CHAPTER XIV
THE HOUSE ON LA MESA
CAPTAIN TAYLOR was quite satisfied upon hearing Lazar’s ready explanation. The thought that the latter was aught but the honorable, efficient officer that he appeared never entered his generous mind. He gazed at the lads with compassion on his kindly face.
“It must be a great disappointment,” he said to the silent, stunned lads. “You have worked so hard and then to be hoodwinked by the villainous cunning of the vice-consul must indeed be hard. But never mind, his just retribution will overtake him if the government is successful.”
In silence they ascended the stairs and entered the minister’s office. That official had just received news that seemed to put him in an excited state of mind.
“Captain, I was just about to tell you when you so hastily left me a moment ago,” he began rapidly, “that I have received reliable information that General Ruiz at last is going to make a determined assault on the city. My informant says the force of the attacking army will be concentrated on Tortuga Hill; it is a high, round-top hill to the right of the city. This appears to be the key to the situation and is now well fortified. I want your advice as to whether I shall give the information to the president in order that his general may be prepared to defend that position.”
“Most certainly,” Captain Taylor replied at once, showing in his calm face a spark of excitement. “The admiral’s orders are, you know, to uphold the government; we have thrown our fortune into the scale against the rebels. When will the assault take place?”
“That my informant does not know,” answered the minister, “but he believes it will be very soon, perhaps to-day or to-morrow.”
“From whom does this information come, sir?” hazarded Phil, bluntly. His interest was so intense that he quite forgot his teaching that midshipmen should stay in the background of their seniors’ affairs.
The minister looked surprisedly at him; then his face beamed with pleasure as he recognized the lad.
“Mr. Perry, your work and that of your companions has awakened our admiration,” he exclaimed, shaking the boy’s hand. “I trust you will not again prove that my information is wrong;” he smiled ruefully; “the man who brings me this is a member of a rich and powerful business firm. He has too much at stake to afford to see the city given over to the lawless army of General Ruiz and yet he dares not take his information to the government for fear of the rebel sympathizers within the city; so he has brought it to me and begged me to see that it was received at once at the president’s palace.”
The explanation sounded plausible; yet there was a flaw. Could this man be a member of the firm of La Fitte and Company? Did the minister suspect that Juarez had been hand and glove with this firm? Phil thought he saw the trick; if the arms were on La Mesa then there would be the assault. General Ruiz, or more likely Juarez, had sent this information in order that the greater part of the government force would be removed to Tortuga Hill and away from the real objective.
“Then I shall send the despatch immediately,” the minister added, addressing Captain Taylor. “Will you notify Admiral Spotts as to what I have done?”
Phil was strongly tempted to stop the despatch by telling of the arms, when he remembered he could not do this without bringing to a crisis his enmity with Lazar; but of the latter’s evil deeds he had no proofs.
Shortly the captain, Sydney and Phil left the legation and walked toward the landing-pier to take their boat back to the ship.
After their arrival on board, the boys got the chart of La Boca from the navigator and studied the surroundings.
“Here is La Mesa,” Phil exclaimed, pointing with his finger, “and here is Tortuga Hill. Nowhere near each other. Do you see the ruse, Syd? La Mesa will be the main point of attack, for if they can take that hill they will have the machine guns. Then with these guns mounted they can command the city from behind and where the cruiser’s guns can do but little damage; while Tortuga Hill is near enough to the sea for the ‘Aquadores’ to shell the rebels out if they were fortunate enough to capture it.”
“What can we do?” pondered Sydney, agreeing with his chum on every point.
“It’s surely puzzling,” rejoined he; “we might have stopped the message, but we should have found ourselves very much involved by so doing and I fear if we made our charges against Lazar without being able to furnish sufficient evidence, we would be in a difficult position with both admiral and captain, and besides would break our promise to Craig.”
A few hours later they and their faithful boatswain’s mate, having received the necessary permission, were once more ashore. This time they were in uniform, with heavy Colt revolvers in their holsters. They trudged up the hill back of the town, known to the natives as La Mesa.
O’Neil had been informed about the stolen arms, and his keen judgment had suggested an immediate and personal investigation of the locality.
