The double dagger or, Nat Ridley's Mexican trail
such great value, wanted back the wells they had sold.
But certain things which Nat picked up caused him to go to the local
telephone exchange a little later that evening, where he put in a long
distance call for New York. He knew his talk would not be overheard
or cut in on by any outside person if he talked from a booth in the
telephone office.
Presently Nat was speaking to Berry Todd and giving that somewhat
surprised sleuth some instructions, part of which were to be conveyed
to Baldy Stoler.
"Are you all right, Chief?" Berry wanted to know.
"So far," was all Nat said. "I'm counting on you now!"
"And you won't count in vain!" Berry assured him. "We'll soon join you."
When Nat got back to the boarding house he found a note under his door.
It was from Cora and said:
"When you come in, no matter what time it is, slip a note under my door
saying you are safe. I shall not be asleep."
Nat smiled and scribbled on a leaf of his notebook, going out into the
hall to slip it under the girl's door. As he did so he thought he saw
a figure slinking away down the corridor--the figure of a man who
seemed to have been listening at the girl's door.
In a flash, all of Nat's suspicions returned, and he hurried to the
head of the stairs. But there was no one in sight and he thought he was
mistaken and that it might have been either the landlady, her daughter,
or one of the maids making a usual round of the house to see that all
was right.
As Nat slipped the bit of paper under the door he heard Cora's voice
asking:
"Are you all right?"
"Quite so," he replied. "And you?"
"All right. Only I fancy someone is watching outside my window."
"Imagination," said the sleuth in a whisper. "You're all right. Go to
sleep."
Nat slept soundly, so soundly in fact that he had to be called by the
landlady. He had left a message when going out in the evening, that if
he was not stirring by eight o'clock he was to be roused. But he was a
little surprised when he heard the woman's voice saying:
"It is after eight, sir!"
"I'll be right down to breakfast!" Nat said.
"Is my sister up?"
"Your sister isn't in her room, nor has she been down to breakfast,"
said the landlady. "Perhaps she went out for an early morning walk.
None of us have seen her."
Nat stifled an exclamation of alarm that rose to his lips, and,
hurrying into his clothes, went to Cora's room. She was not in it, and
there was some indication of confusion about the apartment. The bed had
not been slept in, but there was evidence that the girl had stretched
out on it without turning back the covers. It seemed she had not
undressed.
"She's gone!" exclaimed Nat.
"Has anything happened?" asked the landlady.
"I--I'm afraid so," was the answer. "Was there any disturbance in the
night--I mean here in your house?"
"I heard you come in," volunteered the landlady, "and then I heard you
go into your sister's room. I heard you talking, and then some time
later I thought I heard you and her going out."
"I didn't go into her room," said Nat, trying not to show his
excitement. "I spoke to her from outside, that was all. Then I went to
bed. But she is gone--she must have gone out after I was asleep."
"Then she went out with some man," said the woman.
"Rather, some man took her out!" cried Nat. "I see it now! They have
kidnapped her again, the scoundrels! I thought I saw someone spying at
her door when I came in. I wish I had searched farther than I did. Yes,
they have kidnapped her again!"
"This is terrible!" gasped the landlady. "I will call the police!"
"No!" Nat stopped her with a gesture. "I will handle this case without
the police. I'm a detective."
He told the excited landlady enough to satisfy her, pledged her to
secrecy, and then began to examine Cora's room. One of the first things
he found was the note he had written her. But scrawled on the back,
though not in Nat's writing was the one word--_Rolamotaza_.
"It's a clew she left for me!" mused the sleuth. "The Tola gang have
taken her there. Well, it's me for Rolamotaza as fast as a train can
take me! The devils! They get ahead of me every time!"
A few hours later Nat Ridley was headed for the Mexican city where the
Lemberg oil wells were located.
CHAPTER XVII
INTO THE HILLS
Sun-bronzed and wind-tanned, a lone cowboy rode a pinto pony along the
stretch of sand and sagebrush. Now and then, from beneath the flapping
brim of his sombrero, he looked at the faint trail ahead of him, and
now and then he raised the red handkerchief about his neck and wiped
his perspiring face.
"It's a darn long way from here to Times Square," mused the lone
cowboy. "But I've got to go through with it now. Go 'long there, you
pinto!" he called encouragingly to his steed, and the pony increased
its ambling pace.
The sun grew hotter and hotter. It was toward the close of a hot
afternoon, and Mexico, the Mexico of the plains, was never noted for
coolness.
Presently the rider pulled his horse to a stop and slung around in
front of him the canvas covered canteen that had been bobbing against
the pinto's flanks and, as he took out the cork and tilted some of the
warm, brackish contents down his throat, he murmured:
"Sorry, pony, that there isn't some for you, but there's hardly a
hollow tooth full for me. But we may strike the city soon."
The pinto whinnied teasingly as it caught the whiff of water, but there
was none for it and the cowboy had soon urged his animal on again. But
presently he stopped once more, looked long and earnestly at the trail
before him and remarked:
"A sign of life at last. Now if this is somebody besides a Mex maybe I
can get some information. Hop to it, pinto!"
The pony pricked up its ears as it saw and smelled another horse
approaching and broke into a canter, which caused the cowboy to remark:
"That's better! I guess you smell water." But his cheerfulness vanished
as he caught sight of the approaching rider and he remarked: "A Mex
again! Can't get any sense out of him--not with what little I know of
Spanish. Wish Cora was here!"
