Adore Has Only One D

: Bucky O'connor

After all, adventures are to the adventurous. In this prosaic twentieth

century the Land of Romance still beckons to eager eyes and gallant

hearts. The rutted money-grabber may deny till he is a nerve-racked

counting-machine, but youth, even to the end of time, will laugh to

scorn his pessimism and venture with elastic heel where danger and

mystery offer their dubious hazards.



So it was that Bucky and his
little comrade found nothing of dulness

in the mission to which they had devoted themselves. In their task of

winning freedom for the American immured in the Chihuahua dungeon they

already found themselves in the heart of a web of intrigue, the stakes

of which were so high as to carry life and death with them in the

balance. But for them the sun shone brightly. It was enough that they

played the game and shared the risks together. The jocund morning was in

their hearts, and brought with it an augury of success based on nothing

so humdrum or tangible as reason.



O'Connor carried with him to the grim fortress not only his permit for

an inspection, but also a note from O'Halloran that was even more potent

in effect. For Colonel Ferdinand Gabilonda, warden of the prison, had

a shrewd suspicion that a plot was under way to overthrow the unpopular

administration of Megales, and though he was an office-holder under the

present government he had no objection to ingratiating himself with

the opposition, providing it could be done without compromising himself

openly. In other words, the warden was sitting on the fence waiting to

see which way the cat would jump. If the insurgents proved the stronger

party, he meant to throw up his hat and shout "Viva Valdez." On the

other hand, if the government party crushed them he would show himself

fussily active in behalf of Megales. Just now he was exerting all his

diplomacy to maintain a pleasant relationship with both. Since it was

entirely possible that the big Irishman O'Halloran might be the man on

horseback within a very few days, the colonel was all suave words and

honeyed smiles to his friend the ranger.



Indeed he did him the unusual honor of a personally conducted

inspection. Gabilonda was a fat little man, with a soft, purring voice

and a pompous manner. He gushed with the courteous volubility of his

nation, explaining with great gusto this and that detail of the work.

Bucky gave him outwardly a deferent ear, but his alert mind and eyes

were scanning the prisoners they saw. The ranger was trying to find in

one of these scowling, defiant faces some resemblance to the picture his

mind had made of Henderson.



But Bucky looked in vain. If the man he wanted was among these he had

changed beyond recognition. In the end he was forced to ask Gabilonda

plainly if he would not take him to see David Henderson, as he knew a

man in Arizona who was an old friend of his, and he would like to be

able to tell him that he had seen his friend.



Henderson was breaking stone when O'Connor got his first glimpse of him.

He continued to swing his hammer listlessly, without looking up, when

the door opened to let in the warden and his guests. But something in

the ranger's steady gaze drew his eyes. They were dull eyes, and sullen,

but when he saw that Bucky was an American, the fire of intelligence

flashed into them.



"May I speak to him?" asked O'Connor.



"It is against the rules, senor, but if you will be brief--" The colonel

shrugged, and turned his back to them, in order not to see. It must be

said for Gabilonda that his capacity for blinking what he did not think

it judicious to see was enormous.



"You are David Henderson, are you not?" The ranger asked, in a low

voice.



Surprise filtered into the dull eyes. "That was my name," the man

answered bitterly. "I have a number now."



"I come from Webb Mackenzie to get you out of this," the ranger said.



The man's eyes were no longer dull now, but flaming with hatred. "Curse

him, I'll take nothing from his hands. For fifteen years he has let me

rot in hell without lifting a hand for me."



"He thought you dead. It can all be explained. It was only last week

that the mystery of your disappearance was solved."



"Then why didn't he come himself? It was to save his little girl I got

myself into this place. If I had been in his shoes I would have come if

I'd had to crawl on my hands and knees."



"He doesn't know yet you are here. I wrote him simply that I knew where

you were, and then I came at once." Bucky glanced round warily at the

fat colonel gazing placidly out of the barred window. "I mean to

rescue you, and I knew if he were here his impulsiveness would ruin

everything."



"Do you mean it? For God's sake! don't lie to me. If there's no hope

for me, don't say there is." The prisoner's voice shook and his hands

trembled. He was only the husk of the man he had been, but it did

Bucky's heart good to see that the germ of life was still in him. Back

in Arizona, on the Rocking Chair Ranch, with the free winds of the

plains beating on his face, he would pick up again the old strands of

his broken life, would again learn to love the lowing of cattle and the

early morning call of the hooter to his mate.