The hill was steep but not high and but sparsely inhabited. At the top they knew was the residence of Juarez.
On reaching the summit they gazed about them. Further inland away from the city was a second hill higher than La Mesa; in fact La Mesa was not a hill but a flat spur of the hill in front. On top of the latter they could see a battery of loyal artillery. To their right and left the lines of the defenders were in sight, each prominent point well supplied with men and guns. Far away to their left rose Tortuga Hill, and trailing up its steep slope were visible small objects which the lads knew were reënforcements.
“The reserves,” Phil exclaimed pointing to the turtle shaped hill; “the minister’s message has arrived and is being acted upon.”
O’Neil had left the lads deep in the study of the strategic positions of the defense and was bent on investigating the houses on the table-like hill. He entered the garden of a prosperous looking building and strolled slowly toward the house; knocking loudly on the door, he waited, listening for footsteps within. He heard a sound of some one moving about and then a hurried whispering. A few moments and the door was opened slowly; a man’s face peered through the narrow slit.
“What do you want?” the man asked gruffly in Spanish.
“Does Señor Juarez live here?” O’Neil asked in the same tongue.
The man’s face blanched and he would have closed the door, but the sailor’s heavily booted shoe had wedged it open.
“Not so fast,” he added sternly; “answer my question.”
The man stared, an angry scowl on his face.
“He is not here,” he snarled.
“I asked you if he lived here,” O’Neil corrected, wedging the door further open with the powerful force of his body, “not if he was here.”
The sound of whispering from behind the door caused his hand to go quickly to his revolver holster. The door suddenly swung open and the sailor found himself inside in inky darkness. The door had closed with a snap behind him.
He held his revolver in his hand, his finger on the trigger, his ears straining to locate an enemy.
He heard a noise behind him and swinging around fired directly toward the sound. The flash of his pistol lit up the dark hall for the fraction of a second, but before he could seek a protecting wall he was struck heavily from behind and his senses left him.
“A shot, did you hear it?” cried Sydney swinging about in the direction of the cluster of buildings. “Why, where’s O’Neil?” he added in alarm, noting that the sailor was nowhere in sight.
With an apprehension of coming evil they walked hastily toward the building from which they had heard the report of fire-arms.
Phil uttered a cry of dismay and ran up the steps of the large house.
“O’Neil’s hat,” he cried, a terrible dread in his voice. “There’s been foul play here.”
“Juarez’s house,” said Sydney aghast, “and O’Neil is inside alone.”
They looked about for assistance. There was none nearer than the foot of the hill, where a company of infantry were encamped.
“What shall we do?” questioned Sydney in despair. “They may murder him; and if we attempt to force an entrance they could dispatch us without fear of detection and we would do O’Neil no good.”
“Come,” cried Phil clutching his companion’s arm and dragging him away. “You go down to that camp and ask for aid. I shall stay here and keep guard. They undoubtedly thought he was alone, and if they haven’t already seen us we may surprise them.”
Sydney found the soldiers only too willing to aid them and he soon returned with a lieutenant and thirty men.
Phil quickly explained the situation. The lieutenant stationed his men about the house, surrounding it on all sides.
Phil and Sydney knocked heavily on the door; there was no answer. They tried to force it, but it was of stout material and doubly barred on the inside.
“A battering ram,” Sydney cried. The willing soldiers soon brought a huge log of wood and after a few minutes’ pounding the door flew inward in pieces.
With drawn revolvers and followed by a file of soldiers they entered the gloom of the house.
The lads cast bewildered looks about them.
“Blood,” cried Phil aghast, pointing a trembling finger at a dark stain on the polished floor.
He raised his hand for silence; but there was no sound audible save the beating of their own hearts and the heavy breathing of the soldiers.
Each floor of the house was searched diligently, but no trace could be found of the missing sailor; the house was empty of human beings.
The boys were quite overwhelmed at the suddenness of the blow; O’Neil was perhaps done to death almost within sound of their voices.
“The men who have done this deed must yet be in the house,” Sydney exclaimed; “they could not have escaped without detection; there must be a secret chamber. We must hunt for it; we cannot give up.”
Despairingly the searchers moved about from room to room, tapping the wall and floor in a vain effort to discover the door they felt sure must be there concealed; their exertions were for naught.