The advancing Mexican peon stopped as he saw the cowboy pulling rein
and made a greeting in Spanish.
"I don't know what you're saying, stranger," drawled the cowboy, "but
I'm pleased to meet you just the same. Now how far is it to town and a
good drink of water? I've been traveling a week it seems, though I know
it isn't more than a day. Where's this city of yours?"
"No sabe, señor."
"The deuce you don't! Well, I'll have to make motions then, I guess,"
sighed Pocus Pete. "Look," and he opened his mouth, held up his
canteen, pretended to pour out water where there was none and then
exclaimed:
"Rolamotaza--where is it at?"
"Oh, Rolamotaza--Rolamotaza!" exclaimed the other, comprehending now,
but giving the Spanish name of the town the correct pronunciation.
"Pronto! Pronto!"
"You mean I'll get there pronto--soon?" asked Pocus Pete.
The Mexican nodded a vigorous assent, smiled, waved his hand, and
called to his bony horse.
"Well, I'm nearer than I thought then," mused the cowboy. "Guess I
won't turn back to Times Square. Go on, pinto!"
And to such good speed did he urge his mount that a little later he
was guiding the animal down a trail through the hills toward a small,
Mexican village, on the outskirts of which loomed the unsightly oil
derricks.
"Struck the right place, I guess!" muttered the cowboy. "Now if I can
strike somebody that appreciates good, old United States talk I'll be
all set."
He rode through the one and only main street of the town, noting that
the population consisted of cowboys like himself, Mexicans, Spaniards,
Italians, and other foreigners who seemed to be in the oil trade, and a
few women and children. Following the crowd, Pocus Pete found himself
near a combined hotel, saloon, and gambling hall, evidences of all
three branches of trade being well in evidence.
"Say, buddy, can a guy get a feed and something to drink in there?"
asked the cowboy of another of his fraternity.
"Surest thing you know. Where you from?"
"Paloma, and looking for a corral," answered Pocus Pete, as he gave his
name.
"Well, you've come to a mighty poor place for cattle punchin'," was the
comment, as the other announced himself as Lazy Ike Nolan. "It's all
oil down here--oil an' Greasers an' sudden death."
"Sudden death!" exclaimed the other. "How come?"
"It ain't healthy to talk about it," was the answer. "But watch your
step, that's all. I wish I'd never come to the darn place. I'm broke
now and my buddy will be pretty soon if he don't keep away from the
gang he's in there with now, tryin' to rub the spots off the cards,"
and Lazy Ike sighed.
"Maybe you wouldn't take it amiss if I offered to buy you a drink,
pardner," suggested Pocus Pete.
"You could do that twice an' not insult me," was the reply. "Lead me to
it!"
Pocus Pete tied his pony to the hitching rail in front of the "Stella
d'Ora," or Golden Star, as the combined hotel and gambling joint was
named, and, having tossed a coin to a boy who was carrying buckets
of water to the ponies, with motions to water his steed, Pocus Pete
followed his new friend.
There was a bar doing a good business and in a room beyond it several
gambling games going on.
"Name your poison," said Pocus Pete to Lazy Ike as they lined up in
front of the bar. "It's water for mine until I get soaked up. I had a
hot ride."
"Don't blame you, pard," agreed the other. "But I'll have some red
licker if it's all the same to you. There he goes--bettin' his last
cent I know!" he exclaimed as he poured out a generous drink and looked
into the gambling room.
"Who?" asked Pocus Pete.
"My side kick--Slim Jim Burke," was the answer. "I got cleaned out, and
I told him to keep away. But he was so darn sure he could get back what
I lost and make a clean up that he went in. Now look at him!"
He pointed to a cowboy like himself who was seated at a table with
several Mexicans. It was an intense gambling game, as was plainly
evident, and a crowd of spectators ringed the participants.
"Let's saunter in and see what kind of hands your pardner is holding,"
suggested Pocus Pete when he had taken three glasses of water one after
the other, to the no small astonishment of the bartender. But when a
dollar bill was tossed over the mahogany in payment of the water alone,
the whiskey or "red licker," being also paid for, there was a murmur of
approval.
"There goes his last dollar--I know the signs," whispered Lazy Ike to
his new friend as they neared the poker table. "An' now we're both
broke."
It was evident that a final play was being made, and as Pocus Pete
watched the dealing he suddenly stepped forward, laid a hand on the
shoulder of Slim Jim and exclaimed in a drawling but loud voice:
"Don't bet on this hand, buddy. The deal's crooked. That guy," and he
pointed to the Mexican dealer, "is slipping his friend cards from the
bottom of the deck. Lay off it!"
At once there was a chorus of excited shouts from the Mexican
gamblers--shouts in Spanish--and in the midst of it Lazy Ike called to
his "side kick":
"Snap out of it! You're being done!"
Slim pushed back his chair, hardly knowing what it was all about,
showing signs of wonder at the interference of the strange cowboy. But
the dealer and his gambling friends did more than show wonder.
"Who are you?" roared the dealer in fairly good English, as he glared
at Pocus Pete. "How dare you break up our game?"
"Go easy, friend," drawled the other. "Breaking up games when I see a
friend of my friend being double-crossed, is one of the best things I
do. I saw you dealing off the bottom--like this----"