"I'll soon be riding away from here with you, anyhow," he told Frank. "And they'll find out then, if they haven't already suspected. I'm going down to the airplane to see the kids off."

Frank had demanded this privilege of going down to the valley and seeing Bob and Jack get away, and the others had no thought of denying him. So all four, bearing the oil torches kept in the cave by Stone for the purpose of lighting the landing field at night, descended from the cave. Tom Bodine was left to guard the two prisoners.

These had again suffered the ignominy of having their hands tied, after they had undressed, and, wrapped in the rubber ponchos given them by Bob, they had flung themselves down on the pallet prepared the previous night by the boys.

Stationed in the outer entrance of the cave, Tom Bodine looked around at the two prone forms several times. But always they lay motionless under their ponchos, and there seemed no cause for suspicion regarding them. Poor fellows, thought Tom, who held no particular animosity against them, they had had a hard time of it lately. After landing from a flying trip, they had been set upon and beaten. Then, made prisoner, they had spent the intervening hours cramped in bonds and in doubt as to what their captors intended doing with them. Probably were tired out and asleep by now, thought Tom. He even tiptoed over to where they lay and found, as he had expected, that both had their eyes closed and were breathing heavily.

Returning to the entrance, Tom took a step or two forward so as the better to see past the big rock outside and thus get a clearer view of the airplane. The boys had reached it by now, the oil flares were planted to both sides, and it was illuminated, standing out in the tossing light like a great bird.

As the propeller began to whirl, Tom took another step or two forward. An airplane was a new puzzle to him, and he was so interested in watching it get under way that he forgot his trust, forgot he had prisoners to watch, forgot everything but the mystery of that piece of mechanism, that gigantic bird, running bumpily now over the ground and now beginning to lift into the air, and now——

Tom whirled about. The old instinct of the man who lives much in the open, telling him danger is close at hand, was stirring at the roots of his hair. But he was just a trifle too late. As he faced about, a form shot out of the cave and Tom, totally unprepared for attack, was bowled over.

As he fell he let out a great wordless cry, thinking to warn Frank and Roy Stone. Then the butt of a revolver descended on his head.



CHAPTER XXIII

THE TABLES TURNED

"What was that?" asked Frank, turning to Roy Stone, as the airplane bearing Jack and Bob on their romantic adventure dwindled in the darkening sky. "I thought I heard a shout."

"Guess you did," said Stone. "I heard it, too. It came from the cave."

Both turned to stare upward toward the distant cave. There was no sign of movement. Only the dim bulk of the rock obscuring the entrance could be distinguished. They looked at each other, a nameless fear stirring at their hearts. Then Frank shook himself and laughed.

"Pshaw," said he, "this lonesome place seems spooky. I know what it must have been. It must have been Tom shouting a farewell to the fellows."

"Reckon you're right," said Stone, brightening. "Sure, that must be it. Well, let's go back. We'll be starting in a couple of hours, if all goes well."

"All right," said Frank, reaching to pluck one of the oil flares out of the ground.

Stone halted him. Again he looked anxiously toward the cave.

"Let's not take the torches," said he.

"Why not?"

"Just playing a hunch," said Stone. "I have the feeling that all may not be well up at the cave."

Frank dropped his voice unconsciously, as if fearing eavesdroppers in that lonely spot.

"To tell you the truth," said he frankly. "I feel the same way. I say! I have an idea. Let's edge out of the light without hurry, not toward the cave, but out that way," pointing in the direction taken by the airplane. "We'll put our hands up to our eyes and pretend to be watching the sky for the airplane's flight. It would be natural for us to want to get beyond the light of these torches, if we were trying to follow the boys with our eyes."

"That's the ticket," said Stone, and the two put Frank's plan into execution.

Beyond the light cast by the torches they paused. Darkness had descended now, in truth. Not even the shadowy bulk of the big rock before the entrance to the cave could be distinguished.

"Maybe we're making ourselves nervous over nothing," said Stone. "I feel kind of foolish. After all, what could happen? That old cowman pal of yours looks pretty capable."

"He is, too," said Frank. "Just the same, I feel we ought to be cautious. If Tom's all right when we reach the cave, well and good. But if he isn't———"

"You're right, kid," said Stone. "I'm no more of a coward than the next fellow. But if Morales and Von Arnheim by any chance gained the upper hand and got their clutches on me, I'd hear the birdies sing."

Frank had been thinking rapidly.

"Look here," he said, "isn't there some way we can sneak up there to find out if matters are all right or not? Suppose Tom has been overcome. We wouldn't stand much chance approaching the cave by the regular entrance." He paused and again stared upward. "We've been gone a considerable time," he said nervously. "You'd think if he were all right, Tom would have called to find out what is delaying us."

"Tell you what," said Stone, "I've got a little private path to the top of the cave where the antenna is located. It isn't much more than a goat track. But we'll have to be goats. Never been up it in the dark, but I think I can make it. Are you game to follow me?"

"Certainly," said Frank, "if it will be of any advantage for us to do so."

"Well, there's a fissure through the rock down into the cave. That's where the Germans that put in the radio plant made their hook-up. We can listen there, and maybe hear something to guide us."

"Oh, I remember that," said Frank, and added excitedly: "Maybe I could crawl down into the cave."

"You might be able to, at that," said Stone. "You're pretty slight. But it would be a ticklish proposition without any rope from above. Well, if you're on, let's go."

Turning he struck off across the valley, approaching the hill some distance from the path leading to the cave. Frank followed closely at his heels. Soon they began mounting upward. The climb in the darkness became more and more difficult, made more so by the care they exercised to prevent dislodging stones. They feared the clatter of these descending to the bottom would betray them.

Once Stone, who was in the lead, slipped and slid backward, clutching frantically to stay his fall. Fortunately, Frank was well braced at the moment and was able to stop him. After a rest to regain their breath and calm their shaking nerves, they resumed the climb.

At length Frank's feet were on level ground and ahead he saw the outlines of two latticed towers of familiar construction, and between them overheard the strands of the antenna. The Germans, Stone earlier had explained, had built the towers in such fashion that the crest of the hill hid them from the plain on one side while they were so far back from the edge of the flat plateau crowning the hill as to be also hidden from view from the valley.

Whispering an injunction to Frank to follow close at his heels, Stone crawled on hands and knees to the fissure in the rocks down which led the wires of the hook-up. It was not a straight descent into the cave, and no light came from it. But the two knelt in the darkness and put their heads close to the black opening to listen.

A murmur of speech could be heard distinctly, coming up through the hole. Frank could not distinguish the words, but with his limited knowledge of Spanish he was able to decipher that language was being employed.

"What is it?" he whispered to Stone. "Can you hear? Are they speaking in Spanish?"

"Silence. Just a minute," answered Stone.

His voice was anxious. Frank obeyed the command. In a moment, Stone lifted his head and said hoarsely:

"It's Morales. He and the German must have overcome your friend in some way. And I think he's got the Calomares ranch on the phone and is giving warning that your friends are on the way."

Frank groaned.

"Then when Jack and Bob land, they'll be surprised and captured. Oh, can't we do something?" Excitedly he jumped to his feet. "Let's put the radio out of commission."

Stone also leaped up and laid a restraining hand on his arm.

"No, no. Wait a minute. The damage is done already. These fellows already have given sufficient warning to put them on guard at the ranch, even though they can't have told the whole story."

They stood undecided, looking at each other, in the starlit darkness. With an exclamation, Frank seized Stone by the arm. In his excitement, he shook it.

"Jack and Bob both clamped the headpieces on when they left in the airplane," he said. "And Jack tuned the radio to the pitch of this station, in order to be able to call us after rescuing his father. Why, he must have heard Morales give his warning! Yes, sirree. Why this isn't so bad!"

In their relief, the two laughed a trifle hysterically. In a moment, however, Frank sobered again.

"Just the same," he said, "the ranch would get the warning, unless—"

"Unless what?"

"Unless Jack was quick enough to grasp the situation."

Stone slapped his leg.

"I see what you mean," he said. "Your friend Jack could call the ranch, too, and interfere so much that Morales' message would be all twisted up."

"That's it," said Frank. "And when it comes to thinking quickly and acting at once, you can count on Jack. Just the same," he added, "he can't keep that up forever, and when he lands—"

"Which he'll have to do shortly," interrupted Stone, "because the ranch is only fifty miles from here."