"I mean it. As sure as I stand here I'll get you out, or, if I don't,

Webb Mackenzie will. We're calling the matter to the attention of the

United States Government, but we are not going to wait till that time to

free you. Keep up your courage, man. It is only for a little time now."



Tears leaped to the prisoner's eyes. He had been a game man in the dead

years that were past, none gamer in Texas, and he could still face his

jailers with an impassive face; but this first kindly word from his

native land in fifteen years to the man buried alive touched the fount

of his emotions. He turned away and leaned against the grating of his

cell, his head resting on his forearm. "My God! man, you don't know what

it means to me. Sometimes I think I shall go mad and rave. After all

these years But I know you'll fail--It's too good to be true," he

finished quietly.



"I'll not fail, though I may be delayed. But I can't say more. Gabilonda

is coming back. Next time I see you it will be to take you out to

freedom. Think of that always, and believe it."



Gabilonda bowed urbanely. "If the senor has seen all he cares to of this

department we will return to the office," he suggested suavely.



"Certainly, colonel. I can't appreciate too much your kindness in

allowing me to study your system so carefully."



"Any friend of my friend the Senor O'Halloran is cherished deeply in my

heart," came back the smiling colonel, with a wave of his plump, soft

hand.



"I am honored, sir, to receive such consideration at the hands of so

distinguished a soldier as Colonel Gabilonda," bowed Bucky gravely, in

his turn, with the most flowery Spanish he could muster.



There was another half-hour of the mutual exchange of compliments before

O'Connor could get away. Alphonse and Gaston were fairly outdone, for

the Arizonian, with a smile hidden deep behind the solemnity of his blue

eyes, gave as good as he got. When he was at last fairly in the safety

of his own rooms he gave way to limp laughter while describing to his

little friend that most ceremonious parting.



"He pressed me to his manly bay window, Curly, and allowed he was plumb

tickled to death to have met me. Says I, coming back equal strong, 'twas

the most glorious day of my life."



"Oh, I know YOU," answered young Hardman, with a smile.



"A friend of his friend O'Halloran--"



"Mr. O'Halloran was here while you were away. He seemed very anxious

to see you; said he would call again in an hour. I think it must be

important."



Came at that instant O'Halloran's ungentle knock, on the heels of which

his red head came through the open door.



"You're the very lad I'm wanting to see, Bucky," he announced, and

followed this declaration by locking all the doors and beckoning him to

the center of the room.



"Is that tough neck of yours aching again, Reddy?" inquired his friend

whimsically.



"It is that, me bye. There's the very divil to pay," he whispered.



"Cough it out, Mike."



"That tyrant Megales is onto our game. Somebody's leaked, or else he has

a spy in our councils--as we have in his, the ould scoundrel."



"I see. Your spy has told you that his spy has reported to him--"



"That the guns are to be brought in to-night. He has sent out a guard

to bring them in safely to him. If he gets them, our game is up, me son,

and you can bet your last nickle on that."



"If he gets them! Is there a chance for us?"



"Glory be! there is. You see, he doesn't know that we know what he has

done. For that reason he sent out only a guard of forty men. If he sent

more we would suspect what he was doing, ye see. That is the way the old

fox reasoned. But forty--they were able to slip out of the city on

last night's train in civilian's clothes and their arms in a couple of

coffins."



"Why didn't he send a couple of hundred men openly, and at the same time

arrest you all?"



"That doesn't suit his book at all. For one thing, he probably doesn't

know all of us, and he doesn't want to bag half of us and throw the rest

into immediate rebellion. It's his play not to force the issue until

after the election, Bucky. He controls all the election machinery and

will have himself declared reelected, the old scamp, notwithstanding

that he's the most unpopular man in the State. To precipitate trouble

now would be just foolishness, he argues. So he'll just capture our

arms, and after the election give me and my friends quiet hell. Nothing

public, you know--just unfortunate assassinations that he will regret

exceedingly, me bye. But I have never yit been assassinated, and, on

principle, I object to being trated so. It's very destructive to a man's

future usefulness."



"And so?" laughed the ranger.



"And so we've arranged to take a few lads up the line and have a train

hold-up. I'm the robber-in-chief. Would ye like to be second in command

of the lawless ruffians, me son?"



Bucky met his twinkling eye gaily. "Mr. O'Connor is debarred from taking

part in such an outrageous affair by international etiquette, but he

knows a gypsy lad would be right glad to join, I reckon."



"Bully for him. If you'll kindly have him here I'll come around and

collect him this evening at eight-thirty sharp."



