THE SANDSTORM.
His companion produced a tiny mirror, part of a pocket toilet set he carried. Lieut. Sancho took it and held it over Jack’s lips.
“Praise the saints, there is still life in him. See!”
He held up the mirror for his companion’s inspection. It was blurred faintly, showing that the boy was still breathing.
“Get the emergency outfit,” was the next order of the young Mexican officer, and his companion soon produced the required kit from a box under the seat of the military biplane.
The kit was the same as used by the armies of most civilized nations. It contained, besides bandages and antiseptics for wounds, stimulants and other drugs. Forcing Jack’s lips open, the lieutenant gave him some stimulant, and was rewarded before long by a faint stirring on the part of the boy.
He redoubled his efforts to revive him, and soon had the satisfaction of seeing the boy’s eyes open and stare wildly about him. Not more than ten minutes later Jack was sipping a cup of water and explaining, between gulps, how he came to be in such a predicament. The officers listened with interest and nodded appreciatively as the boy told his story.
“This Alvarez is one of the most dangerous of the revolutionaries,” declared Lieut. Sancho. “Since President Madero’s accession he has kept things in the province stirred up in constant turmoil.”
“His presence in this part of the country shows that the rebel troops cannot be far off,” struck in Lieut. Diaz, “so that we have to thank our young friend here for some valuable information.”
“And I have to thank you for my life,” exclaimed Jack warmly. “I don’t know how to thank you.”