"Why, then," continued Frank, "these fellows can get their warning to the ranch and the boys will be captured, or at least their plan to rescue Mr. Hampton will be spoiled. No, sir, we'll have to wreck the radio plant here to give them a chance. If Jack has been able so far to interfere with the warning, and we put this plant out of commission now, they may be able to carry out their rescue after all. Let's see. How will we go about it?"

Both had been so engrossed they had failed to notice a dark form which, after creeping noiselessly up the slope, had started edging across the little plateau. Now this form suddenly straightened up and leaped forward. Frank cried out in alarm and jumped sideways, just as a spurt of flame split the darkness. The bullet sped by, leaving him unharmed. Stone, who was closer and stood with back turned, whirled about. The charging form cannoned into him, and he went down.



CHAPTER XXIV

FRANK SAVES THE DAY

Frank's first thought was to go to the assistance of Roy Stone. The latter and his opponent—in the darkness Frank could not distinguish whether it was Morales or Von Arnheim—were locked with their arms about each other and rolling on the ground. His second thought was as to the whereabouts of the other man.

He glanced about in alarm. Dark though the plateau was, however, he could see there was no other in sight. Bending down to the fissure in the rock, he could still hear the voice of Morales, and although he could not distinguish the words, he received the impression that the Mexican was angered for some reason. To Frank this meant that Morales was having difficulty in radioing the Calomares ranch, and his heart leaped with exultation. Jack had interfered.

A wild thought leaped full grown into his mind. Stone had given Bob a stiff battle; he probably would do the same to Von Arnheim, even though his shoulder was sore. What was to prevent Frank from slipping down to the cave while the two were engaged, where he could release Tom Bodine, surprise Morales and recapture the cave and the radio plant?

The next moment a feeling of shame surged over him. If Von Arnheim gained the upper hand, he would kill Stone without compunction. Putting aside his first thought, Frank ran to where the two forms still lay tightly locked on the ground, neither able to gain an advantage.

He bent down, and the first thing his gaze encountered was an upflung hand grasping a revolver, and another hand gripped about the wrist of the first and preventing use of the weapon. He surmised it was Von Arnheim who held the weapon, and acted accordingly.

Grasping the German's hand, he pressed back the fingers so sharply a cry of pain was wrung from Von Arnheim's lip. The revolver dropped to the ground. Its owner, however, pluckily continued the fight. Frank danced about, the captured weapon clubbed in his hand, ready to deal a blow when possible. But so furious was the fight that he feared to strike, lest he hit his friend.

Precious minutes were flying by. He was in an agony. Morales had to be prevented from radioing the ranch, if Jack and Bob were to stand their chance.

Then suddenly Roy Stone gained the upper hand of his opponent. He legs were twined about Von Arnheim, he clutched the other to his chest, one arm was in the small of his back, the other was pressed across his throat, his chin was sunk deep into the German's shoulder. Von Arnheim had only one arm free, the other was pinioned to his side. With this free arm he plucked futilely at Roy's arm across his throat, unable to reach the guarded face. It was a grip Von Arnheim was powerless to break, and it was only a question of time until he would be throttled into submission.

With a leap of the heart, Frank realized this. And bending down with his lips to Stone's ear, he said:

"I've got his gun. If you can hold him now I'm going into the cave after Morales. He's still at the phone."

A grunt was Stone's only reply as he pressed his chin deeper into the other's shoulder. Von Arnheim's body was beginning to arch like a bow. If he did not surrender soon, his back would be broken.

Frank darted off down the slope.

Morales was seated at the telephone as Frank entered the cave, captured revolver in his hand. His own weapon hung forgotten at his side, so little used was he to the handling of small arms. Frank had tumbled, fallen, rolled down the slope, taking no precautions, fired only with anxiety to prevent Morales from radioing while there was yet time.

The Mexican also, in his anxiety to reach the ranch and give the warning, had cast caution aside.

Across the outer room dashed Frank, scarcely noting the trussed-up figure of Tom Bodine flung in one corner. No hangings obscured the brightly-lighted interior of the inner cave, for they had been torn down the night before to form a pallet.

Morales sat with his back turned, the headpiece clamped over his ears.

Frank darted forward and brought the butt of the revolver crashing down on the Mexican's head. Without a sound, without a gurgle or a cry, Morales swayed in the chair, then slumped to one side and slid to the floor.

With nervous haste Frank pulled the headpiece from the other and clamped it on his head. At once a crackle of Spanish words filled his ears. He could make nothing of them. What little knowledge of Spanish he once had possessed was not at his command now.

"Jack, Bob," he cried, pulling the microphone toward him. "This is Frank. Do you hear me? Frank."

The chattering ceased as if by magic.

"Frank? What in the world?"

Glory be! It was Jack's voice in reply.

"Use the code," cried Frank. In this emergency his brain was working lightning-fast. And in their own private code he added:

"It's all right now. They captured Tom Bodine while we were down in the valley seeing you off. But we've recaptured the cave."

"You saved our lives," came back Jack's voice. "I heard your Mexican friend call the ranch while we were flying, and at once started to interfere. It's been a job and my throat's hoarse. But he never got his message through, I can tell you that. Whatever it was he had to tell, I never did find out. I just started interfering, singing, talking, shouting. The ranch never found out what he was trying to say, and neither did I. But, boy, you're just in time. We can see the lights now. What? What's that?"

What he heard was a shout.

But Frank was too busy to answer his question. Morales had recovered consciousness and was on his knees and struggling to his feet, when out of the tail of his eye Frank saw his peril. Snatching the instrument from his head, he flung himself sideways. The impact of his body hurled Morales again to the floor.

Frank had placed the captured revolver on the table, as he telephoned. He would have to fight with his bare hands. Well, he would not let the Mexican overcome him and regain possession of that radiophone unless he killed Frank first. With hands gripped about the other's throat and legs twined about his body, Frank fought as he never thought he could fight. Morales was a heavy man, heavier even than Von Arnheim who had overcome Frank in that tempestuous fight in the darkness the night before. But his senses were still somewhat numbed from the blow on the head dealt him earlier by Frank, and the boy was fighting with a strength born of desperate resolve.

Frank's grip on the Mexican's throat tightened. Morales was unable to pluck those cruel hands away. His face became purple. His eyes started from his head. Suddenly he went limp beneath Frank, and sank to the floor.

Frank stood up swaying. The excitement and the strain of the combat had had their effect on him. There are mighty few boys of his age and build who could have gone through what he did and still keep their feet. Dancing points of light swam before his vision. He brushed a hand across his eyes to clear them. He reeled and would have fallen, but his hand clutched the table and steadied him.

What was it he must do? There was something which had to be done. Oh, if his head only would clear. Call Jack! Yes, that was it. Had to tell the old boy to go ahead—radio plant still Frank's—enemy couldn't get any warning from that Mexican fellow—had to tell him, had to.

Clutching the table, swaying, but with lips tightly pressed together and teeth clenched, Frank made his way to the microphone. Holding the headpiece to his ear, he set his lips to the telephone instrument and called:

"Jack, Jack, you there?"

"Yes, yes," came back the anxious reply. "What happened?"

"It's all right, Jack. Go ahead. I licked—him."

The headpiece fell from his grasp. Frank sank to the floor.

It was there a moment later that Roy Stone found him, fallen in a heap across the body of the Mexican. Both were unconscious.

Stone was shaky himself. His battle with Von Arnheim had been a severe one, and the wound in his shoulder had started bleeding again. But as his gaze took in the situation, he turned to Tom Bodine, whose bonds he had cut on his way through the outer cave, and said in a tone of warmest admiration:

"Some boy."



CHAPTER XXV

DANGER AT HAND

Bob as well as Jack had heard Frank's explanation of the occurrences at the cave, for he also wore a headpiece as he piloted the airplane. And it was with warm admiration toward the absent chum who so heroically had thwarted Morales' attempt to betray their hazardous expedition that he circled now above the two groups of lights which marked the Calomares ranch and radio station.

Smaller and smaller grew the circles, as with engine shut off he volplaned. The field was hard-packed and smooth and the plane alighted finally with practically no jar. When it came to a dead stop at last, Bob drew a long breath of relief. He had not been up for several weeks. And night flying above strange country to a landing on unfamiliar ground had been a strain upon him.

There were no mechanics running out to greet the alighting plane and trundle it into its hangar. Had this been a well-appointed landing field, such absence would have been suspicious. But to Bob and Jack it meant only confirmation of Roy Stone's remark that they were a "careless lot at the ranch."

"Now for it," said Jack, clambering out of the plane.

