The Project Gutenberg eBook, Jack Straw in Mexico, by Irving Crump, Illustrated by Leslie Crump

JACK STRAW IN MEXICO

“The door was pushed violently open”

JACK STRAW IN
MEXICO

How the Engineers Defended
the Great Hydro-Electric Plant

BY
IRVING CRUMP

Illustrations by
LESLIE CRUMP

NEW YORK
McBRIDE, NAST & COMPANY
1914

Copyright, 1914, by
McBride, Nast & Co.

Published September, 1914

CONTENTS

THE ILLUSTRATIONS

JACK STRAW IN MEXICO

CHAPTER I
JACK STRAW’S MISSION TO MEXICO

Five members of the “D” club had gathered in Jack Straw’s room on the top floor of Phillip’s Hall the last Saturday afternoon before the end of the Spring term. They had not assembled in official conclave, indeed they had not intended to assemble at all. They had merely gravitated there one by one in search of something to take their minds off the worst disappointment they had been compelled to face that year. The Drueryville-Seaton baseball game, the one that was to have settled the preparatory school championship of Vermont, had been scheduled for that Saturday afternoon, and, lo and behold, in spite of the importance of the day, Jupiter Pluvius or whoever it was that controlled the rain supply, had made the game impossible by deluging everything in sight since early morning. And there was no chance of postponing the contest either as school closed the following Friday. The championship would have to remain undecided. And this was just the year Drueryville stood a better chance than ever of adding the “prep” cup to her trophy case. It was enough to make anyone glum.

“They should have named this place Drearyville instead of Drueryville,” muttered Toad Fletcher, the stocky little catcher of the team, as he looked across the deserted campus at the dripping eves of Bradley Hall.

John Monroe Strawbridge, who was known to every boy in school as Jack Straw, shifted his position on the window seat so that he could take another look at the weather.

“It is pretty gloomy on a day like this,” he answered after searching the leaden sky for some signs of a break in the low hanging storm clouds.

Jack and Toad were too dejected in spirit for conversation and since Bunny Baily was deeply engrossed in a book of fiction and Dick Cory and Harvey Maston were working out an absorbing game of checkers silence reigned in the room for some time. In fact a stranger passing the door would never have suspected that five perfectly normal, healthy boys were within. But then the “D” club was composed of the honor boys of Drueryville Academy and for that reason if no other, they were bound to be more dignified at times. You see the “D” club was made up of the students who had won the privilege of wearing a white and blue initial, the insignia of the school, on their caps or jersey; and in order to earn that distinction a boy must needs work hard both in the class room and on the athletic field. When a youth successfully attained such laurels the crown was apt to weigh heavily.

How long the clicking of checkers would have remained the only sound is hard to tell had not Tommy Todd happened to see Jack Straw curled up in the window seat. He paused a moment before Phillip’s Hall and waved his hand in friendly greeting. Then he splashed across the muddy road and came up the stairs three steps at a time. Like a small portion of the storm itself (for Tommy was by no means a big boy) he burst into the room, his yellow raincoat and rubber hat dripping wet.

“Say, don’t flood the place!” shouted Jack as he noted two growing pools of water on the rug.

But Tommy only grinned as he removed his wet garments and draped them over the back of a chair so that they would drip on the hearthstone.

“Sort of hard luck to have a day like this happen along just when it isn’t wanted,” he suggested to no one in particular. Then without waiting for a response he looked at Jack and spoke.

“Say old man, I can’t think what on earth you’ve been up to recently, but there’s something in the wind. Dr. Moorland wants to see you as soon as possible. I just came from his house and he asked me to look you up. I was going on downtown first because the last place on earth I ever expected to find you was in your own room. What’s the trouble anyway? You haven’t done something that will keep you from getting through next week, have you? It’s mighty close to the end of the term and I hope you’ve been careful.”

At this Cory and Maston suspended their game for a moment and Bunny Baily put down his book. All eyes were turned on Jack Straw. And as for Jack, it must be confessed he looked startled and somewhat worried. Hastily he ran through his mental diary, but so far as he could see no one entry stood out above the rest as warranting reprimand from the principal.

“I haven’t the slightest idea what he can want of me,” he assured his guests as he hastened into his bedroom and donned raincoat and rubbers. A few moments later he hurried out into the hall and down the broad stairs toward the main entrance. As he passed the mail rack in the hall he noticed a letter waiting for him. Hastily he seized it and crammed it into his pocket, noting as he did so that the address was written in his father’s hand.