"I hope you'll provide a pleasant entertainment for him."



"We'll do our best," grinned the revolutionist. "Music provided by

Megales' crack military band. A lively and enjoyable occasion guaranteed

to all who attend. Your friend will meet some of the smartest officers

in the State. It promises to be a most sumptuous affair."



"Then my friend accepts with pleasure."



After the conspirator had gone, Frank spoke up. "You wouldn't go away

with him and leave me here alone, would you?"



"I ce'tainly shouldn't take you with me, kid. I don't want my little

friend all shot up by greasers."



"If you're going, I want to go, too. Supposing--if anything were to

happen to you, what could I do?"



"Leave the country by the next train. Those are the orders."



"You're always talking about a square deal. Do you think that is one? I

might say that I don't want YOU shot. You don't care anything about my

feelings." The soft voice had a little break in it that Bucky loved.



He walked across to his partner, that rare, tender smile of his in his

eyes. "If I'm always talking about a square deal I reckon I have got to

give you one. Now, what would you think a square deal, Curly? Would it

be square for me to let my friend O'Halloran stand all the risk of this

and then me take the reward when Henderson has been freed by him? Would

that be your notion of the right telling?"



"I didn't say that, though I don't see why you have to mix yourself

up in his troubles. Why should you go out and kill these soldiers that

haven't injured you?"



"I'm not going to kill any of them," he smiled "Besides, that isn't the

way I look at it. This fellow Megales is a despot. He has made out

to steal the liberty of the people from them. President Diaz can't

interfere because the old rascal governor does everything with that

smooth, oily way of his under cover of law. It's up to some of the

people to put up a good strong kick for themselves. I ain't a bit sorry

to give them the loan of my foot while they are doing it."



"Then can't I go, too? I don't want to be left alone here and you away

fighting."



Bucky's eyes gleamed. He dared an experiment in an indifferent drawl.

"Whyfor don't you want to stay alone, kid? Are you afraid for yourself

or for me?"



His partner's cheeks were patched with roses. Shyly the long, thick

lashes lifted and let the big brown eyes meet his blue ones. "Maybe I'm

afraid for both of us."



"Would you care if one of their pills happened along in the scrimmage

and put me out of business? Honest, would you?"



"You haven't any right to talk that way. It's cruel," was the reply that

burst from the pretty lips, and he noticed that at his suggestion the

roses had died from soft cheeks.



"Well, I won't talk that way any more, little partner," he answered

gaily, taking the small hand in his. "For reasons good. I'm fire-proof.

The Mexican bullet hasn't been cast yet that can find Bucky O'Connor's

heart."



"But you mustn't think that, either, and be reckless," was the next

injunction. The shy laugh rang like music. "That's why I want to go

along, to see that you behave yourself properly."



"Oh, I'll behave," he laughed; for the young man found it very easy to

be happy when those sweet eyes were showing concern for him. "I've got

several good reasons why I don't aim to get bumped off just yet. Heaps

of first-rate reasons. I'll tell you what some of them are one of these

days," he dared to add.



"You had better tell me now." The gaze that fell before his steady eyes

was both shy and eager.



"No, I reckon I'll wait, Curly," he answered, turning away with a

long breath. "Well, we better go out and get some grub, tortillas and

frijoles, don't you think?"



"Just as you like." The lad's breath was coming a little fast. They had

been on the edge of some moment of intimacy that Bucky's partner both

longed for and dreaded. "But you have not told me yet whether I can go

with you."



"You can't. I'm sorry. I'd like first-rate to take you, if you want to

go, but I can't do it. I hate to disappoint you if you're set on it, but

I've got to, kid. Anything else you want I'll be glad to do."



He added this last because Frank looked so broken-hearted about it.



"Very well." Swift as a flash came the demand: "Tell me these heaps of

first-rate reasons you were mentioning just now."



Under the sun-tan he flushed. "I reckon I'll have to make another

exception, Curly. Those reasons ain't ripe yet for telling."



"Then if you are--if anything happens--I'll never know them. And you

promised you would tell me--you, who pretend to hate a liar so," she

scoffed.



"Would it do if I wrote those reasons and left them in a sealed

envelope? Then in case anything happened you could open it and satisfy

that robust curiosity of yours." He recognized that he had trapped

himself, and he was making the best bargain left him.



"You may write them, if you like. But I'm going to open the letter,

anyway. The reasons belong to me now. You promised."