The two chums stared around them, trying to pierce the darkness. They were in the middle of a long and wide field. A ring of low hills encircled them, the tops clearly outlined against the velvety sky. Overhead twinkled stars, brighter, warmer and apparently closer than when viewed in their Long Island home.

The hills on either hand were close. So, too, was the rampart at their back, over which they had flown. Those ahead were more distant, for it was in that direction extended the valley. Behind them was the radio plant with its tracery of tower and antenna against the sky and the windows of the power house gleaming from the light within. Ahead was a long, irregular clump of buildings set among trees. Some were dark. But the main structure, which they knew from Stone's description was the ranch house, was brightly lighted.

Try as they would to pierce the darkness, the boys were unable to discern anything other than this. There was not a human figure in sight.

They gazed with especial interest toward the ranch house, because it was somewhere within those walls that Mr. Hampton was held prisoner. Soon, if all went well, Jack would be making his way within in search of his father. At the thought, his heart which heretofore had been calm enough, began to beat rapidly and for a moment he felt as if he were about to suffocate. His breath almost failed him. It was a not unnatural feeling, and soon passed, but Bob noting the labored breathing climbed from the airplane and put an arm over his chum's shoulder.

"Steady, Jack," he said. "Everything's going to be all right."

The friendly gesture and the sympathy in his chum's voice did steady Jack.

"All right, now, Bob," he said. "Just at first, though——"

"Righto," the big fellow answered. "I'm scared stiff myself, and I'm not even going into the ranch. If I were in your boots I'd probably be shaking myself loose from them."

The pleasantry was what Jack needed. He grinned at the thought of big Bob shaking so much with fear as to shake off his shoes, and his recovery was complete.

The plan was for Jack, in the dress and character of Morales, to go to the ranch house, enter boldly and make his way to the room where his father was held prisoner. Bob was to stay with the plane. Releasing his father, Jack would return with him. Then they would all three fly away across the international boundary to the north.

It was impossible to foretell, of course, what obstacles to the carrying out of this daring proposal would arise. Both boys felt certain, however, that so far they were not suspected, and that first Jack and then Frank had successfully thwarted the attempt of Morales to send a warning to the ranch by radio.

Neither was aware, of course, that the jumble of sounds through the air, when Jack from the airplane had interfered with Morales' attempt to warn the ranch, and later the code conversation between Jack and Frank, after the latter had obtained possession of the radio plant in the cave and had overcome Morales, had aroused the curiosity and then the suspicions of the young German, Muller, who operated the radio plant at the Calomares ranch.

A few moments before the beat of its engine in the sky signalized the approach of the airplane, Muller had decided to go to the ranch and report to Calomares. He had crossed the landing field afoot and had just reached the belt of trees when the machine volplaned to the field behind him.

Although, as has been said, his suspicions were aroused, Muller was far from suspecting the truth. He had no idea the airplane had been recovered by its rightful owners and that these latter were about to make a daring attempt to rescue Mr. Hampton. His thought on the contrary, was that something—he could not make a more definite surmise—had gone wrong at the cave.

Therefore, when, after standing several minutes at the belt of trees, gazing back toward the airplane, he saw a figure start from it for the ranch house, he believed it was either Von Arnheim or Morales coming to report.

Muller was a sycophant, the type of man eager to curry favor with those in authority. He decided he would gain the ear of the great Calomares first. That would detract somewhat from the glory of the other when he arrived. Turning he darted for the ranch.

Meantime, Jack was making his way ahead more slowly. While not attempting to hide, he was on unfamiliar ground and felt that it behooved him to follow implicitly the directions given by Roy Stone and make no mistakes.

Passing through the grove, Jack came in sight of the ranch. He paused in astonishment. Roy Stone's description of the great house had prepared him in a measure. Yet he was astounded. Here, indeed, was a palace in the wilderness.

The mansion stood on a slight elevation with a lawn in front sloping down to the trees from which Jack had emerged. In design it was like a country house of the ancient Roman aristocracy. The walls were of vari-colored brick with inlaid designs representing formal flowers. Two stories in height, with towers at the corners rising another two stories higher, the building was in two wings or sections, joined in front by a marble-tiled walk, roofed and pillared, but with the sides open. Inside, between these two wings, Roy Stone had told Jack, was an open court.

Nerving himself to the ordeal, and pulling down his hat to obscure his features, Jack crossed the lawn and started mounting the wide flight of stone steps flanked by crouching stone lions. He reached the marble tiles of the walk above and then, despite his anxiety to gain the left wing and the tower where his father was confined, he involuntarily paused.

The scene before him was one of the strangest to be found on the North American continent—this marble courtyard, with its overhanging balcony around the sides and rear and its splashing fountain and pool in the center, the whole illuminated by the soft glow of electric lights cunningly concealed along the edges of the balcony like footlights on the lip of a stage.

But it was not this alone which held Jack's gaze riveted and caused a smothered cry of surprise to burst from his lips. Involuntarily he stepped from the shelter of a pillar behind which he had been standing.

For approaching along the balcony of the left wing, Jack saw the loved figure of his father engrossed in conversation with a small, dark man of patrician bearing.

It was instinct rather than conscious thought which checked the cry on his lips. Instinct told him a shout would mean betrayal, and the shattering of his desperate plan.

Yet careless of who might see, he stood there looking up at the distant figure until it was lost to view, cut off by the outjutting roof above him. That one sight, however, lifted a vast load from the boy's mind. His father, at least, was not mistreated. Evidently the man with him was the Don. And as evidently his father was treated more as guest than prisoner.

At sound of a footstep on the marble tiles behind him, Jack returned with a start to a realization of his surroundings and the perils of his position. Assuming a carelessness which he was far from feeling, he refrained from turning about but instead started walking for that left wing ahead in the tower of which he knew his father to be lodged.

But the step behind him was accelerated, and he was hailed by name as Morales. Jack halted. Here was the first ordeal to be passed. Well, he was prepared for it. According to his plan, he had bound his face in a handkerchief and intended to pretend having the toothache. The swathings partly hid his features, and the pulled-down hat further obscured them.

"I'm busy. Don't delay me," he growled in Spanish, imitating Morales' voice.

The newcomer approached. It was Muller.



CHAPTER XXVI

THE NIGHT ATTACK

When Jack's figure had become merged in the shadows of the grove, big Bob, standing beside the airplane, reached a decision.

"Not a soul in sight here," he muttered to himself, once more letting his gaze rove over his surroundings. "Jack thought it would be best for me to stay here, but nobody's going to monkey with the plane. I'm going to follow him—till he reaches the house, anyhow. He may need my help."

Thus the big fellow salved his conscience for departing from orders. But he was so eager to take a hand in proceedings that he felt it would be torture to stay behind. He was dressed in Von Arnheim's clothes. And his build was that of the German aviator. If he were observed, he would not be suspected. Even his atrocious Spanish would not betray him, as the German spoke the language almost as horribly as he.

Thus he reasoned to himself, as he strode rapidly after Jack.

When he reached the other side of the grove, and came in sight of the ranch house Bob, as Jack had done, halted in amazement at sight of the splendid structure.

He gazed around him. Nobody in sight. Shrubbery intervening prevented him from gaining a clear view of the house. He started to skirt the bushes.

Meantime, not far away, the conversation between Jack and Muller was nearing a climax. Approaching the pretended Morales, Muller asked what he had tried to convey in his radio call, explaining it had been so interfered with by another mysterious call as to be non-understandable. Not knowing Muller was the radio man at the ranch, Jack was nonplussed. Again he answered that he could not be delayed, and started to withdraw. Then Muller laid a detaining hand on his arm.

"Keep it to yourself, if you want to," Muller said. "But I know something happened at the cave and I have already reported so to the Don. First I thought you were trying to radio from the cave. Now here you come by airplane. There's—"

"What do you mean?" growled Jack gruffly, although secretly alarmed.

"I mean there's something wrong," Muller said.

Muller still had no suspicion that the man before him was other than he pretended to be. Merely he was trying to pry into a matter that had aroused his curiosity. Jack, however, thought he was on the eve of being discovered, and was alarmed.

At this moment Bob, skirting a clump of bushes on the lawn below, came in sight of the two figures and halted.

He saw Jack wrench his arm from the other's grasp and turn to stride away. He saw the other raise an arm as if to stay Jack. And he saw the movement flip Jack's low-pulled hat from his head. It was accidental, but to Jack and Bob—the actor and the observer in this little drama—it seemed to be by intent. It is possible Jack still might have saved the day, had he stooped quickly, recovered his hat and clapped it on again before Muller could have seen his features.

