The Broncho Rider Boys with Funston at Vera Cruz Part 13

At the same moment a guard who had approached from the other end of the car laid his hand upon the angry man's shoulder.

"If the Senor is not satisfied," he said, "we shall be pleased to send him back to the City of Mexico."

"Oh, no-no-no," was the stammering reply. "I am very well satisfied. All I want is to get out of the country."

"Let us hope there will be no trouble about that," was the polite response, and the florid man lapsed into silence.

Ordinarily it is a pleasant day's journey from the City of Mexico to the seaport city of Vera Cruz; or if one prefers he may make a night ride of it in times of peace. The train which left the City of Mexico that April morning made no such time. After a tiresome all-day ride with numerous aggravating stops, when darkness fell they were still on the plateau of Mexico, some miles west of Orizaba, running slowly for fear some stray bunch of Carranzistas or Zapatistas might have torn up a length or two of track.

It was possibly an hour later that the engine gave a furious jerk, followed by a b.u.mp and another jerk, and then the train came to a dead stop.

In a minute everybody was on his feet asking everybody else what had happened. As no one knew, there was a general movement for the doors, as it was too dark to see much from the windows.

"Sit down, everybody," ordered the guard. "There is no danger, but we have stopped on a high trestle."

The pa.s.sengers obeyed, realizing the danger of leaving the coaches. There was a general round of conversation, and then as the train did not start, people settled back in their seats and tried to sleep.

Some minutes later Billie gave Adrian a nudge with his elbow.

"Are you asleep?" he asked.

"No. Why?"

"I've just been looking out of the window. We're not on a trestle."

"No? Well, what of it?"

"Only that the guard was lying. What did he do it for?"

"I don't know. Because he was a Mexican, I guess. Go on to sleep."

"That isn't the answer, although it's pretty good. They have some scheme. I wouldn't be surprised if they were going to keep us prisoners somewhere around here."

"Nonsense. Go on to sleep."

But Billie was not satisfied. He leaned over and tried to talk to Donald, but he was fast asleep.

"I think I'll go on a little scouting expedition," he muttered.

"I need some exercise."

He arose, stretched himself and walked slowly toward the door, which stood wide open.

"I wonder where the guard is?" he thought. "It's mighty funny he'd go and leave the coach like this."

He stepped on to the coach ahead. The same condition existed.

Billie's curiosity got the best of him and he jumped out onto the ground. It was pitch dark, but he had not advanced more than twenty steps before he discovered groups of men seated upon the gra.s.s. A second glance convinced him they were armed.

He drew back and stood beside the coach, where he thought fast.

"There's one of two things," he soliloquized. "We are either prisoners or else we are being guarded against an expected attack. Whichever it is, this is no time for the Broncho Rider Boys to be asleep. I'll go and tell the others."

He started to climb onto the car, but a guard appeared on the platform and ordered him away at the point of his bayonet.

"I'm a pa.s.senger," explained Billie.

"Go away!" was the reply, emphasized by a quick advance of the bayonet.

Seeing that it was no time to argue, Billie slid back into the darkness.

CHAPTER VIII.

TREACHERY FOILED.

Broncho Billie had been in too many unpleasant places to be at all worried over his predicament, but he was much concerned about the condition of the train and its pa.s.sengers, practically all of whom were Americans and a large majority of whom were women and children.

"It would be fierce," he mused, "to have them held here, or in a detention camp as prisoners; and it would be worse if we should be attacked by an overwhelming force of revolutionists. I've just got to know the truth."

He glanced up at the coach with its dimly lighted windows.

"I wish I could talk to old Don. He most always knows what to do.

But how can I get at him?"

He sneaked out to where he could see the coach platform. The guard was still there, as well as the guard on the other car.

"Worse and more of it," he exclaimed.

Then he examined the car, trying to determine at which window he had been seated. Several were open, and he determined to try and speak to some one.

"Our seats are not far from here," he thought as he stopped under the second one. "I'll try this."

He picked up a stone about as big as an egg and tossed it into the window. A howl from a child followed the act and Billie ducked under the car. He could hear the mother pacifying it, but evidently she, too, had been asleep and had not discovered the stone.

"I think I know just which child it is," said Billie with a grin, "and this next open window must be ours."

He picked up another stone and tossed it in to his second choice, this time with better results.

Donald had just aroused from a nap, and, missing Billie, was looking for him. Not seeing him in the car, he was about to look out of the window when the stone hit him on the chin.

"Ouch!" he exclaimed as he started back.

Billie heard the exclamation and gave the familiar whistle.

Donald was on the alert in an instant. Looking up and down the car to be sure he was not being watched, he stuck his head out of the window.