The sound of the firing became more desultory now. It began to look as though the revolutionary forces might be beaten back, and the ring of steel encircling the town broken and scattered to the surrounding hills.
Cranny found it increasingly difficult to control his impatience. To remain inactive any longer was torture to him. He scorned the thought of crossing the International bridge without first learning what had become of his companions and Jimmy Raymond.
“I’ll be as game as Ralph Edmunds ever was,” he muttered, with the old flashing light returning to his eyes. “Besides from now on I’ll need every bit of that kind of stuff I’ve got.” He grinned. “Maybe the fellows won’t be——”
Two sounds reaching his ears almost simultaneously broke the rest of the sentence off with a jerk. One was the report of an exploding shell, dangerously near, the other the faint clatter of horses, evidently tearing along at a furious speed.
“By Jove! I really believe they’re comin’ back at last!” shouted the Tacoma lad joyously. “Whoop! Oh! if it’s only so—anyway—it’s certainly somebody, who wants to get somewhere else in a few ticks of the clock.”
The street close at hand was now beginning to show some signs of life again. The burning building proved an attraction which brought a number of men running toward the scene, and Cranny once more heard a loud jargon of Spanish. He saw some of the people as they pattered up dividing their attention between him and the fire; though he was perfectly indifferent to their stares, for the clatter of the galloping horses was momentarily rising higher.
“There they come!” The lad excitedly spoke his thoughts aloud.
Far ahead around a bend two riders, enveloped in the soft haze of the early morning, had suddenly appeared into view. At first glance it looked as if their horses were beyond control, for neck to neck the animals raced, while the riders sat astride their backs with all the ease of Mexican vaqueros.
But the anxious Cranny Beaumont, his nerves tingling with expectancy and hope, quickly perceived that the horsemen were neither Mexican vaqueros, nor any of the riders who had so recently disappeared.
“Great Julius Cæsar!” he burst out explosively. With eyes fairly bulging, he watched the Mexicans scattering to let the horsemen pass. He heard a few shouts of “Gringo! Gringo!” Then a wave of wild exultation swept through him. In the exuberance of his joy he tossed his wide-brimmed sombrero high in the air and caught it as it fell.