As it was, however, Jack thought he was discovered. And he turned to deal with Muller. Then, in truth, he was discovered. Muller cried out in amazement. Then Jack landed a stinging blow on the mouth which sent the young German toppling to the marble pave.

At Muller's shout, several rebel sentries, who had been snoozing in the shadows beside the palace, instead of mounting guard, were startled into instant wakefulness. They came trotting in bare feet, long rifles in hand, and ran up the wide flight of steps.

Bob started forward to help Jack. The latter, however, took one look at the sentries and then dashed into the left wing of the building.

The sentries for a moment did not pursue, believing the fleeing man was Morales. Instead, they bent above Muller and helped him to his feet. Bob halted, and backed into the bushes, keeping his eyes on the scene. No use rushing in to help Jack now. He would merely succeed in getting into trouble himself, without aiding his chum.

From his vantage point he was able to read aright what followed. Although he could not overhear what was being said and would not have understood the Spanish words, if he had overheard, nevertheless he gathered that Muller was explaining the fugitive was not Morales, but someone wearing his clothes.

Then he saw the sentries dart away in pursuit of Jack, while Muller whipped out a revolver and fired three shots into the air.

"That's an alarm," Bob said to himself. "I'd better back off before this place is alive with soldiers."

Turning, he ran through the trees. Big Bob was not the one to desert a friend, but he saw no chance to help Jack now. On the other hand, he told himself, if he retained his freedom, he would be able to help Jack later perhaps.

Suddenly he carromed into a man running toward the house. Both rebounded from the contact. Bob saw the other was a Mexican with a rifle. Quick as thought, he lashed out with his right fist and caught the soldier on the point of the jaw. Totally unprepared for this attack, the man went down as if shot.

Bob ran on at redoubled speed, burst through the screen of trees, and dashed across the landing field toward his airplane. He had no definite idea as to what course to pursue. He and Jack, of course, had counted upon the possibility of Jack's being discovered. In that case, when he heard the alarm, Bob—supposedly sticking by his airplane—was to have flown away.

There were shouts behind him. Evidently his soldier victim had recovered. Perhaps, even, Muller had suspected the truth, namely, that if Jack were not Morales the aviator who had brought him was not Von Arnheim. In that case, Muller would be on his trail and he would have no time to lose.

What should he do?

The shouts behind him were not repeated. Perhaps, after all, his identity was not yet suspected and he was not pursued. Jack might be keeping all hands busy at the ranch.

In great leaps, he approached the airplane and, as he drew near, another thought obtruded itself. If he were to take flight in it, how was he to get away? Who would crank the motor by twirling the propeller?

This latter difficulty was quickly solved. Two Mexicans stood at respectful attention as he approached. Bob was dismayed for a moment, but then, seeing their awkward salute, he chuckled inwardly. They mistook him for Von Arnheim and evidently that German officer was a martinet who exacted a measure of discipline from the slovenly rebel soldiers.

Cracking an order at them in his best garbled Spanish, Bob clambered into the pilot's seat. He was understood, and better, was obeyed. One man gingerly approached the propeller and started twirling it, while the other went to the side of the plane and helped push it forward.

The propeller began to whirl furiously as Bob worked the starting mechanism. The Mexicans leaped out of the way. The plane began to bump ahead.

Shouts of anger burst forth at the same moment, there was the crack of a rifle, and a bullet sang unpleasantly close to Bob's ears. Out of the tail of his eye he could see a number of dark figures running toward him from the grove.

But Bob did not wait to be interviewed. With a swoop, the airplane left the ground and started upward. His pursuers were so close at hand they could almost grasp the wheels, as they leaped upward. Yet not quite. Bullets whistled about him, and several pinged against the body of the machine with a sharp metallic ring. Bob thanked his stars that the plane had an all-metal body. Once above pursuit, he was safe from stray rifle shots.

With a curse the baffled Muller, who had been quick to realize that if one masquerader was not Morales, then the other was not Von Arnheim, watched the airplane shoot away at dizzying speed and disappear beyond the guarding hills to the north.

Then he turned back toward the ranch house, eager to learn how the pursuit of Jack had ended.

But for young Herr Muller and the Calomares ranch in general the night alarms were not ended. In fact, they had just begun.

Before Muller on his return trip had reached the belt of trees, while the search for Jack, who had mysteriously disappeared, went on merrily within the Calomares palace, and while Bob was yet flying over the hills to the north, rebel pickets below him were attacked by Mexican government troops.

It was an attack in force.

"Viva, Obregon," shouted the attackers.

The rebels on the northern rampart of hills defending the natural amphitheatre where the Calomares ranch was located, fell back hurriedly. They were outnumbered.

Out of the huddled buildings, which the boys had only glimpsed at the rear of the great ranch house boiled scores of rebel soldiery, rubbing the sleep from their eyes, hugging their rifles as they trotted forward in bare feet. Within the house, the search for Jack was temporarily abandoned, while the peppery little Don Fernandez Calomares, alarmed at this night attack which might mean that the government troops were in force, hastened to take command outdoors.

To Bob, who having crossed the crest of the hill had shut off his motor and volplaning, the shots and cries of the attackers came distinctly. He had intended making a hazardous landing beyond the rebel lines and returning afoot to try and rescue Jack. But this newest development in the situation caused him to open the motor and start to spiralling upward.



CHAPTER XXVII

SENORITA RAFAELA

Meantime, what of Jack.

After bowling Muller over and fleeing from the sentries drawn by the latter's shout, Jack ran through the great arched doorway into the left wing of the palace. Ahead lay a dark corridor, upon which opened the doors of the ground floor rooms. He was in a round entranceway from which ascended a flight of winding stone steps to the balconied upper floor and the turret rooms above. Up there, somewhere, was his father. Jack paused only a moment, then sprang up the steps.

As he reached the upper landing, he heard the sound of footsteps descending from the tower. He listened a moment. They were not the familiar footsteps of his father.

He must act quickly, if he were to stand any chance of escape. Springing forward, revolver in hand, he seized the knob of the nearest door on the balcony, found the door give and leaped in, pushing it to behind him and setting his back against it.

The room was brightly lighted, evidently a young lady's boudoir. This much his first glance showed Jack. It showed him also two women—one young and very beautiful, the other wizened and monkey-like, both terrified and speechless. They were Don Fernandez' daughter, Rafaela, and her duenna or chaperone, Donna Ana.

"Quiet," hissed Jack in Spanish, waving his weapon threateningly.

He listened with strained attention to sounds from outside. The menacing footsteps reached the landing, and then continued to descend. Jack turned the key in the lock. He was none too soon. A moment later the padding of the bare feet of the sentries sounded muffled outside, then grew fainter as the men separated, one ascending the stairway of the tower, the other running along the balcony.

Jack was puzzled as to what next to do. From Roy Stone's brief description of the Don's family, he guessed at the identities of the two women. While he stood irresolute, the girl recovered from her fright. Her dark eyes flashed, and she commanded him in an imperious tone to lower his weapon.

"Not till you promise me not to shout, Miss," Jack said.

"Very well," said the girl. "But who are you? You cannot escape. My father will capture you."

"Not if I can help it, Miss," said Jack grimly.

In the rapid march of events, the handkerchief with which he had bound up his jaw had become loosened. Now it fell, revealing Jack's handsome features and his close-clinging mop of dark curls.

"Why, you are just a boy," declared Rafaela, and her eyes lost some of their hostility while at the same time, unconsciously, her voice became less harsh.

"Surely," she said, turning to Donna Ana, "this lad can have done nothing so terrible."

The prim, black-robed duenna had gained courage from her mistress's temerity. She had ceased trembling. Yet she was exercised about something. Jack could not understand why. Surely, she was no longer fearful of him. She leaned closer to her young mistress, seated at a low writing table, and whispered in her ear. Rafaela threw back her head and laughed—a low, musical laugh that sounded fascinatingly pleasant in Jack's ears, worried though he was.

"My dear Donna Ana," said the girl. "What if he is a man! And in my room! Are you not here to watch over me? And I do not believe he will bite. No, no. See, he is such a nice young man that I can chuck him under the chin. So!"

And suiting action to words, the girl sprang from her chair, walked swiftly across the room and chucked Jack under the chin.