Dr. Theodore Moorland, the principal, lived in a modest little cottage on the north side of the campus. It was almost hidden in a grove of tall maples and, as if to make itself more inconspicuous, it had permitted woodbine and ivy to clothe its gray stone walls in a cloak of soft green. A graveled road that wound between fat old maples showed the way to the front door, and it was up this much used path that Jack Strawbridge hastened, his mind still puzzled over the reason for such an unusual command. The heavy old-fashioned door to the cottage was equipped with a ponderous brass knocker of quaint design which thumped with such resonance as to spread consternation in the soul of youngsters summoned thither. Thus they were thoroughly disturbed before they even faced the austere old master.

Such was not the attitude of Jack Straw, however. He had not been able to remember a single reason why he should expect to face a scolding from Dr. Moorland. Every examination paper had come back with excellent markings and his conduct for some time past had been beyond reproach. He thumped the old door knocker twice in his eagerness to find out just what the master wanted. Perhaps it was news from home, he thought, and he comforted himself by the fact that nothing serious had happened to his father, for the letter in his coat pocket attested to the fact that he was still well enough to write. But while he was speculating thus the door was opened by Dr. Moorland himself.

The dignified pedagogue greeted the boy with a broad smile and a hearty hand shake.

“I didn’t know but what you and some of the rest of the boys had about grieved yourselves to death over your ill luck at having the championship game broken up by the weather,” he said as he ushered Jack into his study in a secluded wing of the house.

“It is rather hard on us,” said Jack with a smile. “Here we’ve been working since February to get our team in shape for the trophy contest and then a little thing like the weather spoils it. Next year I think we will have to arrange to have the championship game a little earlier so there will be enough time to play it in case of an emergency like this one.”

“Never mind, Jack, my boy,” said the principal, “I have a mission for you that is calculated to take your mind off baseball and similar troubles for some time to come.”

The boy was plainly puzzled at this remark. He looked curiously at the principal who was striding the room nervously. Dr. Moorland was a tall, broad shouldered man of sixty. His hair was snow white and so long in back that it curled down over his coat collar. A pair of horn rimmed spectacles that were constantly sliding forward on his nose made him appear to be a testy individual, but in reality he was a genial old gentleman who loved his boys as much as if he was the father of every one of them. The State of Vermont counted him among the best of its educators and he was famed throughout the country, indeed throughout the world as a chemist.

“Jack,” he said after a long silence, “how would you like to go to Mexico?”

“To Mexico!” gasped Jack.

“Yes, to Mexico. It will be an opportunity for you to see a wonderful country and also to make enough money to pay your tuition at Drueryville next year. Do you care to go?”

“Why—why—Oh, I’d be delighted—but—well I’d have to get father’s consent first, you know.”

“Ah, Jack, you don’t suppose I would have suggested the subject before consulting your father about it, do you? I wrote him several days ago and asked his permission to let you go. I received word this morning that he was perfectly willing to have you avail yourself of the chance to see a little of the world providing you cared to go. I wonder that he hasn’t written to you about it.”

“Why, perhaps the letter I have in my pocket now is about that very thing,” said Jack, searching in his pocket for the envelope.

“Very likely,” said the principal, “but you can read it after. Let me explain exactly what I want you to do. When you have heard the details you can decide better whether you want to go.”

Dr. Moorland had ceased pacing the room and settled deep in his comfortable study chair. With what seemed exasperating deliberateness to Jack, he removed his huge glasses and polished them thoroughly on his handkerchief before he was ready to talk. Then just as he was about to begin he seemed to remember something else of importance, for he began to search drawer after drawer of his desk until he finally brought to light a large yellow envelope bulging with what appeared to be blueprints. He tossed the package on the desk before him and once again resumed his comfortable attitude.

“Perhaps you never heard of my nephew, Harry Ryder. In fact, I am quite certain you haven’t, for he has never visited Drueryville since you’ve been at school. Harry Ryder is the chief engineer of the enormous hydro-electric power plant at Necaxa where light and power is supplied for Mexico City, the capital, one hundred and twenty-five miles away. He was appointed to that important position by President Madero a year ago, and he has done his best to keep Mexico City lighted in spite of all the trouble in that turbulent republic, and the recent change to the Huerta régime.

“Time and again rebels have tried to break down the four transmission lines that carry the current to the city but they have never yet been successful and I judge from Harry’s letters that he never intends they shall. But besides rebels, Harry has other important things to contend with. Up there in the mountains where the plant is located, thunderstorms are quite frequent and lightning is the troublesome element. Lightning is electricity in its most dangerous form, because of its very high voltage. Voltage, you know, is the pressure which causes it to travel. One of our scientists once tried to measure lightning and found that its voltage mounted well into the millions. This is tremendous force when you consider that the current used in lighting houses and stores is supplied at one hundred and ten volts.

“During thunderstorms the lightning plays about the transmission lines, often causing a great deal of trouble. If it should by any chance get into the station it would raise havoc with the generators and other machinery. To prevent this, lightning arresters have been constructed that will waylay the lightning, as it were, and send it into the ground before it reaches the vital machinery.”

