Dave Porter and His Double Part 37

"Probably he is hanging out somewhere in that vicinity. I don't think he has joined General Bila.s.sa. He thinks too much of his own neck to become a soldier in any revolution."

Having sent his message to the Ba.s.swoods and received Ben's reply, there seemed nothing further for our hero to do but to wait. He and Roger were very busy helping to survey the route beyond the new Catalco bridge, and in the fascination of this occupation Ward Porton was, for the next few days, almost forgotten.

"If the Ba.s.swoods expect you to do anything regarding that note you got from Porton they had better get busy before long," remarked Roger one evening. "Otherwise Porton may do as he threatened--destroy the pictures."

"Oh, I don't believe he'd do anything of that sort, Roger," answered Dave. "What would be the use? I think he would prefer to hide them somewhere, thinking that some day he would be able to make money out of them."

Four days after this came a bulky letter from Ben Ba.s.swood which Dave and his chum read eagerly. It was as follows:

"I write to let you know that Tim c.r.a.psey has been caught at last.

He was traced to New York and then to Newark, N. J., where the police found him in a second-rate hotel. He had been drinking, and confessed that he had had a row with Ward Porton and that one night, when he was under the influence of liquor, Porton had decamped, taking all but two of the miniatures with him. The two miniatures had been sold to a fence in New York City for one hundred dollars, and the police think they can easily get them back. With the hundred dollars c.r.a.psey had evidently gone on a spree, and it was during this that Porton sneaked away with the other miniatures. c.r.a.psey had an idea that Porton was bound for Boston, where he would take a steamer for Europe. But we know he was mistaken.

"The case being as it is, my father, as well as your folks and Mr.

Wadsworth, thinks that Porton must have the pictures with him in Mexico. That being the case, your Uncle Dunston says he will come down to Texas at once to see you, and I am to come with him. What will be done in the matter I don't know, although my father would much rather give up ten thousand dollars than have the miniatures destroyed. If you receive any further word from Ward Porton tell him that I am coming down to negotiate with him. You had better not mention your uncle's name."

"Looks as if Porton told the truth after all," announced Roger.

"Probably he watched his opportunity and the first chance he got he decamped and left c.r.a.psey to take care of himself."

"Most likely, Roger. I don't believe there is any honor among thieves."

Ben had not said how soon he and Dunston Porter would arrive. But as they would probably follow the letter the two chums looked for the pair on almost every train. But two days pa.s.sed, and neither put in an appearance.

"They must have been delayed by something," was Dave's comment.

"Maybe they are trying to get that ten thousand dollars together,"

suggested Roger.

"I don't believe my Uncle Dunston will offer Porton any such money right away," returned our hero. "He'll see first if he can't work it so as to capture the rascal."

On the following morning Roger was sent southward on an errand for Mr.

Obray. When he returned he was very much excited.

"Dave, I think I saw Ward Porton again!" he exclaimed, as he rushed up to our hero.

"Where was that?" questioned Dave, quickly.

"Down on that road which leads to the Rio Grande. There was a fellow talking to a ranchman I've met several times, a Texan named Lawson. As soon as he saw me he took to his heels. I questioned Lawson about him and he said the fellow had come across the river at a point about a quarter of a mile below here."

Dave listened to this explanation with interest, and immediately sought out Mr. Obray. The upshot of the talk was that our hero was given permission to leave the camp for the day, taking Roger with him.

The two chums went off armed with their pistols, not knowing what might happen. They first walked to where Roger had met the ranchman, and there the senator's son pointed out the direction that the young man who had run away had taken. They followed this trail, and presently reached the roadway which ran in sight of the river. There were comparatively few craft on the stream, and none of these looked as if it might be occupied by the young man they were after. But presently they reached a small creek flowing into the Rio Grande, and on this saw two flat-bottomed rowboats.

"There he is now!" exclaimed Dave, suddenly, and pointed to the first of the rowboats, which was being sent down the creek in the direction of the river.

The sole occupant of the craft was the fellow at the oars, and the two chums readily made out that it was the former moving-picture actor. As soon as he made certain of Porton's ident.i.ty, Dave pulled Roger down in the tall gra.s.s which bordered the creek.

"There is no use in letting him see us," explained our hero.

"Do you suppose he is bound for the Mexican sh.o.r.e?" questioned the senator's son.

"More than likely, Roger." Dave looked questioningly at his chum. "Are you game to follow him?" he added.

"What do you mean?"

"We might take that other rowboat and go after him. I see it contains a pair of oars. Either of us ought to be able to row as well as Porton, and if we can catch him before he lands maybe we'll be able to drive him back to the United States side of the river."

"All right, I'll go with you," responded Roger, quickly. "Come ahead!"

and he started on a run for the rowboat.

The craft was tied fast to two stakes, but it was an easy matter for them to loosen the ropes. This done, Dave took up the oars, shoved off, and started to row with all the strength at his command.

Evidently Ward Porton had not expected to be followed, for he was rowing leisurely, allowing his flat-bottomed boat to drift with the current. He was much surprised when he saw the other boat come on at a good rate of speed.

"Get back there!" he yelled, when he recognized the occupants of the second craft. "Get back, I tell you, or I'll shoot!"

"If you do we'll do some shooting on our own account, Porton!" called back Roger, and showed his pistol.

The sight of the weapon evidently frightened Porton greatly. Yet he did not cease rowing, and now he headed directly for the Mexican sh.o.r.e.

The river at this point was broad and shallow and contained numerous sand-bars. Almost before they knew it the craft containing our friends ran up on one of the bars and stuck there. In the meantime Ward Porton continued his efforts to gain the sh.o.r.e.

"What's the matter, Dave?" cried Roger, when he saw our hero stop rowing.

"We are aground," was the answer. "Here, Roger, get to the stern of the boat with me, and we'll see if we can't shove her off again."

With the two chums in the stern of the craft, the bow came up out of the sand-bar, and in a few seconds more Dave, aided by the current of the stream, managed to get the rowboat clear. But all this had taken time, and now the two chums saw that Ward Porton had beached his boat and was running across the marshland beyond.

"I'm afraid he is going to get away," remarked Roger, dolefully.

"Not much!" answered Dave. "Anyway, I'm not going to give up yet," and he resumed his rowing.

"Here, let me take a turn at that. You must be getting a little tired," said Roger, and he insisted that Dave allow him to do the rowing.

Soon they reached the Mexican sh.o.r.e, at a point where there was a wide stretch of marshland with not a building in sight. They had gotten several glimpses of Ward Porton making his way through the tall gra.s.s.

The trail was an easy one to follow.

"Come on! We'll get him yet!" muttered Dave, and started off on the run with Roger behind him.

They had just reached an ill-kept highway when they heard shouting in the distance. They saw Ward Porton running wildly in the direction of a set of low buildings, evidently belonging to some sort of ranch. As the former moving-picture actor disappeared, a band of Mexican cavalry swept into view.

"Quick, Roger! Down in the gra.s.s!" cried Dave. "We don't want those soldiers to see us! They may be government troops, but they look more like guerrillas--like the rascals who raided the Tolman ranch!"

"Right you are," answered the senator's son. And then both lay low in the tall gra.s.s while the Mexican guerrillas, for they were nothing else, swept past them.

CHAPTER XXVIII