To say that Jack was surprised would be a mild statement. From his knowledge of Latin-American girls gathered in Peru, he believed those of good family invariably were convent-bred and extremely decorous in the presence of young men. He was so dazed at the girl's action that her next move, which was a lightning-quick attempt to grasp his revolver and wrest it from him, almost succeeded.

Jack retained a grip on the weapon, however, and managed to prevent Rafaela from obtaining it. Foiled in her attempt, all her bravado deserted her and running back to her chair, she sank into it and began to weep.

What in the world should a fellow do in a case like this? Jack didn't know. Usually, he was equal to emergencies, but this one was something beyond his understanding. He stood helpless, while the duenna alternately glared at him and patted her young charge on the back, muttering soft words of comfort to her meanwhile.

Quickly as the shower came, however, it disappeared. Rafaela pushed Donna Ana aside impatiently and looked at Jack, smiling through her tears.

"Well, sir," she said, demurely, "that did not succeed. What do you intend to do with your prisoners?"

This wasn't so bad. Jack grinned.

"Look here," he said, sensing a kindred spirit. "I'm not a rascal. You will have to believe me. I haven't done anything so terrible, after all. You need not be scared of me."

"But who are you, then?" asked the girl. "Listen. They are shouting through the house. Soon they will be making a search from room to room."

Jack started. If that were true, when the searchers came to this locked door, what would happen? He thought for a moment. The daring idea to take the girl into his confidence and enlist her aid had been budding in his mind. He regarded her keenly for the first time. Would she help? Perhaps the romantic nature of his enterprise would appeal to her, even though he was fighting against her father. Well, it would do no harm to try.

"You asked who I am," he said, "and why I am here. Well, I shall tell you."

And speaking rapidly in his fluent Spanish, in a few brief statements, he laid before her the main fact that Mr. Hampton, whom she doubtless knew, was his father, and that he had come to the rescue in an airplane.

"Only now," he concluded mournfully, "I have been discovered. I expect my chum will be forced to fly away. And it looks as if I were bound to fail."

During his recital, the girl's eyes had grown bright with interest. She leaned forward, listening with eager attention. As Jack ceased, apparently she was about to speak, but there came a tattoo of knuckles on the door which caused her to halt abruptly.

"Our deliverers," murmured Donna Ana, who had never entirely ceased trembling, and she cast a spiteful glance at Jack. To the duenna, young men, and especially one so unceremonious, were terrible creatures.

"Silence," hissed the girl, and the old duenna in evident fear of her imperious young mistress, trembled the more.

"Quick," whispered Rafaela to Jack, "get under here."

Rising, she seized him by an arm and partly led, partly pushed him to the chair upon which she had been sitting. It was a wicker chair, with wicker-latticed sides extending clear to the floor. Lifting it, she ordered Jack to kneel down and crouch into as small a space as possible. He complied. Then she clapped the chair over him. He was completely hidden, except in front, where the wicker latticing did not extend.

Seating herself calmly in the chair, Rafaela so disposed her skirts that Jack could not be seen. Then she picked up her pen and sat as if just interrupted at her writing.

The knocking on the door was repeated, louder this time, and the voice of the Don himself impatiently bade that the door be opened.

Bending low so that Jack could hear her words, the girl whispered:

"Have no fear. Trust me."

To the duenna, she said:

"Open the door. And if you betray me——"

And she shot at Donna Ana a terrible glance, which caused the latter to cringe. Evidently, the duenna stood in considerable awe of her temperamental young mistress.

The old woman unlocked the door and stepped back, revealing on the threshold Don Fernandez with several armed retainers at his back.

"What does this mean?" he demanded, glaring at his daughter as he advanced a step or two into the room. "Locked doors at so early an hour?"

"Why, papa, dear, we heard the shouts and several revolver shots," said his daughter. "Was it not natural for two lone women to lock their door?"

"Humm!"

The Don glanced quickly about the room.

"Papa, what is the matter? What is the meaning of all this noise? Of those shots?" Rafaela anxiously inquired.

"Some man impersonating one of my lieutenants gained entrance," said the Don. "I believe him a government agent. He may have come to attempt my life."

"Oh, no, papa, dear," protested Rafaela, shocked. "Why, he—"

Frantic lest she might betray herself and him, Jack reached forward cautiously and tapped the tiny ankle dangling before him.

He was none too soon. Thus brought to a realization of her position, Rafaela checked the words.

"What's that?" asked her father. "What did you say?"

"Why, papa," she answered, "I was going to say he couldn't be so mean. To come here to kill you. Oh, no. That would be too terrible."

"But I do believe it," affirmed the Don. "What do you know of how politics is carried on in our poor, distracted country? Tut, tut, you are just a girl. What I came to ask was whether the man had hidden here? We have searched all the rooms on this balcony, without success. Yet most certainly Pedro and Pancho"—indicating the armed men in the corridor—"saw him bound up the stairs."

"Here?" said Rafaela. "Why, our door has been locked, as you see."

Before Don Fernandez could retort, the report of distant rifle fire came to the ears of all in the room, followed by a growing fusillade as the sentries on the northern rim of the valley fell back before attack.

The Don whirled around.

"Hark," said he, and added with conviction: "The government troops are attacking. And they sent an assassin ahead of them. Well, he has been foiled. And they will be foiled, too."

And without more ado he darted from the room, Pancho and Pedro obediently following at his heels.



CHAPTER XXVIII

THE FAIR TRAITRESS

Rafaela leaped up and lifted her chair, permitting Jack to emerge from his unique hiding place. He was overcome with gratitude at the thought of what she had done for him, and hesitated to speak.

"Speak," she said, frowning, and stamped her foot. "Tell me, is this true?"

"What do you mean?" asked Jack in surprise.

"That you are an assassin sent by that horrible President Obregon?"

Jack was hurt, and showed his feelings.

"I told you the truth," he said.

"Oh, I want to believe you," cried the girl, twisting her hands. "But father was so positive."

Donna Ana sidled close and whispered:

"Shall I call your father? It is not too late."

That decided Rafaela.

"Nonsense," she declared, sharply, glaring at her duenna. "Cannot you see this young man is telling the truth? I," she declared proudly, "can tell a truthful person from a liar at once. And I declare to you this young man is truthful."

Jack smothered a smile. The girl was as changeable as a weathercock. And calling him "young man" in that lofty tone, too. Why, she was little more than a youngster herself—couldn't be as old as he.

"Come now," said the girl suddenly, seizing him by the hand. "We have no time to lose. Now is your opportunity."

"Opportunity?"

"Yes, yes"—impatiently. "While the government troops attack, you must release your father and escape."

Jack was amazed. Would this surprising girl never cease astonishing him?

"Do you mean you will help me—actually?"

"Have I not said so?" asked Rafaela impatiently. "And it seems to me I have already been of some trifling aid—actually?"

The sarcasm was not lost on Jack. But he ignored it. Finding he still held the hand she had extended when urging him to follow her, he squeezed it.

"You're—you're fine," he said, enthusiastically.

Rafaela tossed her head, smiling in superior fashion.

"You are not a very accomplished courtier, Mr. Jack Hampton," she said, withdrawing her hand.

Jack would have protested. He was rapidly falling under the spell of her charm. But she halted him with an imperious gesture.

"We are wasting precious time," she said. "Come." Then, turning to Donna Ana, she said sharply: "You will stay here until I return. And if you betray me—" Again she made a threatening gesture, and again the old duenna cowered. Thereupon, the girl hastened from the room and Jack followed.

Up the spiral stone stairway of the tower ran Rafaela, passing the first landing where burned an electric light. Jack was close at her heels. At length they reached the top landing, and stood before the single door there. It was of stout oak, heavy and ponderous.

"This is your father's room," whispered Rafaela.

So near to a successful conclusion of his adventure, Jack's heart beat so rapidly that once again he experienced that sensation of suffocation which had seized him on landing from the airplane.

He tried the door knob. The barrier was locked.

"Locked," he whispered. "What shall we do?"

In the dim light on the landing, they stared at each other in dismay. Here was a contingency which had occurred to neither.

The whispering, the careful trying of the door, the sound of their footsteps—these had aroused Mr. Hampton from his reading on the other side of the door.

"Who's there?" he called sharply.

Jack set his mouth close to the keyhole.

"Dad," he whispered tensely. "It's Jack. Don't make a noise. I've come to rescue you."

There was a moment of silence, then the sound of rapid footsteps crossing the room.

"Jack?" Mr. Hampton also had stooped to the keyhole. "It can't be. Yet that voice! My boy, my boy. But how in the world did you come here?"