"I'll make a new deal with you, then," he smiled. "I'll take awful good

care of myself to-night if you'll promise not to open the envelope for

two weeks unless--well, unless that something happens that we ain't

expecting."



"Call it a week, and it's a bargain."



"Better say when we're back across the line again. That may be inside of

three days, if everything goes well," he threw in as a bait.



"Done. I'm to open the letter when we cross the line into Texas."



Bucky shook the little hand that was offered him and wished mightily

that he had the right to celebrate with more fervent demonstrations.



That afternoon the ranger wrote with a good deal of labor the letter

he had promised. It appeared to be a difficult thing for him to deliver

himself even on paper of those good and sufficient reasons. He made

and destroyed no less than half a dozen openings before at last he

was fairly off. Meanwhile, Master Frank, busy over some alterations in

Bucky's gypsy suit, took pleasure in deriding with that sweet voice the

harassed correspondent.



"It might be a love letter from the pains you take with it. Would you

like me to come and help you with it?" the sewer railed merrily.



"I ain't used to letter writing much," apologized the scribe, wiping his

bedewed brow, which had suddenly gone a shade more flushed.



"Apparently not. I expect, from the time you give it, the result will be

a literary classic."



"Don't you disturb me, Curly, or I'll never get done," implored the

tortured ranger.



"You're doing well. You've only been an hour and a half on six lines,"

the tormentor mocked.



Womanlike, she was quite at her ease, since he was very far indeed from

being at his. Yet she had a problem of her own she was trying to decide.



Had he discovered, after all, that she was not a boy, and had

his reasons--the ones he was trying to tell in that disturbing

letter--anything to do with that discovery? Such a theory accounted

for several things she had noticed in him of late. There was an added

respect in his manner for her. He never now invaded the room recognized

as hers without a specific invitation, nor did he seem any longer to

chafe at the little personal marks of fastidiousness that had at first

appeared to annoy him. To be sure, he ordered her about, just as he had

been in the habit of doing at first. But it was conceivable that this

might be a generous blind to cover up his knowledge of her sex.



"How do you spell guessed--one s or two?" he presently asked, out of the

throes of composition.



She spelled it, and added demurely: "Adore has only one d"



Bucky laid down his pen and pretended to glare at him. "You young

rascal, what do you mean by bothering me like that? Act like that, you

young imp, and you'll never grow up to be a gentleman."



Their glances caught and held, the minds of each of them busy over that

last prediction of his. For one long instant masks were off and both

were trying to find an answer to a question in the eyes opposite. Then

voluntarily each gaze released the other in a confusion of sweet shame.

For the beating of a lash, soul had looked into naked soul, all disguise

stripped from them. She knew that he knew. Yet in that instant when his

secret was surprised from him another secret, sweeter than the morning

song of birds, sang its way into both their hearts.







CHAPTER 10. THE HOLD-UP OF THE M. C. P. FLYER



Agua Negra is twelve miles from Chihuahua as the crow flies, but if one

goes by rail one twists round thirty sinuous miles of rough mountainous

country in the descent from the pass to the capital of the State. The

ten men who slipped singly or by twos out of the city in the darkness

that evening and met at the rendezvous of the Santa Dolorosa mission did

not travel by rail to the pass, but followed a horseback trail which was

not more than half the distance.



At the mission O'Halloran and his friend found gathered half a dozen

Mexicans, one or two of them tough old campaigners, the rest young

fellows eager for the excitement of their first active service.



"Is Juan Valdez here yet?" asked O'Halloran, peering around in the

gloom.



"Not yet; nor Manuel Garcia," answered a young fellow.



Bucky was introduced to those present under the name of Alessandro

Perdoza, and presently also to the two missing members of the party who

arrived together a few moments later. Juan Valdez was the son of the

candidate who was opposing the reelection of Megales, and Manuel Garcia

was his bosom friend, and the young man to whom his sister was engaged.

They were both excellent types of the honorable aristocratic young

Mexican. They were lightly built, swarthy your men, possessed of that

perfect grace and courtesy which can be found at its best in the Spanish

races. Gay, handsome young cavaliers as they were, filled with the

pride of family, Bucky thought them almost ideal companions for such a

harebrained adventure as this. The ranger was a social democrat to the

marrow. He had breathed in with the Southwest breezes the conviction

that every man must stand on his own bottom, regardless of adventitious

circumstance, but he was not fool enough to think all men equal. It had

been his experience that some men, by grace of the strength in them,

were born to be masters and others by their weakness to be servants. He

knew that the best any civilization can offer a man is a chance. Given

that, it is up to every man to find his own niche.