Here Dr. Moorland paused and began to sketch rapidly on a piece of paper while Jack looked on, still very much mystified.

Dr. Moorland’s Sketch

“The usual transformer is arranged something like this. First a choke coil is put in the transmission line near the end. When the lightning strikes this coil it piles up and is forced back exactly like a flying wedge of football players that suddenly tries to break through an impregnable defense. The lightning that is thus forced back rushes into line ‘A,’ which is the point of least resistance, jumps the horn gap and plunges through the arrester tank and into the ground. When the excessive electricity has left the line and the flow is normal, the current is checked at the horn gap and arrested. This combination of gap and arrester does not permit current to flow into the ground during normal operation and does not actually become active until lightning gets into the line and there is danger of the plant being wrecked by an overload of electricity.”

“My, but that is interesting,” said Jack Straw as he fingered the master’s sketch. Indeed, he had been so carried away with the description of that interesting piece of engineering work that for the moment he had completely forgotten about Mexico. But Dr. Moorland revived his interest with his next sentence.

“And now for my reason for wanting you to go to Mexico. The lightning arresters now in use are not entirely satisfactory, and Harry Ryder has been trying to build one on completely new lines. Indeed, he has perfected the contrivance, except for a neutral chemical solution of a new nature for which he asked me to construct a formula. He forwarded his drawings for me to look over and now I am ready to send them back. But a few weeks ago, Harry communicated with me and asked me to take particular care that the drawings reach him safely. In fact, he suggested that they be sent to him by messenger instead of by the mails. You see, Mexico is in a state of extended turmoil now with Villa, Carranza and Zapata all carrying on campaigns against Huerta, and under such conditions the mails are not trustworthy. In fact, I understand from Harry that three-quarters of the mail is destroyed by revolutionary forces and that the rest of it is left lying in almost any corner of the republic until it can be distributed.

“These drawings,”—Dr. Moorland fingered the bulky yellow envelope as he spoke,—“are far too valuable to trust to such mail service and since Harry is willing to meet the expenses of a messenger and at the same time pay him for his services, I can see no reason why you should not be the one to take them safely to Necaxa.”

“Why, I’d be delighted with the undertaking, if you think I can do it satisfactorily,” said Jack.

“And why can’t you do it satisfactorily?” demanded the principal rather bruskly. “Any boy whom the students of Drueryville honor by electing captain of the football team for two successive seasons certainly must have some good qualities. You are strong and healthy. You are not a coward and above all you are reliable. These are qualifications that I could not find in every man. Will you go, Jack?”

“Yes, I will. When do I start?” asked the boy enthusiastically, and from the expression on his face it was evident that he was pleased with the confidence the old master had in his ability to carry out the mission.

“A steamer sails from New York on Saturday next. I would like to have you be on board when it leaves the dock for I am more than eager to have the drawings back to their owner and the responsibility off my mind. Then, too, I am afraid the hostilities in Mexico might become more serious. You will have a week to prepare for the journey, and since I have looked up all your examination papers and found them above the proper rating I will excuse you from school for the last week of the term and you can spend that time with your father, for I know he has many things to say to you. You can leave Drueryville on the ten o’clock train to-morrow morning after you have called here to receive final instructions and the precious drawings. And now you must hurry back to your room and pack. Good afternoon and good luck to you.”

It was a rather serious moment for Jack when he shook hands with Dr. Moorland. He realized that the old schoolmaster was putting great trust in him. It was in truth a struggle for him to hide his emotions as he bade the old man good afternoon.

CHAPTER II
“IN SELF-DEFENSE OR A CAUSE THAT IS HONORABLE”

Townsend Strawbridge, Jack’s father, lived alone in what was left of a once very large estate in the upper end of the pleasant Champlain Valley. The old dwelling was located on the outskirts of the village of Middlebury less than fifty miles from Drueryville, and it was toward this point that Jack hurried as soon as he received the precious yellow envelope and final instructions from Dr. Moorland.

Mr. Strawbridge had in his day suffered a double misfortune through losing his wife and his money almost at the same time. His story was the same as that of many others in that region of the country. He had discovered outcroppings of another section of the rich marble vein that runs from one end of the Champlain Valley to the other and almost bisects the State of Vermont. Lured on by the vast fortune that certain other men were making in marble quarrying, Mr. Strawbridge sought to develop his own property. All the money he had saved, as well as all that he could borrow on mortgages, was invested in quarrying machines, derricks and the like. With these and a force of burly Canadian quarrymen he went to work, opening quarry holes in what had once been the farm’s pasture lot.