"Too long to tell, Dad," whispered Jack. "But have you the key to this door?"

"Key? No."

"Then," said Jack, despairingly, "it looks as if we were balked at the end. This door is too stout to break down without bringing the enemy on us. It's thick and bound with iron straps besides."

"Who is with you?"

"Bob. No. I mean Miss Calomares. She's helping me."

"This is too much for me," declared Mr. Hampton.

"Dad, we'll have to break down the door. The government troops are attacking. Even if we do make a lot of noise, it may go unnoticed. Have you a heavy chair you can use?"

"Yes," answered his father. "But, wait. Government troops attacking, hey? Then that is the meaning of those shots which caused Don Fernandez to leave me so hurriedly."

"No, Dad, those first shots were when they sounded the alarm on discovering me."

"They discovered you?" Mr. Hampton groaned in mock dismay. "Oh, this is too much. But, Jack, what I started to say was that as Don Fernandez dashed down the steps, I heard him drop something in his haste that rang on the stones. Maybe that was the key."

"I'll look."

Jack stood upright, and communicated to the impatient Rafaela what his father had said. She had been unable to hear. Fortunately, he carried an electric torch. Swinging this so that the light fell on the steps, he started downward. Before he had gone three steps, the girl's quick eyes saw the key gleam in the light. She snatched it up with an exclamation, turned, inserted it in the keyhole, and the door swung in.

Jack leaped through the opening, and the tall and handsome man, to whom he bore so striking a resemblance, enfolded him in his arms.

"My boy, my boy. I can hardly believe it."

"But it's true, Dad."

They drew apart and stood looking at each other. There was more than a suspicion of moisture in each pair of eyes.

Mr. Hampton's gaze fell on Rafaela, with whom he had had a number of pleasant conversations during his captivity. He dropped a hand on her shoulder.

"My dear girl," he said. "You never did a kinder deed. I hope you will not have cause to regret it."

"Oh," said she with an arch smile. "Papa would be furious if he discovered what I have done. But I can manage him."

The older man smiled. He had observed the managerial process at work.

"But you must not delay," added Rafaela, anxiously. "Even now the firing seems to be farther away. My father keeps many soldiers here. And he is, doubtless, driving away the attacking party. You must go quickly before he returns, and while all is confusion."

"She is right, Dad," said Jack. "Let's go. Anything you want to take with you?"

"No, nothing. But how are we to escape, Jack? How did you arrive?"

"I arrived by airplane," said Jack. "But whether we can get away by the same means is another matter."

Mr. Hampton looked dazed.

"The younger generation moves too fast for me," he said. "But will you please explain?"

"It's a long story, Dad," said Jack, "and I haven't the time. But it's Bob's airplane. The fellows who kidnapped you stole the machine in Long Island several days before that. Well, Mr. Temple and the boys came out to New Mexico, and we recovered the plane and, and—well, there you are."

"Yes, I see," said Mr. Hampton. "It's as clear as a New York fog. But it's enough to know that Bob—didn't you mention his name—is here with the machine. Let's go and find him."

He started for the door. But at that moment Rafaela, who stood closer to it, halted him with upraised hand.

"Listen," she whispered.

Cautious footsteps could be heard ascending the stairs.

"Quick, Jack," whispered Mr. Hampton, "you mustn't be seen. Nor you, Miss Calomares. Here, hide behind this bed. And he pushed the two behind the hangings of a great four-poster. Then removing the key from the outside of the door, he hurriedly but noiselessly swung the ponderous frame shut, and locked it on the inside.

"Calomares won't recall losing the key," he said grimly to himself. "There may be a chance yet."

He listened with his ear at the keyhole. The cautious footsteps mounted higher. They reached the landing. Then there was a low knock on the panel, and a voice called low and urgently:

"Mr. Hampton. Mr. Hampton. This is Bob."



CHAPTER XXIX

THREE CHEERS FOR THE RADIO BOYS

Mr. Hampton unlocked and opened the door, and greeted the big fellow as warmly as he had his own son.

"Where's Jack?" asked Bob. "Did they capture him?"

Jack, who was peeping from behind the four-poster, sprang into the room, and slapped his chum resoundingly on the back.

"Thought you were to stick by the airplane," he said, with mock severity.

Bob swung around, the worried look vanishing from his face.

"Hurray," he said. "So they didn't get you after all? When I saw you punch that fellow I thought your goose was cooked."

"Saw me punch him? Why, where were you?"

"Oh, I had followed you," said Bob. Then he explained.

"Then when the attack began," he added, "I flew around overhead until I saw my chance to return and land. I wasn't going to leave without you. Presently, the government troops were beaten at the north. That was only a feint on their part, anyhow, I believe, to engage the attention of the rebels. For at once, heavy shooting broke out farther down the valley. Sounded like the main body was attacking there. Then the rebels scooted down that way to repulse the new attack, and I took a chance and landed. Not a soul in sight. And here I am."

Jack was speechless. But the look in his eyes betrayed his emotion.

"Bob, I'm proud of you," said Mr. Hampton. "Well, let's hurry away before it is too late."

Rafaela stepped from her place of concealment.

"Aren't you going to say farewell?" she asked.

Bob looked at her in astonishment. Mr. Hampton, with a twinkle in his eye, viewed Jack ardently. The latter advanced with extended hand.

"Miss Calomares," he said, "I can't tell you how grateful I am. I hope we shall meet again."

"Miss Calomares?" muttered Bob, under his breath, his eyes on the beautiful girl. "Jack certainly has moved fast. I don't get this."

Mr. Hampton took pity on him.

"Miss Calomares," he said, leading Bob forward. "This is my son's chum. He came with him tonight in his airplane."

The girl held out her hand. Bob took it as in a daze.

"Pinch me," he said, in an aside to Jack.

All heard the remark, and laughed at Bob's mystification.

"Come," said Mr. Hampton, and once more moved toward the door. Once more, however, his steps were arrested by a noise outside. This time they heard the shouts of many men approaching the house and crying "Viva, Calomares."

"Too late," groaned Mr. Hampton. "They have driven off the attack, and are returning."

Rafaela uttered an exclamation.

"Oh, I must go to my room before papa discovers me here," she cried. She darted for the door, but paused to give them parting cheer. "Do not give up hope," she said. "They will drink a great deal, and then all will sleep very soundly. You may escape late tonight. Good-bye," and turning, she ran lightly down the steps.

Jack's eyes followed. At the turning, she paused, looked back, and waved to him, then disappeared.

"Now what will we do?" said Jack.

"You boys hide behind the bed," said Mr. Hampton. "I'll close the door, but I won't lock it this time, for on second thought I believe if it were locked and Calomares came up to see me—as he frequently does before retiring—it would make him suspicious. I shall leave it unlocked, and then he will believe he left it so himself in his haste."

"Dad," said Jack, "I have an idea."

"What is it? Out with it."

"Well, we are trapped here. Suppose we turn the tables."

"What do you mean?" asked Bob.

"Well, Dad," said Jack, turning to his father, "didn't you say Don Fernandez comes to call on you before retiring?"

"Yes, we have become good companions. He guards me carefully, keeps me a prisoner for his own ends, but he is a cultured man and we have much in common."

"Father says," asserted Bob, "that you are being held prisoner in order to make trouble between the United States and the Mexican government."

"He is correct," approved Mr. Hampton. "Don Fernandez has not attempted to conceal from me that that is his desire. He sent a demand for a preposterous ransom, merely in order to precipitate action at Washington, and he has been wondering why no action was taken."

"Well, that's what father thought," declared Bob. "So he has kept the matter of your being kidnapped a secret. Instead of appealing to our government, we set out to rescue you. Father says we must do our utmost to avert trouble between Mexico and the United States."

"So that accounts for many things," said Mr. Hampton. "I'm glad to have them cleared up. But we are forgetting your idea, Jack. What is it?"

"Simply that we capture Don Fernandez and make him release us all under a guarantee of safe conduct," said Jack.

"You see," he added, "Bob and I are both armed, and we can do it."

"Good for you, Jack," said Bob.

"I believe it can be done," said Mr. Hampton. "And here," he added, listening, "comes our opportunity, if I am not mistaken. You boys get behind the four-poster and wait until I give you your cue."

Noiselessly Mr. Hampton closed the door, as the boys went into hiding. Then the older man resumed his seat by the table, picked up his book, and appeared to be reading.

