Dave Porter and His Double Part 33

"I guess he's nothing but a bag of wind," was Roger's comment, on hearing this. "The company is probably much better off to have such a chap among the missing."

"I don't see what he can do to hurt the company," had been Dave's answer. "He was probably discharged for good cause."

Although so far away from home, it must not be supposed that Dave and Roger had forgotten the folks left behind. They had sent numerous letters telling of their various experiences and of what they hoped to do in the future. In return Roger had received one letter from his father and another from his mother, and Dave had gotten communications from his sister Laura and from Jessie, and also a long letter from Ben.

Of these the letter received from Jessie was to our hero the most important, and it must be confessed that he read it a number of times.

The girl was greatly interested in all that he had told her about his work, and she said she hoped he would become a great civil engineer, and that she certainly trusted he would not have any trouble with the Mexicans.

The letter from Ben Ba.s.swood had been rather a disheartening communication. Ben wrote that his father did not seem to regain his health as rapidly as the doctor had antic.i.p.ated, and that nothing new concerning Ward Porton or Tim c.r.a.psey had been uncovered. Ben added that he had written to the authorities in New York City concerning Porton and had received word back that they had been unable to locate the former moving-picture actor.

"I believe the loss of those miniatures has had its full effect on Mr.

Ba.s.swood," remarked Dave, when speaking of the matter to his chum. "I suppose it makes him feel blue, and that r.e.t.a.r.ds his recovery."

"More than likely," answered Roger. "A person can't very well throw off a heavy spell of sickness when he is so depressed in spirits. It's too bad! And I suppose Mrs. Ba.s.swood feels dreadful to think she was the one to let the fortune slip out of their hands."

"No doubt of it, Roger. Of course, it's easy enough to blame her, and I suppose a great many of their neighbors do. But, just the same, place yourself in her position--worried half to death over the sickness of her husband--and you might have done the same thing."

It was a warm evening and the chums took their time in returning to the camp, knowing supper would not be served until a little later.

During the day several shots had been heard at a great distance to the southward, and some of the civil engineers had wondered if some sort of a scrimmage was taking place on the other side of the Rio Grande.

"If a fight is in progress I hope it doesn't extend to this neighborhood," remarked one of the engineers, in speaking of the matter. "We've got troubles enough of our own--getting this bridge right--without having the greasers interfering with our work;" and he gave a grim laugh.

When the chums arrived in camp they found that the day's mail had come in. There was a Washington newspaper for Roger containing an address delivered in the Senate by Senator Morr, and also a long letter for our hero from Ben.

"Well, here is news at last!" cried Dave, as he scanned the communication. "Come on out here, away from the crowd, Roger, and I'll read it to you;" and then he led the way to a corner and acquainted his chum with the contents of the letter, which was as follows:

"I know you will be interested to learn that we have at last heard from that rascal, Tim c.r.a.psey, who, with Ward Porton, got the miniatures from my mother. c.r.a.psey sent a very badly written letter to my father, stating that he and Porton had parted company, but that he had the most of the miniatures,--in fact, all but six of them.

"c.r.a.psey wrote that he was in the city of New York, and had the miniatures in a safe place, and that he would return them to us for fifteen thousand dollars. We were to insert a personal advertis.e.m.e.nt in one of the New York newspapers if we were willing to accept his offer, and then he would send us word how the exchange of money for the miniatures could be made.

"Of course, as you know, my father is still sick. He didn't have anything like fifteen thousand dollars in cash to offer c.r.a.psey, and besides that Mr. Wadsworth and your Uncle Dunston thought it was altogether too much money to offer a thief like that. In fact, your uncle was of the opinion that they should only try to lead c.r.a.psey on, so that they could capture him. But my father, backed up by Mr. Wadsworth, at length agreed to put up five thousand dollars in order to get the miniatures back, and an advertis.e.m.e.nt was inserted in the newspapers to that effect.

"We waited two days for a reply, and then came a scrawl on a bit of paper signed by c.r.a.psey, stating that he was having trouble of another kind and could not for the present keep on with his negotiations. After that my father inserted another advertis.e.m.e.nt asking for more information, but up to the present time no additional word has come in.