But unfortunately he had not been able to gather together money enough to more than to tide him over the early part of the operation. This consisted in removing the top soil and breaking away the upper layers of worthless stone, a condition he had not reckoned with. The result was that when the channeling machines were finally put to work to get out the first blocks Mr. Strawbridge found himself unable to finance the undertaking much longer. He tried to borrow more money, but before he could successfully negotiate a loan the quarrymen called a general strike throughout the State and the men at the Strawbridge quarries went out with the rest. The strike affected the entire valley and every one was pressed for money. Instead of making new loans old accounts were called in, and since Mr. Strawbridge had no way of meeting his debts, the mortgages on his property were foreclosed. However, he had steadfastly refused to mortgage his house and the property on which it stood. Nor would he jeopardize his interest in the old pasture lot where the quarries were located; consequently these sections alone were saved to him.

On top of all this trouble Jack’s mother died. This was almost more than Mr. Strawbridge could stand and for several years he was very much depressed. But gradually he was mastering his unhappiness. He was, in fact, working on a plan to organize a company and develop his marble quarries and this served to keep his mind occupied enough to prevent unpleasant memories from creeping in.

Naturally his son was very dear to him. In fact, he and Jack were more like chums than father and son. In summer, during Jack’s long vacation, they would go hunting and fishing together and have a thoroughly good time in general. In the fall and winter, when Jack was at Drueryville, Mr. Strawbridge made weekly visits to the old academy, just for the pleasure of being able to chat with Jack and his schoolboy companions.

Considering this mutual affection it may seem strange that his father was willing to let Jack spend his vacation in Mexico, but then, as Mr. Strawbridge said in his letter to Jack sanctioning the trip, “It is an opportunity that you cannot well miss, as it will give you a chance to see a very wonderful country. If you do not avail yourself of this chance you may have to wait a long time before I can afford to pay the expenses of such a journey. Besides, you will be able to earn enough money to pay your tuition next year which also counts for a great deal because I am now using every penny I have at my command to re-establish my fortune.”

When Jack reached home that Sunday afternoon after leaving the academy, Mr. Strawbridge was for putting by his plans for organizing a quarry operating company and devoting the entire week to his son. But Jack would not hear to this, for he was thoroughly interested in the work of reopening the quarries. Mr. Strawbridge was well pleased at this and explained all the intricacies of issuing stock and organizing a company until the boy had secured an excellent insight into business of this nature. Many hours were spent in wandering over the old pasture lot and climbing in and out of the quarry holes. They even visited other quarries that were being successfully operated in the vicinity of Middlebury.

But though they were employed in working out the more serious problems of life they did find time to go a-wandering beside babbling trout brooks with their fly rods. Altogether they crowded more enjoyment into that one week than they really expected and Friday morning came all too soon for both of them. This, in spite of the fact that Jack was looking forward to his voyage to Mexico with as much enthusiasm as ever.

After breakfast the last morning before his departure Jack went over the contents of his valise to see that nothing important had been overlooked. While he was thus engaged his father asked him to step into the library for a moment. When Jack entered the room Mr. Strawbridge was seated at his desk and before him lay a huge blue steel Colt revolver, a well-worn leather holster and a cartridge belt studded with brass ends of many cartridges. Jack had often viewed this weapon in his father’s room and occasionally he had been allowed to fire it at a target when his father was at hand.

“My son,” said Mr. Strawbridge kindly as he patted the heavy six-shooter, “you have been greatly honored by your principal, Dr. Moorland. He has asked you to undertake a mission of importance. He has entrusted you with valuable drawings, the loss of which would mean the ruination perhaps of a man’s most important contribution to the scientific world. All this has pleased me a great deal for I find satisfaction in knowing others besides myself have faith in your ability to carry out an undertaking. Do everything you can, my boy, to have them retain this faith. I realized when I gave you permission to go to Mexico that I was letting you take your life in your own hands. This worried me a great deal at first, but I would not for anything in the world cheat you of the honor of making that journey successfully. You will be traveling most of the time among people to whom human life is of little value. These people are violent and warlike. They are uneducated and untrained, and all the time that you are in their country your life will be in danger. For that reason I am going to give you this revolver. Take it and use it only in self-defense or in a cause that is honorable. If others believe that you are to carry out an important task I am ready to believe that you are careful enough to know how to use a weapon of this kind and not misuse it.”

Jack’s heart beat fast as he took the heavy holster and cartridge belt from the desk. He always liked to feel it in his hands, and to examine it closely. He had been accustomed to firearms of all kinds, but this huge army revolver fascinated him because of its massiveness.

“Father,” he said finally, “I shall be as careful with this as you have been, and you can be certain that whatever use it is put to will be honorable.”

“Jack, I believe you,” said Mr. Strawbridge heartily, as he grasped his son’s hand.

