“Hi there, Jack, is that you?” called Mr. Ryder as the lad entered the cottage. “Yes, but what on earth are you doing here with all the rumpus down at the plant?”
“Oh, I’ve been here for the last hour or more. To tell you the truth, my boy, I did not have the heart to remain and see the outcome. I knew the trap would work; in fact, I was afraid it would work too well. How many men did they kill, Jack?” There was a note of anxiety in the engineer’s voice as he asked the question.
“Three,” replied the boy.
“Well, thank heavens it wasn’t more,” said Mr. Ryder somewhat relieved. “The riflemen would have had no compunction if the number had been thirty-three, but I have. It seems wicked and inhuman to sacrifice three[163] lives in order to teach the beggars a lesson. It makes me very unhappy.”
Jack was glad to find that Mr. Ryder took this attitude in the matter. If the truth were known he had secretly felt a little bitter toward the engineer for concocting such a diabolical trap. But when he saw how unhappy it had made the man his bitterness turned to sympathy.
“It does seem mighty hard to kill three men in order to teach the rest of them a lesson, but I suppose it was absolutely necessary for our own safety,” said the youth in an effort to relieve the engineer’s feelings.
“You are quite right, my lad. It is hard, but it had to be done. Sometimes, you know, the lesson is almost as disagreeable to the teacher as it is to the pupil. I hope to goodness we’ll have no more of this slaughter, but the way the rebels are acting I am very much afraid that we will be in for a real battle before the trouble is settled. I sincerely hope I’m wrong.”
The engineer was sitting at the table in the center of the room, a mass of blueprints, drawings[164] and typewritten data spread out in front of him. His shirt was open at the throat, for the evening was very warm and his revolver and cartridge belt had been removed and tossed carelessly on the table before him.
“What are all the plans?” queried Jack as he sat down opposite the engineer.
“These are the original sketches and preliminary drawings from which I worked out my lightning arrester,” replied Mr. Ryder. “It begins to look as if the stolen papers weren’t going to turn up. Our rurale with the scarred foot denies all knowledge of their whereabouts, which means that he will never tell where they are, even if he does happen to know, for a Mexican can be mighty stubborn when he feels disposed that way. Under the circumstances, I fancy I’ll have to dig a new set of blueprints out of these old plans.
“And that isn’t going to be the easiest work in the world, let me tell you. I have paid very little attention to the preliminary papers since I worked out the final plans and the consequence is many of the more important sketches and formulas have disappeared. I am mighty[165] sorry that I did not make duplicate drawings before I sent the plans to Drueryville. The worst feature of the whole thing is the fact that I have not yet applied for patent rights either in this country or the United States. I could not take this step until I had secured Dr. Moorland’s formula, you know, because that was one of the fundamental features of the new appliance. In that case whoever has the plans can very easily apply for patents in his own name and then all my work will have been for nothing. Indeed, if I wanted to use my own invention after that I would probably be forced to pay a royalty to some one else. That would be a fine how-de-do, wouldn’t it?”
Though the boy could be of very little assistance to the engineer, just then, he remained at the table. Somehow, plans and blueprints had a certain fascination for Jack, who hoped to become an engineer some day. He spread one of the more simple charts before him and tried to work out the details for himself. How long he had been absorbed in this task he did not know, but suddenly, just outside the cottage,[166] sounded a patter of naked feet, then some one sprang upon the porch in front of the door, shouting as he did so:
“Los Zapatistas! Los Zapatistas! Viene Ellos!”
“The rebels, they are coming! What can he mean!” shouted Mr. Ryder as he leaped from his chair and reached for his revolver. The next instant the door was pushed violently open and an Indian exhausted and with blood dripping from an ugly wound in his shoulder, plunged into the room.
“It is Miguel the Indian runner, and he’s wounded,” exclaimed Jack, immediately recognizing the red man as the one whose dog he had saved from the alligator several weeks before.
Clutching the end of the table for support, the native began to talk very rapidly, and as the engineer listened, his face took on a startled and somewhat puzzled look.
“He says that he has run ten miles to warn us that José Cerro and his band are planning to attack us to-night!” explained Mr. Ryder when the native finally ceased talking. “He[167] says that they are on the way now and that we must hurry and prepare to meet their attack or we will be overwhelmed!”
“How does he know this?” demanded Jack, thoroughly excited.
“He carried mail to Los Angeles to-night,” said Mr. Ryder, “and while he was lingering in the village a native told him that the famous bandit José Cerro was there. The native pointed out the very house where José Cerro was drinking pulque with some of his lieutenants. He became curious to see a man of such a villainous reputation and crept close to the shack and peered into the window. He not only saw the villain but he heard most of their conversation. He was startled, for he realized that he was overhearing the plans for an attack on the power plant. He heard José Cerro say, ‘The fence wires are all cut by now and the big searchlight crippled. Everything is ready for the attack. Our men need only to rush in, seize Se?or Ryder and carry him off. Then I will collect three thousand pesos from our benefactor before we start............