"My father does not know what to make of it. Your folks and Mr.

Wadsworth are of the opinion that either c.r.a.psey was trying to fool them and got scared or else that the rascal has been caught by the police for some other crime and is trying to conceal his ident.i.ty. They are divided on the question as to whether to believe c.r.a.psey when he wrote that he and Porton had parted company--they are half inclined to believe that Porton is still with him, and that the whole scheme was framed up by Porton."

"That is certainly interesting news," remarked Roger, after both had perused the letter a second time. "And it settles one thing--and that is that Tim c.r.a.psey must have been in New York with Ward Porton at the time we saw the latter."

"Exactly, Roger. And it also proves beyond a doubt that that pair were really the thieves. Previous to this we only supposed such to be the fact--we really couldn't prove it."

"Oh, I was sure of it all along, Dave."

"So was I, Roger. But you know in a court of law it is one thing to know a thing and another to be able to prove it."

The two young civil engineers discussed the letter all through the evening meal and even for some time later. Then, however, Roger turned to his newspaper, to read with care the address that his father had delivered. Dave was also interested in this.

"I'd like to be in the Senate some time when your father was speaking," he remarked to his chum. "It must be a great sight to see such a body as that when it is in session."

"It is, Dave," answered his chum. "And people come thousands of miles to see it."

Before retiring for the night Dave penned a letter to Ben, and also sent a letter to Jessie, and another to his Uncle Dunston which was meant for the entire household. Roger spent the time in a communication to his mother, and also in a long letter to Luke Watson.

The night proved to be unusually warm, for the breeze which was usually stirring had died down completely. Dave fell into a fitful doze, from which he awoke about midnight to find his mouth and throat quite parched.

"I guess I'd better get up and get a drink," he told himself, "and then I may be able to sleep better. Phew! but the thermometer has certainly been going up the last few days."

He arose to his feet and walked out of the room into the hallway of the building, where in one corner there was a water-cooler. He had just finished drinking a gla.s.s of water when a sound from outside reached his ears. There was a shout from a distance, followed almost instantly by a rifle shot.

"h.e.l.lo! what can that mean?" he cried.

A moment later came more shouts, this time a little closer to the camp. Then two more rifle shots rang out sharply through the midnight air.

"Something is wrong, that's sure!" exclaimed the youth. Rushing back into the bedroom he shook Roger vigorously. At the same time he heard others getting up and calling to each other, wanting to know what the shouts and shots meant.

"What do you want, Dave?" asked the senator's son, sleepily.

"Get up, Roger!" answered our hero, quickly. "Hurry up! there is something going on outside! I just heard a number of yells and several rifle shots."

"You don't mean it, Dave!" and now Roger was on his feet with a bound.

"Maybe it's the greasers."

"I don't know what it is, Roger. But I guess we had better slip into our clothing. Maybe somebody is-- Listen!"

Dave broke off short, and both strained their ears to hear what was taking place outside. They heard a confused shouting, followed by several yells. And then came a volley of shots--five or six in number.

"It's an attack! That's what it is!" cried the senator's son. "I'll bet some of those Mexican bandits are coming over here! Oh, Dave! what do you suppose we had better do?"

"I don't know, except that we had better slip on our clothing and get our pistols," answered Dave. "This looks as if it might be serious."

"Up, boys! Up!" came the cry from somebody outside. "Get your guns and your pistols! The Mexican raiders are coming this way!"

CHAPTER XXV

THE MEXICAN RAIDERS

By the time the two chums had hastily donned their clothing and possessed themselves of the pistols they had purchased in San Antonio on the advice of Mr. Watson, the camp was in confusion from end to end, with the various bosses shouting orders and the men themselves wanting to know what the trouble was and what they had better do.

"It's some of those confounded greasers!" cried Frank Andrews, as he, too, arose and armed himself. He had a repeating rifle, and it was known to Dave and Roger that he was an exceptionally good shot.

Andrews led the way from the building, followed by our hero and Roger and several others. In the meantime, the distant shouting and shooting seemed to have moved farther westward, in the direction where the new Catalco bridge was being constructed.

"It can't be their intention to blow up the bridge?" queried Roger.

There had been talk of this several times.