The rest of the day Jack and his father devoted to planning the details of his trip and at four o’clock Mr. Strawbridge opened the heavy door of his private safe and took the yellow envelope from the compartment in which it had been reposing since Jack’s arrival from Drueryville. He also took a heavy waterproof wallet from the safe and emptying the papers contained therein gave it to Jack with instructions always to keep the precious drawings in it. The wallet, with drawings inside, Jack placed in an inner pocket of his coat, taking good care first to see that there were no small holes that might become enlarged by the weight of the package, thereby providing a way for it to slip through. Shortly after that the village bus drove to the door and Jack and his father bundled inside. Thus did our hero depart on the first stage of what was to prove an unusual adventure.

The express from Montreal that was to take him to New York was in the station when he arrived and Jack had but a very few minutes to say a last good-by to his parent. In fact, the train started as they were shaking hands and Jack just had time to toss his bag to a dusky Pullman porter and swing aboard.

CHAPTER III
SEASICK

Fortunately Dr. Moorland had arranged all the details concerning Jack’s sailing and had forwarded his steamship ticket and stateroom reservation to him while he was still in Middlebury, otherwise he never would have made the Pringle Line pier before the sailing hour. Somewhere south of Albany a freight train had been wrecked during the night and in consequence the entire line had been tied up for three hours. The Montreal express had merely crawled along for the greater part of its journey and when Jack awoke the next morning he found to his dismay that it had many miles to go before it reached the Grand Central depot. In fact, when it finally pulled into the train shed the young traveler had a little more than half an hour in which to reach the Brooklyn dock.

Valise in hand he stood on the platform of the first car when the long train rolled in. And while the brakes were yet crunching against the wheels he leapt down, to the imminent peril of a colored porter whom he nearly bowled over in his mad haste to reach Forty-second Street. Down the long concourse and through the waiting-room he hurried until he finally gained the sidewalk. There he hailed the first taxicab in sight. Pausing only a moment to give the driver hasty instructions, Jack plunged inside and immediately was being whisked through New York at top speed.

But with all this hustle and bustle he came very near to missing the boat. Indeed he was among the last aboard. All but one gang-plank had been hauled in and the few remaining visitors were being hastened ashore by the stewards when he finally gained the deck and paused to catch his breath. She was a long low white-hulled steamer that sailed under the name of the Yucatan and her seaworthiness was apparent even to Jack, who had never before set foot on a ship’s deck.

The first thing that the boy from Drueryville Academy did after locating his stateroom was to see that the wallet with its precious contents was secure in its proper place. His mind at ease on this point, he immediately returned to the deck, for he was eager to see the sights of New York harbor. The Yucatan was slipping past the lower end of Governor’s Island and the entire skyline of Manhattan was spread out before his admiring gaze. But presently, as the ship passed Tompkinsville, his attention was diverted to three huge gray vessels with queer basket-like masts that were anchored just off the Staten Island shore. He recalled that a United States Navy coaling station was located in that vicinity and concluded that this was the reason for the presence there of three of the largest of Uncle Sam’s battleships.

And as these vessels faded in the distance a new delight was revealed to him. The Yucatan was steaming down the Narrows toward the lower bay and on either bank Jack beheld the many innocent looking grass-grown terraces of Fort Wadsworth and Fort Hamilton behind which the deadly disappearing guns of the harbor defense are concealed. The mere sight of these embankments with the Stars and Stripes whipping in the breeze above them made the young Vermonter thrill with patriotism, and for the first time in his life he realized fully how glad he was that Yankee blood coursed through his veins. And as he stood there almost spell-bound by this picture of silent power, some one at his elbow spoke to him.

“They look almost impregnable,” said the stranger, whereat Jack turned to find himself addressed by a tall, good looking man whose face was tanned to a ruddy brown, and whose eyes sparkled with as much enthusiasm as his own.

“Indeed they do, and I am proud of them,” our young friend replied with feeling.

“So am I, son; so am I,” said the other with equal fervor. “And every day I feel more grateful to Providence for making an American of me. You’ll appreciate it too after you have traveled in foreign lands a little while.”

Jack instinctively liked this man. He was so heartily enthusiastic about America and everything American that the boy could not help but admire him. Indeed he found him decidedly interesting as a companion and they chatted away about everything in general until the Yucatan reached Sandy Hook. Here the stranger brought forth a pair of binoculars and scrutinized the beach and the Atlantic Highlands beyond until he located the object of his search. Then he passed the glasses to Jack, saying as he did so:

“Here, look at the greatest lighthouses in the world. See those two towers standing out of the foliage over there on the hill. The reflection of their lights can be seen seventy miles out at sea.”

After a search Jack found them. They appeared like the towers of some medieval castle connected by a long low brick structure.

“Are those the Sandy Hook Lights?” he queried.

