these soldiers that we shall be permitted to use the radio. That is why we are here."

"Is that so?" demanded Muller of the Mexican guards.

The spokesman of the pair nodded agreement.

"The General has so commanded," he said.

Grudgingly, Muller stepped aside. Here was a mystery, and he hated mysteries. Besides, these two youths were Americans. He was a German and although the war between their respective countries was at an end, he could not bring himself to entertain kindly feelings toward them.

Like many Germans, he believed the United States responsible for the defeat of his fatherland in the World War. He was working in the ranks of Germans in Mexico to embroil the United States with that country.

Such war, he believed, would strike a blow at the prestige of the hated Yankees.

"If the General has commanded," he said, stepping aside, "go ahead."

"Look here," said Jack, flus.h.i.+ng at this grumpy att.i.tude, but deciding to do the manly thing, nevertheless, and extending his hand, "let bygones be bygones."

After a moment's hesitation, Muller shook hands. To do him justice, it is only fair to point out that he was sincere in his att.i.tude toward Americans, but misled.

"I haven't time to explain about that blow," said Jack, "but at the moment it was necessary. Matters have changed since then. It was nothing personal."

"Very well," said Muller, his grumpiness beginning to disappear beneath the charm of Jack's manner. "Say no more. Now what is it you want? Perhaps I can help you."

"We want to use the radio," said Jack, noting Bob's growing impatience at their delay.

"What station do you want to call?"

"The Hampton ranch," interrupted Bob, who decided it was time to bring this conversation to an end. He was in a hurry to talk with his father.

"Are you calling Rollins?"

This reminder of the erstwhile traitor at the Hampton ranch brought both boys to a realization that Muller was familiar with the manner of calling their station, as undoubtedly he had handled or conducted radio conversations with Rollins in the past.

"No, not Rollins," said Bob, shortly. It was all right for Jack to shake hands with Muller if he wanted to. Jack and Muller had been active opponents, and such an act was only sportsmanlike under the circ.u.mstances. But Bob disliked the young German on sight. "Just let me at the phone," he said, "and turn on the juice."

"Very well."

Muller turned stiffly and entered the power plant adjacent, while Bob in a fever adjusted the headpiece. As the hum of machinery sounded from the power plant, Jack laid a hand on Bob's arm.

"Look here, Bob. Wait a minute."

Bob regarded him inquiringly, his fingers reaching for the k.n.o.bs on the instrument box before him, preparatory to sending out his signal call.

"What is it, now?"

"Well, you know old Frank will have his ear glued to the receiver at the cave. Suppose you call your father, but tell Frank to listen in and not interrupt."

"Right," said Bob. "Well, here goes." And he began calling the Hampton ranch.

CHAPTER x.x.xI

CALM AFTER THE STORM

Meanwhile, as Jack had foreseen, Mr. Temple waited at the radio plant at the Hampton ranch with ill-concealed impatience.

Dave Morningstar, hat pulled down over his eyes, sat in a chair tilted back against the wall, watching him from beneath the brim. The only signs of life about the ex-cowboy turned mechanic were the occasional movements of the eyes, and the occasional refilling of his pipe, from which lazy streamers of smoke now and again floated upward.

All the evening these two had held watch. And, as hour after hour pa.s.sed, with no word from the boys, Mr. Temple's anxiety rose to a fever. He condemned himself for ever having given his consent to his son and Jack starting upon so foolhardy an expedition as that of attempting to rescue Jack's father from the rebel headquarters and fly to safety with him in Bob's airplane.

Surely, he thought, the boys long since would have reached the ranch and made their departure. They had promised to call him by radio from the airplane the moment they started on their return flight. From their failure to do so he argued the worst. Their expedition must have come to grief, probably even now they were prisoners, perhaps--

But he shuddered to think of the alternative. He would not let himself consider that possibility. In desperation he turned to Dave Morningstar.

"Isn't there something we can do?" he asked imploringly.

The old ex-cowboy took his pipe from his mouth, spat deliberately to one side, then brought the forelegs of his chair to the floor.

"Le's see," he said. "I been a'most asleep. Le's see. What say to calling the cave?"

Mr. Temple eagerly grasped at the proposal.

"Yes, certainly," he said. "Why haven't I thought of that before?

Perhaps Frank has heard something."

He did not pause to consider that the party at the cave in all likelihood was little better prepared than he with information. The mere idea of doing something, of taking some action that would break up this horrible spell of waiting, appealed to him in his excited state.