But though he had no sense of deference to what is known as good blood,

Bucky had too much horse sense to resent the careless, half-indifferent

greeting which these two young sprouts of aristocracy bestowed on the

rest of the party. He understood that it was the natural product of

their education and of that of the others.



"Are we all here?" asked Garcia.



"All here," returned O'Halloran briskly. "Rodrigo will guide the party.

I ride next with Senor Garcia. Perdoza and Senor Valdez will bring up

the rear. Forward, gentlemen, and may the Holy Virgin bring a happy

termination to our adventure." He spoke in Mexican, as they all did,

though for the next two hours conversation was largely suspended, owing

to the difficulty of the precipitous trail they were following.



Coming to a bit of the road where they were able to ride two abreast,

O'Connor made comment on the smallness of their number. "O'Halloran must

have a good deal of confidence in his men. Forty to ten is rather heavy

odds, is it not, senor?"



"There are six more to join us at the pass. The wagons have gone round

by the road and the drivers will assist in the attack."



"Of course it is all in the surprise. I have seen three men hold up a

train with five hundred people on it. Once I knew a gang to stick up a

treasure train with three heavily armed guards protecting the gold.

They got them right, with the drop on them, and it was good-by to the

mazuma."



"Yes, if they have had any warning or if our plans slip a cog anywhere

we shall be repulsed to a certainty."



By the light of a moon struggling out from behind rolling clouds Bucky

read eleven-thirty on his watch when the party reached Agua Negra.

It was still thirty minutes before the Flyer was due, and O'Halloran

disposed his forces with explicit directions as to the course to be

followed by each detail. Very rapidly he sketched his orders as to the

present disposition of the wagons and the groups of attackers. When

the train slowed down to remove the obstacles they placed on the track,

Garcia and another young man were to command parties covering the train

from both sides, while Rodrigo and one of the drivers were to cover the

engineer and the fireman.



O'Halloran himself, with Bucky and young Valdez, rode rapidly in the

direction of the approaching train. At Concho the engine would take on

water for the last stiff climb of the ascent, and here he meant to board

the train unnoticed, just as it was pulling out, in order to emphasize

the surprise at the proper moment and render resistance useless. If the

troopers were all together in the car next the one with the boxes of

rifles, he calculated that they might perhaps be taken unawares so

sharply as to render bloodshed unnecessary.



Concho was two miles from the summit, and when the three men galloped

down to the little station the headlight of the approaching engine was

already visible. They tied their horses in the mesquit and lurked in

the thick brush until the engine had taken water and the signal for the

start was given Then O'Halloran and Bucky slipped across in the darkness

to the train and swung themselves to the platform of the last car. To

Valdez, very much against his will, had fallen the task of taking the

horses back to Agua Negra Since the track wound round the side of the

mountain in such a way as to cover five miles in making the summit from

Concho, the young Mexican had ample time to get back to the scene of

action before the train arrived.



The big Irishman and Bucky rested quietly in the shadows of the back

platform for some time. Then they entered the last car, passed through

it, and on to the next. In the sleeper they met the conductor, but

O'Halloran quietly paid their fares and passed forward. As they had

hoped, the whole detail of forty men were in a special car next to the

one containing the arms consigned to Michael O'Halloran, importer of

pianos.



Lieutenant Chaves, in charge of the detail sent out to see that the

rifles reached Governor Megales instead of the men who had paid for

them, was finding his assignment exceedingly uninteresting. There was at

Chihuahua a certain black-eyed dona with whom he had expected to enjoy a

pleasant evening's flirtation. It was confounded luck that it had fallen

to him to take charge of the escort for the guns. He had endured in

consequence an unpleasant day of dusty travel and many hours of boredom

through the evening. Now he was cross and sleepy, which latter might

also be said of the soldiers in general.



He was connected with a certain Arizona outfit which of late had been

making money very rapidly. If one more coup like the last could be

pulled off safely by his friend Wolf Leroy he would resign from the army

and settle down. It would then no longer be necessary to bore himself

with such details as this.



There was, of course, no necessity for alertness in his present

assignment. The opposition was scarcely mad enough to attempt taking the

guns from forty armed men. Chaves devoutly hoped they would, in order

that he might get a little glory, at least, out of the affair. But of

course such an expectation would be ridiculous. No, the journey would

continue to be humdrum to the end, he was wearily assured of that,

and consequently attempted to steal a half hour's sleep while propped

against a window with his feet in the seat opposite.



