Jack instinctively put his hand to the pocket where he kept the wallet of drawings, for he had a vague feeling that this man was interested in them, though he really could not understand why he should be since they had not been exhibited at any place save in the custom house. Then he suddenly recalled the young American interpreter’s warning that he would probably be closely watched at all times! Was this man shadowing him? Had he been trailed all through Vera Cruz? The thought angered him and he glanced at the Mexican again. That individual, however, had removed his big hat and was gazing calmly out of the window, as if he did not know that Jack Straw ever existed, and his unconcerned manner caused the young traveler to wonder whether this second meeting was only a strange coincidence after all.
Jack tried to resume his reading, but it was not long before his mind was far from the printed pages and busy evolving a plan whereby he could become certain as to whether the tall Mexican was watching him or not. Soon the train began to slow down for another stop and on the instant the American got an idea. He waited until the train came to a full stop; then as if he suddenly realized that this was the station he wanted to get off at he jumped up and seizing his traveling bag bolted for the door.
It was all done so quickly that the Mexican was taken completely off his guard. When he saw the boy rush for the door he gave one hurried glance up the car, then followed as fast as he could. By the time he reached the door, however, Jack had alighted and was racing along the side of the car to the rear platform where he swung aboard and returned to the seat he had just vacated. He had successfully lost the Mexican for five minutes at least, for the man searched up and down the station platform and in all directions trying to locate the Vermonter. Then, purely by accident, he looked toward the train again and saw Jack smiling at him from one of the windows.
It was evident from his distorted features that the native was thoroughly enraged. He plunged for the train which was already underway and swinging aboard hurried into the Pullman car, brandishing a huge army revolver as he advanced. Several women passengers screamed and every man in the car put his hands above his head when they saw the angered native striding down the aisle. They were certain that the train had been boarded by highwaymen and that they were about to be asked to turn over their valuables. But the Mexican disregarded the disturbance he had caused. He put the muzzle of the ugly revolver against Jack’s breast and hissed:
“You, gringo, you are arrest for a spy of the revolution. Not holler.”
But Jack did not intend to “holler.” With the hard nose of the gun pressed against his ribs he did not hesitate to put his hands above his head as the other men in the train had done.
“You are arrest by that great Secret Service of Mexico,” said the native very impressively; “give me up your guns.”
“I have no guns that are dangerous,” said Jack Straw, and he spoke the truth, for the big Colt that his father had given him reposed unloaded and quite harmless in the bottom of his valise. But the Mexican refused to believe him.
“Give up or I make of you an examination,” he said, trying hard to be courteous in spite of his outraged temper.