Quick, light footsteps sounded on the landing outside. There was a pause, while Don Fernandez searched his pockets for the key to the door. Unable to find it, he turned as if to depart. To three pairs of ears, straining to hear his every movement, the interpretation was clear. He believed he had locked the door and lost the key and was about to depart. Mr. Hampton saved the situation by raising his voice, and calling:

"Is that you, Don Fernandez? Will you not honor me by coming in? I am eager to learn what has occurred."

The Don decided to try the door. To his surprise, it opened to his touch. "I must have forgotten to lock it in my haste," he muttered, and stepped into the room.

"Government troops," he said, advancing, "They thought to surprise us but we have beaten them off decisively." He sat down heavily. "It has been strenuous work," he said. "But that is over. Now to find the assassin, if he has not already escaped."

"Assassin?" queried Mr. Hampton, in genuine surprise. He had not been told the Don's belief regarding Jack.

"Yes," said Don Fernandez, violently. "That miserable Obregon." And he proceeded to relate his version of Jack's arrival.

"Oh, but you are mistaken," said Mr. Hampton, coolly. "That was no assassin, but my son. He came to attempt to rescue me."

Don Fernandez leaped to his feet, as if shot upward by a spring.

"Your son?" he cried. "Came to rescue you? Preposterous. Then, why are you here?"

"Because," said Jack, stepping from hiding, with revolver leveled, "I wanted to meet you."

"Yes, and so did I," said Bob, not to be outdone, as he emerged, also with leveled weapon, from the other side of the four-poster.

Mr. Hampton quickly slipped the key into the lock of the door, turned it and drew back. Don Fernandez saw the action. He glared from one to the other of the three, and then sat down with a resigned shrug of the shoulders.

"You wanted to meet me?" he said. "I am honored. But, Mr. Hampton, there is not only one son but two!"

"Not exactly," said the American. "This lad"—laying a hand on Jack's shoulder—"is my son, the young man you pursued for a time tonight. This other"—placing his other hand on Bob's shoulder—"is my son's chum."

"Well," said Don Fernandez, the faintest suggestion of a twinkle in his eye, "now that you have met me, as you desired, what have you to say?"

"Just this," said Jack, boldly, "we want you to permit us to leave under safe conduct. We want to take father with us in Bob's airplane. Oh, yes, it was my chum's airplane which your men stole in Long Island. But we have gotten it back again."

"So?" said Don Fernandez. "Well, nothing surprises me tonight. And where, may I ask, are Morales and Von Arnheim? I see you are wearing their clothes."

"We have got them imprisoned," said Jack. "But we are in earnest, sir, about this. We are armed and have the upper hand, and we mean to have your protection. If you are armed, you had better give your weapon to father."

"As your father very well knows," said the Don, "I never carry weapons. And now"—with grave courtesy—"if you will permit me, young sir, I would like to speak privately with your father."

At a nod of agreement from his father, Jack withdrew to the door, followed by Bob, leaving the two older men in low-voiced conversation. They spoke animatedly, and to the anxious boys there came more than once a low chuckle of laughter from Don Fernandez while they could see Mr. Hampton beginning to smile. At length, Don Fernandez beckoned imperiously, and the boys approached.

He regarded them with twinkling eyes, but it was Mr. Hampton who acted as spokesman.

"Boys," said he, "Don Fernandez consents. But I do not believe he was influenced by fear for his life."

Don Fernandez stood up between the two chums, and put an arm over the shoulder of each—or, rather, tried to, as they towered above him.

"No, it was not fear," said he. "But Mr. Hampton has told me a little of what you have done, and I see it is useless to fight against Young America. You are fine fellows. If I had a son"—wistfully—"I would want him to be like you."



CHAPTER XXX

GOOD NEWS FOR ANXIOUS EARS

"Now to call Father," said big Bob.

He and Jack, escorted by several Mexicans of Don Fernandez' band who had been informed by the Don himself that the boys were friends who were to be treated with every respect, were approaching the radio station of the Calomares ranch.

Jack was exuberant. Plans for the rescue of his father from the stronghold of the rebel leader had not worked out just as proposed. Yet the wild adventure upon which he and Bob had embarked had come to a successful conclusion, after all. And he was correspondingly elated.

Jack and his father were close pals. And he knew that Bob and his father were the same. He threw an arm over the shoulder of his chum.

"Your father will certainly be relieved," he said. "I imagine he has been sitting up there at the radio station on our ranch in New Mexico for hours, waiting to hear from you. I can just see him in there, walking up and down impatiently, with that bow-legged old cowboy, Dave Morningstar, tilted back in a chair, with his hat down over; his eyes, smoking and never making a move."

"Won't he be delighted," said Bob. "Just won't he."

"And Frank, too," said Jack, thinking of the third chum, left behind at the cave.

"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 butt. "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, flushing at this grumpy attitude, 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 attitude 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 circumstances. 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 knobs 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 XXXI

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 passed, 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.

But after hearing from Frank an account not only of the fight the latter had had to recover the cave, after once having been dispossessed, but also of the attempt to warn the Calomares ranch ahead of the boys' coming which Morales had made, he began to wish he never had called Frank.

"Think of it," he said to Dave Morningstar, after explaining the situation. "In all likelihood all that clash of conversation in the air put them on guard at the Calomares ranch. They were led to suspect all was not well. And then when the boys landed they were captured. That can be the only reason for our failure to hear from Bob and Jack."

Dave attempted sympathetic protest, but Mr. Temple shook his head and groaned.

"No, something has happened to them," he said. "Oh, I was a fool to let them go. I'll never forgive myself. If only they were not injured. If only they were merely made prisoner, I——"

"Hey," said Dave, "look at that signal bulb. Somebody's calling us."

"It's only Frank, calling back, I suppose," groaned Mr. Temple.

But Dave took up a headpiece and began adjusting the tuner knob. In a moment he tapped Mr. Temple on the bowed shoulder.

"Listen here," he said, and clapped the headpiece over Mr. Temple's ears.

Similar anxieties to those ruling at the Hampton radio station had been in control at the cave during the evening hours.

Frank had been frightfully anxious as the hours wore on with no word from the boys. The flight to the ranch was a short one of only fifty miles. Surely, if they had been successful, Jack and Bob long ere this would have called him by radio in accordance with their agreement.

The poor boy stamped up and down the cave in such a fret that Tom Bodine and Roy Stone made repeated efforts to calm him, but without success. They began seriously to fear the effect of this anxiety upon his system, already fevered by the several hard fights through which he had gone in the last thirty-six hours.

Mr. Temple's call had done nothing to assuage Frank's anxiety. If anything it had increased it. As he put aside the headpiece, he looked so woebegone that Tom Bodine went up to him and laid an arm over his shoulder.

"Now, look here, kid," he began.

But before he could proceed, Frank's glance caught the light flashing in the signal bulb, and he leaped to the headpiece and microphone with a glad cry.

* * * * *

"Father, we are all right. Mr. Hampton is freed."

At the cave in the mountains of Old Mexico and at the Hampton ranch across the border in American territory, these welcome words uttered in Bob's well-known voice were received with delight. Across mountain and desert sped the message by radio. Modern science making possible the utilization of the forces of the air brought this quick relief to an anxiety that otherwise would have continued for hours at the least, until Bob and Jack could have flown back to the ranch.

But neither Mr. Temple nor Frank took that thought into consideration. To them radio telephony was an accepted fact, part of their daily equipment for carrying on life.

What filled their minds to the exclusion of all else was, at first, a sense of gratitude and thankfulness for the lucky outcome of the adventurous mission of the two boys, and, in the second place, a desire to learn the details.

"Now don't interrupt, Frank," said Bob. "Just listen while I talk to father, and you can hear all about it."

Under this admonition Frank ceased the flood of eager questions he had loosed and confined himself to listening. As the story of the remarkable series of adventures undergone by Jack and Bob at the Calomares ranch poured through the air, however, Frank, at times, could not curb his quick tongue, and many an exclamation he let slip. His hand, placed across the mouth of the microphone, however, acted to prevent these exclamations from interrupting the flow of Bob's explanation.

When Bob had finished his account, Jack took a turn. And at the recital of his adventures, Frank began to laugh. Removing his hand from the microphone, he interrupted his chum with the question:

"Now, who's the lady-killer?"

Jack, who at the moment, was telling of the part played by Senorita Rafaela, blushed violently and grew indignant. Bob, standing near, looked at him speculatively. Was old Jack hard hit by that little Spanish beauty? Ordinarily, Jack would have answered Frank's joking in kind. But to grow indignant! Bob feared his chum was smitten.