“No,” said his companion, “they are officially known as the Navesink Lights. The Sandy Hook Light is that old octagonal white tower over yonder. That is one of the oldest, if not the oldest, lighthouse in America. It was built by the British Government in 1764 and during the Revolutionary War the King’s soldiers used it as a military prison. Not long ago when they were making some improvements in the foundation a dungeon was unearthed in which were found several human skeletons, evidently Colonial soldiers imprisoned there and not liberated when the lighthouse was abandoned. Now if you will turn your glasses off to the right you will be able to see the Sandy Hook Lightship. That little cockleshell of a craft is there winter and summer fighting every storm and fog that comes up. She’s in competent hands, however, for the captain is a master mariner.”

Jack was exceedingly interested. He wondered how his companion came to know so much about lighthouses and lightships and several times he was on the point of asking him. This, however, was not necessary, for a few moments later the information was furnished quite voluntarily.

“By the way,” said the stranger, after Jack had finished scrutinizing the tossing lightship, “I’ve neglected to introduce myself. My name is Warner, James Warner, I am supposed to be a marine engineer. You understand; a builder of lighthouses, concrete dykes and all that.”

“And I am John Strawbridge of Drueryville Academy, but since Strawbridge is a rather large mouthful I suggest you call me Jack Straw. It’s handier, you know.”

“Jack Straw, eh? Well, that’s corking,” said Mr. Warner heartily, clapping the boy on the back. “Where are you bound for, Jack? I’m on my way to Tampico. President Huerta, of Mexico, has just given me a contract to rebuild the foundation of the Lobo’s Island Light. That is one of the most important coast markings in Mexico.”

“I’m bound for Necaxa, by way of Vera Cruz and Mexico City,” said Jack, who had already begun to feel like a seasoned traveler.

“Necaxa,” exclaimed his companion; “why that’s where the big hydro-electric power plant is located. That’s where Mexico City gets its light from. Harry Ryder, the engineer in charge of the plant, is an old chum of mine. In fact, we were classmates at Sheffield Scientific School.”

“Why, he’s the man I am expecting to visit there,” said Jack, somewhat surprised at the fact that Mr. Warner knew Dr. Moorland’s nephew. He refrained, however, from telling his companion the reason for his journey.

“Well, that’s mighty interesting,” replied the marine engineer. “I haven’t seen Harry Ryder in more than two years, though I’ve kept in touch with him. He’s a very capable fellow, and he deserves the honor of being in charge of the largest electric station in Mexico. He won the office, you know, about a year or so ago. President Madero held competitive examinations in Mexico City. Harry carried off the highest honors. But from what he told me he was rather hard pressed by several other good electrical engineers, both Americans and Mexicans. I guess he expected to lose his position when Huerta won the revolution and deposed Madero. But the new president reappointed him.”

Jack was greatly pleased to learn that Dr. Moorland’s relative was so well liked by his former classmate. It served to increase his interest in the man whose plans he was carrying and he concluded that his visit to Mexico was destined to be very pleasant with Mr. Ryder as his host. He became silent after that, for his thoughts were far away, anticipating his sojourn in the land that Cortez conquered. The voice of Mr. Warner interrupted this pleasant mental occupation.

“Look over there on the horizon. That’s a storm cloud. I rather think it’s fixing for a blow. Do you ever get seasick?” he queried.

“Well, I’ve never had an opportunity to find out,” said Jack, “for you see this is my first experience on salt water.”

“Well, you’ll know within an hour. It’s freshening up now and before long the boat will be pitching around like a Mexican burro, a beast you are destined to become acquainted with before you have traveled in Mexico very long.”

Jack smiled at Mr. Warner’s simile, but it was not long before he noticed that the long rolling swells had changed to white crested waves that pounded against the steel sides of the Yucatan with a hiss and a shower of salt spray. The pitching of the ship had increased, too, by the time he and Mr. Warner went below for luncheon. Indeed, he found it rather hard to follow his companion across the dining saloon without seeming to stagger. At the same time he began to feel very peculiarly. It was as if he had been swinging around and around so violently that he had finally become very dizzy. He tried his best to hide his feelings from Mr. Warner, hoping that he would be a little better after he had eaten. But his companion looked at him sharply as he took his seat at the table and Jack was certain that he saw the semblance of a smile about the corners of his mouth. This nettled the boy and he determined that he would master the peculiar feeling immediately. About that time, however, the waiter placed a plate of hot soup before him. Jack looked at it once and all his self-control vanished. Somehow the sight of food made him extremely ill and without even the formality of excusing himself he pushed back his chair and bolted for his stateroom.

Life hardly seemed worth living to Jack Straw during the next three days for he was so ill that he could not stir out of his stateroom. The Yucatan pitched and rolled as if she was being tossed about for a plaything by some very inconsiderate giant, and it frequently seemed to the boy that the steel hull was on the point of foundering under the heavy seas that broke against it. Nor did Jack care particularly whether it did or not.