The lads finally came back to the telltale signs on the floor.
“Look there,” cried Phil excitedly, putting his finger on a large hole in the plastered wall. “We heard the shot; it was from O’Neil’s revolver, and there’s where it struck. If he fired at a man then that’s his blood there on the floor, not O’Neil’s; he never misses his aim; that bullet must have gone through a man’s chest; it’s just the right height.”
“Then we’ll catch them,” Sydney cried, a ring of hope in his voice, “for they can’t go far with a wounded man.”
Phil had dropped to his knees on the floor and examined the blood tracks carefully.
“Do you see?” he said to Sydney, close beside him, his voice low but excited, “the blood stops here. The wounded man stood here for a number of seconds, you can see that by the quantity of blood.”
He pounded the board with his bare fist; but it gave back a solid sound.
“Hit that board again,” cried Sydney, his eyes intent on the edge next the wall near him.
Phil struck the board a resounding blow.
Its edge moved ever so slightly. Sydney grasped a bayonet from a soldier and entered its sharp point between the edge of the board and the wall.
In but a moment the board had been removed and the lads peered down into a black pit from which the damp smell of earth came up to their nostrils.
The silence was breathless. The first to enter might be killed instantly by the enemy cornered like rats in the dark hole.
“Light, quick,” whispered Phil to a wide-eyed soldier.
One was soon brought and lowered into the yawning chamber.
“It’s a cellar,” exclaimed Phil from his knees, his head peering beneath the level of the floor; “we must go down.”
Some of the soldiers brought a rope and knotted it; the dangling end led down to the earth floor of the cellar.
The boys with revolvers tightly grasped descended quickly, their hearts beating wildly, until their feet struck the earth twenty feet below them.
The light from above threw a glimmer about the mouldy cavern. There was no one there.
“The guns,” Sydney whispered suddenly, clutching Phil’s arm and pointing to a corner of the cellar. There was a large pile of some objects covered carefully with canvas. A closer observation showed Sydney was right. The machine guns and many boxes of ammunition were stored under that large expanse of canvas.
The lieutenant and five of his men slid down on the rope, their rifles rattling menacingly; the other men remained at the top of the hole ready to haul the men up from below when necessary.
“The blood leads down that tunnel,” Phil cried in alarm. “Two men could stand off two dozen in that place—but we must attempt it. Come on, Syd.”
Carrying the light they cautiously advanced, the soldiers slowly bringing up the rear.
“A door,” Sydney whispered as the dim light of the lantern showed the tunnel ending in a heavy partition of wood.
Calling the soldiers forward, the party flung themselves against the door, but it had doubtless been built for just such a purpose and withstood each successive attempt.
Some of the men went back for the battering ram while the lads examined the door closely.
“There is blood on the door,” Phil cried, showing the fresh red stains on his hand from contact with the door. “But where does it lead?”
“I believe it goes into the next house,” cried Sydney, “and they’ll get away from us. Tell the lieutenant to order his men to surround both houses on each side.”
The lieutenant, evidently not relishing this uncertain way of attack in a dark cellar with but a poor and inefficient lamp, agreed readily to go back himself to see that both houses were covered by his men.
It seemed an age to the anxious lads until the soldiers returned with the heavy log.
“All hands now,” cried Phil, he and Sydney laying willing hands on the ram. “Together; there she goes.”
The door shivered but stood firm. Again and again the log was launched against the heavy door.
With sweat pouring from their bodies, their lungs choked with dust, they put forth their entire strength.
“It’s giving,” cried Phil, as the ram struck the door a powerful blow, and it gave way suddenly, throwing them face downward on the earth.
A flash of a pistol almost in their faces; a sharp report echoing deafeningly in the tunnel, and all was darkness.
The lads on their hands and knees crawled noiselessly to the side of the tunnel. The lamp had been upset and had plunged the tunnel into night. The soldiers’ stumbling footsteps as they retreated in a panic toward the exit came to their ears. They strained their eyes in the direction of the fallen door but could see nothing. They knew their enemies were near; the pistol flashed so close above their heads that their nostrils were stung with the pungent fumes of burnt powder.