The gallant lieutenant was awakened by a cessation of the drumming of

the wheels. Opening his eyes, he saw that the train was no longer in

motion. He also saw--and his consciousness of that fact was much more

acute--the rim of a revolver about six inches from his forehead. Behind

the revolver was a man, a young Spanish gypsy, and he was offering the

officer very good advice.



"Don't move, sir. No cause for being uneasy. Just sit quiet and

everything will be serene. No, I wouldn't reach for that revolver, if I

were you."



Chaves cast a hurried eye down the car, and at the end of it beheld

the huge Irishman, O'Halloran, dominating the situation with a pair of

revolvers. Chaves' lambs were ranged on either side of the car, their

hands in the air. Back came the lieutenant's gaze to the impassive

face in front of him. Taken by and large, it did not seem an auspicious

moment for garnering glory. He decided to take the advice bestowed on

him.



"Better put your hands up and vote with your men. Then you won't be

tempted to play with your gun and commit suicide. That's right, sir.

I'll relieve you of it if you don't object."



Since the lieutenant had no objections to offer, the smiling gypsy

possessed himself of the revolver. At the same instant two more men

appeared at the end of the car. One of them was Juan Valdez and another

one of the mule-skinners. Simultaneously with their entrance rang out

a most disconcerting fusillade of small arms in the darkness without.

Megales' military band, as O'Halloran had facetiously dubbed them to

the ranger, arrived at the impression that there were about a thousand

insurgents encompassing the train. Chaves choked with rage, but the rest

of the command yielded to the situation very tranquilly, with no desire

to offer themselves as targets to this crackling explosion of Colts. Muy

bien! After all, Valdez was a better man to serve than the fox Megales.



Swiftly Valdez and the wagon driver passed down the car and gathered the

weapons from the seats of the troopers. Raising a window, they passed

them out to their friends outside. Meanwhile, the sound of an axe could

be heard battering at the door of the next car, and presently the crash

of splintering wood announced that an entrance had been forced.



"Breaking furniture, I reckon," drawled Bucky, in English, for the

moment forgetful of the part he was playing. "I hope they'll be all

right careful of them pianos and not mishandle them so they'll get out

of tune."



"So, senor, you are American," said Chaves, in English, with a sinister

smile.



O'Connor shrugged, answering in Spanish: "I am Romany. Who shall say,

whether American, or Spanish, or Bohemian? All nations call to me, but

none claim me, senor."



The lieutenant continued to smile his meaning grin. "Yet you are

American," he persisted.



"Oh, as you please. I am what you will, lieutenant."



"You speak the English like a native."



"You are complimentary."



Chaves lifted his eyebrows. "For believing that you are in costume, that

you are wearing a disguise, Mr. American?"



Bucky laughed outright, and offered a gay retort. "Believe me,

lieutenant, I am no more disguised as a gypsy than you are as a

soldier."



The Mexican officer flushed with anger at the suggestion of contempt

in the careless voice. His generalship was discredited. He had been

outwitted and made to yield without a blow. But to have it flung in his

teeth with such a debonair insolence threw him into a fury.



"If you and I ever meet on equal terms, senor, God pity you," he ground

out between his set jaws.



Bucky bowed, answering the furious anger in the man's face as much as

his words. "I shall try to be careful not to offer myself a sheath for a

knife some dark night," he scoffed.



A whistle blew, and then again. The revolver of Bucky rang out almost on

the same instant as those of O'Halloran. Under cover of the smoke they

slipped out of the car just as Rodrigo leaped down from the cab of the

engine. Slowly the train began to back down the incline in the same

direction from which it had come. The orders given the engineer were to

move back at a snail's pace until he reached Concho again. There he was

to remain for two hours. That Chaves would submit to this O'Halloran did

not for a moment suspect.



But the track would be kept obstructed till six o'clock in the morning,

and a sufficient guard would wait in the underbrush to see that the

right of way was not cleared. In the meantime the wagons would be

pushing toward Chihuahua as fast as they could be hurried, and the rest

of the riders would guard them till they separated on the outskirts of

the town and slipped quietly in. In order to forestall any telegraphic

communication between Lieutenant Chaves and his superiors in the city,

the wires had been cut. On the face of it, the guns seemed to be safe.

Only one thing had O'Halloran forgotten. Eight miles across the hills

from Concho ran the line of the Chihuahua Northern.



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