It was a veritable fortress that Jack entered when he left the caboose of the supply train. Before him, on a slight eminence, was the massive building of the power station with the searchlight mounted on the roof. The grassy slope below was marred by a double line of trenches unoccupied, of course, save for one or two white-clad sentinels who paced back and forth restlessly. On the lawn between the first trench and the station, the lad noted a bulky object covered with canvas. This he immediately decided was the three-inch fieldpiece about which Mr. Ryder had spoken. To the north of the station was the irregular outline of many small cottages. As the searchlight threw its rays in that direction, the boy observed that nearly all of them were constructed of wood and erected after the fashion[80] of the cottages furnished to the quarrymen in Vermont. There were also several long low shed-like structures which he learned later housed the soldiers. The entire community did not occupy more than five or six acres and was entirely cut off from the surrounding country by barbed wire barricades. Indeed, the place looked well-nigh impregnable to the American. To approach from the north, south or west, invaders would have to get through the mass of barbed wire first and carry two lines of trenches before they reached the station, and as far as the east side of the plant was concerned, approach in that direction was made impossible by the roaring mountain stream that furnished water to the station’s turbines. The enclosure became a perfect bedlam a few moments after the supply train rolled in. To the roar of the river and the grumble of the huge generators inside were added the shouts of the soldiers detraining and unloading the supplies. The entire barracks had turned out to welcome the reinforcements, for it happened that they composed two companies of the same[81] regiment. Altogether Jack estimated that there were more than 200 men ready to defend the place against the rebels, not including the squad of twenty-five rurales who were stationed there to patrol the surrounding country. The rurales, the lad learned, were not soldiers in the stricter sense of the word. They are maintained by the Mexican Government to do practically the same work as that required of the famous Canadian mounted police; which is to rid the country of bandits, smugglers and bad men, and run down the outlaws that hide in the mountains. They are far better drilled than any of the Mexican troops and are well equipped with clothing and firearms. Their horses are the best that Mexican dollars can buy. These men ride exceptionally well, shoot almost as accurately as the Texas ranger and are brave and fearless. A Mexican president who believed in the old saying that “it takes a thief to catch a thief,” organized the rurales years ago when the country was infested with bandits and bad men. Every time one of these men was apprehended he was forced to join the rurales and hunt down bandits. In this[82] way his vicious nature was well satisfied and at the same time he was able to consider himself a law-abiding citizen, which usually appeals to all individuals who have been outlaws for any length of time. To Jack these soldier-policemen were very picturesque as they swaggered about in their dark-green, tightly fitting uniforms and broad-brimmed hats. He noticed, however, that they did not associate with the white-clad regulars, but stood apart in a little group by themselves and watched the other men unload the cars.
Mr. Ryder and Jack lingered long enough to see that the unloading was well under way before they turned toward the station.
“I’ve a strange premonition that the troublemakers hereabout have taken advantage of my absence,” said the engineer as they approached the office. “I would not be surprised to find the plant dynamited some day. These rebel sympathizers will go the limit to make it disagreeable for old Huerta.”
The office of Ben Nedham, first assistant engineer, was vacant. When Mr. Ryder saw this he looked worried. Immediately he[83] bounded up the spiral iron staircase to the balcony-like control room where the switchboards were located. Allen Lyman, a tall light-haired American in charge of that section of the plant, advanced to meet him, and his face also bore a troubled look.
“They’ve been at it again, Mr. Ryder,” he exclaimed. “We haven’t been able to carry the load all evening. Machines five and six are out of commission. Couldn’t even start them. Nedham and a gang are down there on the generator floor now trying to patc............