Several times he made an attempt to leave his stateroom, believing that he would feel very much better if he could only reach deck. But each time he left his berth he became so nauseated that he was glad to climb back again. Mr. Warner made three efforts to visit him but Jack had bolted the door against all intruders, including a solicitous steward who tried to persuade him to drink a cup of tea and eat some hot toast.

On the morning of the fourth day out, however, he awoke to find himself much relieved. To be sure he was very weak, but the sea had gone down and walking was not the effort it had been before. He found himself able to eat a light breakfast and later he managed to reach his steamer chair into which he sank with a sigh of relief. He was not the only passenger convalescing. Indeed all the occupants of the steamer chairs were pale and weak appearing and Jack found a great deal of satisfaction in knowing that others had been affected by the storm.

The Yucatan was plowing her way through the dark blue water of the Gulf, riding the long lazy swells with graceful ease, and to Jack, who had never before been out of sight of land, the vast stretch of water was awe-inspiring. The vessel seemed small and insignificant out there all alone and he wondered how Columbus and other early adventurers had ever found courage enough to sail for weeks over untraveled seas knowing so little of their destination. In fact, how mariners could navigate a vessel even with present-day charts and equipment seemed a mystery to the boy from Vermont.

Late that afternoon while Jack was trying to get interested in a book that he had brought from his stateroom, Mr. Warner appeared on deck. “By George,” he exclaimed as he caught sight of Jack, “you’re not the boy with whom I was talking a day or so ago! Why, you look as pale as a ghost. You must have had a rather disagreeable few days. Well, we did run through something of a blow and I guess you weren’t the only one who was seasick. To tell the truth, I felt a little squeamish myself for a time.”

“I think it was about the most unpleasant sensation I ever had,” said Jack.

“You are right,” said Mr. Warner; “but most of us have to experience it sometime. Well, you are headed straight for your destination now. I expect we will reach Tampico by late to-morrow night or the following morning, and after that it is only a day to Vera Cruz. I am rather glad I came across you here, for I’ve a lot of figuring to do on some specifications I brought with me and I may not have an opportunity to see you again before I land. I’ll say good-by to you now and let me wish you the very best of luck in Mexico. Be sure and remember me to Harry Ryder when you see him and tell him also that I may find an opportunity to visit him if I am in Mexico long enough.”

Jack shook his hand warmly, for he had come to like the marine engineer a great deal.

“I am sure we shall see each other again some day,” he said as they parted company.

CHAPTER IV
AT ODDS WITH CUSTOMS INSPECTORS

Though it was hardly daylight Jack was up and dressed and on deck when the Mexican pilot came aboard to take the Yucatan into Vera Cruz. A filmy blue mist was rising from the broad surface of the harbor, making the white walled seaport seem like a dream city. Dawn, like twilight, in the Tropics is of brief duration, and the boy from New England scarcely had time to mark the fleeting changes of color along the eastern horizon before the sun came up, dispelling at once the lingering night mist. And with the coming of day the city and the harbor became alive. Tiny sail boats put out and from wharves and jetties here and there puffing tugs made their appearance.

Jack Straw watched the scene with eager interest. It was all so new and so very unlike what he had expected that he became thoroughly fascinated. Off to the right he beheld the frowning walls of the old fortress and military prison of San Juan de Ulloa. He recalled stories he had heard of its dungeons where numberless horrible executions had taken place, and he wondered how many enemies of Huerta lingered there at the present time. From this grim building he turned his attention to the city. The spires of the cathedral showed high above the housetops, and as Jack caught sight of them there arose the most confused jargon of metallic sound that he had ever heard. It was as if a regiment of blacksmiths were beating on cracked anvils. He did not learn until he landed that these sounds emanated from the belfry of the cathedral and were caused by a group of bell ringers bent on calling the population to early mass.

In due time, after port inspectors, quarantine officers, and a host of other uniformed individuals had climbed aboard and inspected every one and everything in sight, the Yucatan was permitted to make her way slowly to the Pringle Line wharf.

Jack, valise in hand, was among the first down the gang-plank, but he had hardly put foot on the dock before he was accosted by another uniformed attendant who spoke very poor English. The boy managed after a great deal of effort to understand that he was one of the customs inspectors and that he was about to make an examination of the contents of the valise. Jack willingly unlocked the leather bag and permitted the swarthy searcher to tumble its contents about until he became convinced that the youth had nothing on which he could collect duty. But he did not seem satisfied. He looked at Jack from head to heels, noting particularly each one of his pockets. Then suddenly he pointed to where the leather wallet and drawing made the boy’s coat bulge slightly.

“What—ah—have. Ah—you—ah—er—” he puzzled his brain to know how to finish the sentence in English. But finally becoming exasperated he tapped Jack’s coat violently with his fingers.

