And then all thought except of the matter in hand fled, crouching against the door, ready to fling it open and spring out, his eyes, just tipping the rim of the panelled glass, beheld the other car at the curb, ahead, abreast. Now, now. As the brakes squeaked, and the taxi ground to a stop so suddenly as to fling all its occupants about, Jack thrust the door outward and sprang upon the running board of the other car, pistol in hand. Beside him was Captain Cornell, leaping down from the driver’s side, and at his back Bob and Frank, crowding close.
But what was this revealed in the depths of that other car? What, but one man struggling desperately yet unavailingly in the grasp of another? And of a third man cowering in a corner, with his upflung arms protecting his face, while over him bent a fury in woman’s clothes, one hand gripped in his hair and the other reaching talon-like for his features?
Ramon, the Hamptons’ old cook, face distorted. “Senor Jack, queek or he escape. I—cannot—hold—heem—”
And then Captain Cornell’s pistol butt falling on the head of him whom Ramon clasped, and the other lying still and Ramon rising to his knees with a sob of thankfulness.
And then, wonder of wonders, the fury faced about, and it was Rafaela. Rafaela, her face appearing as through a mist to Jack’s unbelieving eyes. And quick as thought he threw an arm about her and drew her close, while all the fighting fury which had nerved her to the attack went out of her, and she collapsed with a little trembling cry. And Bob and Frank, over there, on the other side of the car—though how they got there was a mystery to Jack!—sitting on the form of the ruffian whom Rafaela had faced and outfaced and at their back, only half-seen in the growing darkness, the other aviators from the second taxi.
“Is it all over? Anybody hurt?” the young aviators demanded.
But Jack could think of nothing except that here was Rafaela whom he had thought far away, and safe in his arms, when he had feared she was in Ramirez’s power. Safe in his arms—
For the first time he was aware of the broad grins upon the faces of his two comrades, and the scarcely less-pronounced smiles of his Border Patrol friends. He knew the reason, but he merely pressed Rafaela tighter in the circle of his arm. It was she who pulled away, with a “Thank you, Senor, but I can stand now.” And then—they were now in the street between car and taxi—the little witch must needs add, as if utterly surprised, “Oh, it is you, Jack.” And Jack, looking no more foolish than he felt, could only add, “Yes, it’s I. Who—who did you think it was?”
The grins became broader, someone laughed. Rafaela only shrugged.
Across the embarrassment cut Captain Cornell’s voice. “Tie ’em up, boys, and into the house, quick.”