For a long time the three-cornered conversation was carried on through the air, Mr. Temple and Frank both being eager to hear every detail and compelling Jack and Bob to repeat their stories several times.

Finally, drawn by the long absence of the boys, Mr. Hampton appeared at the radio station accompanied by Don Fernandez himself, and he and Mr. Temple held a brief conversation.

At length it was decided that the next day Mr. Hampton, with Bob and Jack, would fly back to the Hampton ranch in New Mexico. Frank, Tom and Roy Stone were to ride for the border at the same time, after another night's sleep at the cave. Morales and Von Arnheim, to whom Don Fernandez spoke personally, were apprised of the turn of affairs, and were told to stay at the cave, which was plentifully provisioned, until a relief party from headquarters could reach them with mounts.

Then "good nights" were said, and at their three different points our respective characters retired for the night, well pleased with the outcome of their adventures.



CHAPTER XXXII

MORE ADVENTURE AHEAD

"Farewell, Senor Jack Hampton."

Jack clasped the sprightly Spanish girl's hand, reluctant to release it. It was noon of the next day. Brilliant sunshine flooded the landing field of the Calomares ranch. Bob already had clambered into the pilot's seat of the airplane. Mr. Hampton stood to one side, exchanging farewells with Don Fernandez.

"Not farewell, Senorita," said Jack, ardently. "We must meet again."

The girl shrugged.

"But where?" said she. "Will you come back to capture our castle again?"

"No," said Jack, grinning. "But," he added, significantly, "I may come back—to capture one of its inhabitants."

Low though his tone was, the words reached the ears of Donna Ana, the ever-present duenna, and she glared at him. This was no way for a brash young Americano to be speaking to the daughter of the great Don Fernandez. Jack caught the glance and laughed. He turned to the duenna and extended his hand.

"Farewell, Donna Ana," he said. "It's been such a pleasure to meet you."

The wizened old duenna was nonplussed. She did not know whether to resent this pleasantry or be gratified by it. Mechanically she accepted Jack's extended hand.

At that moment, Bob called to him. Jack turned. Mr. Hampton already had entered the airplane. They were waiting for him. Once more he seized Rafaela's hand.

"Remember," he said, so low that only her ears could hear his words, "you haven't seen the last of me."

She cast him an arch glance.

"Senor Jack is improving," she whispered. "He will be a courtier yet."

Then Jack climbed into his seat. A mechanic started the propeller, the machine began to bump over the ground, and presently it was in the air and climbing.

Bob spiralled upward until they were high above the ranch, and the figures below seemed little manikins. Jack believed he could distinguish Rafaela waving a lacy handkerchief, and leaned far over the side to wave in reply.

Then they were off, zooming through the air, straight as an arrow for the international boundary and the Hampton ranch beyond. The flight was brief. Bob covered the distance of 150 miles in considerably less than two hours.

"Look here," he said to his father, after greetings had been exchanged, and the latter had thumped his big son so hard and often that Bob dodged when further "love taps" came his way. "I'm not going to stay here to be pounded into a jelly. Tell you what, father, that's a long ride up here from the cave. Frank started early this morning, but he cannot arrive for another day. Suppose I go back and pick up him and Roy Stone, and leave Tom to bring in the horses?"

Reluctant though he was to let his son depart so soon after regaining him, Mr. Temple was persuaded, and Bob set off. Far down in Old Mexico, back trailing over the route they had followed in entering the country, he saw three horsemen leading a fourth animal, and on approaching close, saw they were his friends.

Landing near them, Bob called an explanation of his mission. Roy Stone demurred at the proposal.

"Much obliged for the offer," he said, "but I'll ride along with Tom Bodine, if it's all the same to you. I'm in no hurry to get anywhere, and you fellows will be having your own reunion at your ranch. Take your chum with you, but leave Tom and me. We'll be in with the horses sooner or later. Each of us will have a spare mount now, and it'll be an easy trip. Anyhow, I never did like those airplanes."

"Same here," said Tom Bodine, staring with awe at the machine. "You couldn't get me in that thing on a bet."

Frank, accordingly, relinquished the reins of his horse to Tom Bodine, and with "good-byes" to his friends clambered into the airplane with Bob. Roy Stone obligingly spun the propeller, an accomplishment with which his association with Von Arnheim had made him familiar, and once more the plane soared upward and headed across the border.

At the ranch that night it was a jolly party that gathered around the board, with Mr. Hampton, Mr. Temple and the three boys. Gabby Pete, talkative as ever, was bursting with desire for information about all their adventures. He had prepared a surprisingly good dinner in honor of the occasion.

Rollins alone was not present. When told of Mr. Hampton's impending arrival, he had begged Mr. Temple to let him go to a distant oil well for several days until Mr. Hampton could be informed in detail of his treachery in the past and the reason for it. This Mr. Temple had agreed to.

Back and forth across the table flew the conversation and, when the meal was at an end, all continued to sit around the table until a late hour.

During the weeks that followed Bob and Frank spent many enjoyable hours rambling on horseback over the surrounding country and taking more extended trips by airplane. The love for the country of which Jack had spoken on arrival, seized them, too. The bright hot days succeeded by cool nights—for in New Mexico the air cools immediately upon the setting of the sun—appealed powerfully to boys reared on the seacoast. The absence of raw winds and fogs especially appealed to them. The weather was something which could be counted upon. Every day was fair.

So passed the weeks, with the boys under Jack's pilotage travelling far and wide, scouting through the mountains to discover new beauties of scenery, making visits to the ancient Spanish ruins at Santa Fe, attending a rodeo at Gallup, to which came cowboys and cowgirls from a vast stretch of territory to perform hair-raising feats of horsemanship and exhibit well-nigh miraculous skill with the lasso.

A month after their advent, and when their summer vacation was not yet half spent, Mr. Temple at dinner one night announced that before ending his prolonged vacation from business—the first he had taken in ten years—he planned to go to San Francisco to consult with the manager of his western exporting office.

"Why, father," said Bob. "I've always wanted to see the city by the Golden Gate, and I know the fellows feel the same way about it. What do you say to taking us with you? We won't get in your way. And you can drop us here on your way back East."

Smilingly, Mr. Temple gazed at the faces of the three eager boys. Jack and Frank enthusiastically echoed their chum's appeal.

"Yes, do, Mr. Temple," said Jack. "That is, if we wouldn't be in your way."

"Uncle, I'm crazy to see San Francisco," said Frank.

"Well, it's a good deal changed from the days of the Forty-Niners," said Mr. Temple, smiling. "You may have your hopes too high, and may be disappointed."

"Oh, come now, father," said Bob. "If you're going to be there only a week, it'll be worth while for us."

"Well, that's the length of time I planned to stay," said Mr. Temple, thoughtfully. "But I'll be pretty busy while I'm there. Do you boys feel you can keep out of mischief if left to yourselves?"

Mr. Hampton interrupted.

"I reckon they can, Temple," he said. "They saved the day for me. I'm beginning to think they are a pretty self-reliant lot. If you can see your way to doing so, take them along. The trip will be a fine experience."

"All right, boys," said Mr. Temple. "But you'll have to leave your airplane. If you are going to see San Francisco, you can't do it very well by airplane. And, anyhow, I wouldn't care to see you tackle the Rockies."

"All right, father," agreed Bob. "We'll be too busy seeing the sights to want the plane, anyhow. When do we start?"

"In two days," said his father.

With this we take leave of the three chums, whose adventures on the Mexican border have come to so successful a conclusion. But in the next story of "The Radio Boys on Secret Service Duty" we shall follow their further adventures after they reach the city by the Golden Gate—adventures fully as thrilling as those on the Mexican border, in which they become drawn into the plots of an international gang of smugglers engaged in bringing Chinese coolies into the United States in defiance of the Exclusion Laws.

THE END.



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THE RADIO BOYS ON THE MEXICAN BORDER

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THE RANGER BOYS TO THE RESCUE

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Frank Chadwick and Jack Templeton, young American lads, meet each other in an unusual way soon after the declaration of war. Circumstances place them on board the British cruiser, "The Sylph," and from there on, they share adventures with the sailors of the Allies. Ensign Robert L. Drake, the author, is an experienced naval officer, and he describes admirably the many exciting adventures of the two boys.

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In this series we follow the fortunes of two American lads unable to leave Europe after war is declared. They meet the soldiers of the Allies, and decide to cast their lot with them. Their experiences and escapes are many, and furnish plenty of good, healthy action that every boy loves.

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