“He is a bad hombre,” said the army flyer. “There.” His hand gripped Bob’s arm. “Look at that. By George, I can’t let that—”
And without finishing his sentence, he whipped out his service automatic and would have darted into the open, but for the fact that Bob by main strength restrained him.
“Hold on, you hot head,” said Bob. “He’s putting up his gun already. Ramon is giving in. You sure would have spilled the beans.” And he wiped his face, on which the perspiration had suddenly broke forth.
Captain Cornell looked a trifle shame-faced, yet defiant, as he slid his weapon back into its scabbard.
The little drama which had so roused him was over. Although unable to hear what was said between the two Mexicans, the watchers guessed at the meaning of the tableau which had just played itself out. Ramon apparently had been reluctant to accompany Ramirez further. The latter had argued. Then he had whipped out a revolver. It was this which had caused Captain Cornell to start to take a hand. But Ramirez had needed only to display his weapon. Ramon had yielded. Already he was in the front seat, and Ramirez was climbing to his seat behind the wheel.
“Hate to steal a car,” said the flyer grimly, as Ramirez started his motor. “But I reckon we’ll have to do it. Of course, we can find the owner later and square it with him. But Ramirez mustn’t escape, with the fate of your friend, Don Ferdinand, undecided.”
Bob nodded, his lips grimly compressed.
With a roar, the big blue car pulled out into the rutted road, and started away in the opposite direction from them—the direction toward town. So worn was the road that Ramirez apparently was keeping the car in low gear and not making much speed. It was that fact which decided Bob. There would be a possibility of keeping the fugitive in sight.
He vaulted into the flivver.
“I’ve got a key here that I think will switch on the juice,” he said, bending toward the dash board of the ancient vehicle. “You get around front, Captain, and crank her. No self-starter on this model. Must be the vintage of ’76. Hurray,” he shouted the next moment, caution forgotten, “the switch is on. Now give her a twirl, and look out for the kick.”