“Whoop! whoop!” he yelled. “Go it, Tom! Go it! Show ‘Whirly-gig’ your heels! This is a bit of luck, sure enough! Great Scott! I’m more glad’n ever to be alive!”
Amidst a whirling cloud of yellow dust Bob Somers and Tom Clifton pulled up their panting, steaming mustangs, to gaze, with expressions of the utmost surprise, at the highly delighted Tacoma lad.
CHAPTER XXI
THE FUSILLADE
Bob Somers was the first of the Ramblers to speak.
“Good-morning, Cranny,” he exclaimed, in as even a tone as the terrific jolting he had received would allow. “I never was more pleased to see anybody in my life. We’ve come to get Jimmy Raymond!”
“But, goodness gracious, what are you doing out here all alone, Cranny Beaumont?” demanded Tom, whose voice was trembling with suppressed excitement. “Where’s your mustang? Where’s the crowd? Is Jimmy Raymond inside that hotel?”
Tom spoke so rapidly that some of his words were all jumbled together, a fact which was explained an instant later, when he burst out before Cranny had had a chance to reply, “Did you hear a shell explode just now? Well—a little bit more and it would have knocked thunder out of Bob and me!”
“Life in Mexico is certainly one thrill after another!” gasped Cranny. “But how in the world did you chaps happen along just in the nick of time?”
“I reckon the whole bunch’ll be nicked in no time at all, unless we manage to put the Rio between us and this land of fireworks and smoke!” exclaimed Tom, with a glance at the burning house. “Now, Cranny Beaumont——”
“Order, order!” interjected Bob. “We haven’t a moment to spare. Your story’s the most important, Cranny. Fire away—make it short!”