“Aqui! Aqui! Aqui!” (here! here! here!) he demanded. Jack did not understand the Spanish, but he knew that the leather wallet interested the inspector. He hesitated to produce it at first and tried to satisfy the dark-visaged little man by telling him that it was only a wallet. But the Mexican would not be contented and in the end the boy had to reveal to him the contents of the yellow leather case. At the sight of the blue prints and sketches the native became thoroughly aroused. He tried to ask questions in English but became so very confused that he resorted to his native tongue and talked a perfect stream of Spanish. And of course Jack was unable to understand a word of it.

Then the Mexican beckoned the young American to follow him, pointing at the same time to a long low stone building near by which Jack concluded was the custom house. Together they hurried across the street, the inspector chattering so hard that Jack’s protests were lost completely.

The man led the way through several rather poorly kept offices to the far end of the building, where they entered what was evidently the room of the Chief Inspector of the port. An elderly and very dignified old gentleman was the sole occupant. He was seated at a desk in the far corner, but at their coming he arose and advanced to meet them. Immediately the little inspector became thoroughly animated. He opened the wallet (upon which he had kept a firm grip since Jack gave it to him) and spread the drawings on the table before his superior, talking very fast all the while. Together the two Mexicans examined each sketch, then finally the old man turned and spoke to Jack.

“Do you converse Mexican?” he queried and Jack shook his head.

The Chief Inspector clapped his hands twice, whereat a servant appeared, to disappear immediately upon receiving a few abrupt instructions. Shortly after the servant entered again followed by a light-haired youth of about Jack’s own age, and undoubtedly an American. The boy from Vermont was decidedly pleased, but before he could speak the Chief Inspector addressed the newcomer, pointing to the drawings and the wallet at the conclusion of his remarks.

“He wants to know what these drawings are,” said the interpreter; “he thinks that you are a spy in the employ of the revolutionists and that these papers are very important.”

“Please tell him,” said Jack with a smile, “that the drawings are valuable only to one person and he is the man who is making the electricity which lights President Huerta’s palace and the streets of Mexico City.”

There was a decided change in the attitude of both officials when this was translated for them. The Chief Inspector bowed and smiled most apologetically.

“So, Señor Ryder. He is your friend?” he said; “he is a—” but he could get no further with his English, so he addressed the rest to the interpreter who imparted it to Jack.

“He says that Mr. Ryder is a very wonderful man and that if you are his friend he is sorry that he detained you. You are free to go now,” said the American, and Jack, after thanking the dignified old Mexican, tucked the wallet into his pocket and left the office. In the corridor of the building he was overtaken by the interpreter, who paused a moment to speak.

“My name is Dave Anson,” he said, “and if I can help you any, while you are in Vera Cruz, just let me know. I always like to help out a fellow countryman.”

“You have done a great deal for me already,” said Jack, “for if it had not been for you I am afraid I would have found myself in a mighty unhappy position. I certainly am obliged to you.”

“Oh, don’t mention it,” said Anson, then in an undertone he added, “Don’t let the old chap deceive you. I could see he was rather skeptical about what you said, but he is afraid to detain you any longer for fear you might have a little more pull than he has, so he let you go. Don’t worry; you’ll be shadowed every minute that you are in Vera Cruz, so mind your actions. Well, so long and good luck to you.” The two boys shook hands warmly and parted.

Jack gave little thought to his recent experience after he left the custom house, for he had a great deal to attend to. First of all he must find a banking house where he could get his American money exchanged for Mexican currency. Dr. Moorland had given him the address of one of the few honest banking firms in Vera Cruz, and after a long search he located the place. He was very much surprised to find that for every one of his American dollars he received two Mexican dollars in exchange. Indeed, his capital was doubled and when he left the bank his trousers’ pockets and wallet were weighted down with huge silver coins. Jack’s next object was to find the railroad terminal, and since an English speaking clerk had given him explicit directions as to its location he experienced little or no difficulty in finding the long low building with its dirty trainshed.

A great many of the railroad men in Mexico above the grade of brakemen are Americans and the young traveler had very little trouble at the station. He learned, however, that he had two hours to wait before the next train to the capital would be made up, and after buying his ticket and making Pullman reservations he checked his valise and started on a trip about the city.

Through hot unshaded streets he wandered, peering into the curious little shops and watching with interest the swarthy people. Finally he reached the broad plaza with its imposing cathedral, bandstand and line upon line of park benches. Here he sat down to rest and watch a score of dirty, half-clad children playing on the sidewalk. They were apparently taking part in a game and Jack tried very hard to understand the details of it. Indeed he became so interested that he did not realize some one had taken the seat beside him until he felt a hand upon his arm.

“Un centavo, Señor, un centavo,” pleaded a whining voice, and Jack found himself accosted by a very ugly and dirty-looking Mexican with a monstrous hat. Though the lad did not understand his language he had little difficulty in guessing that the man was begging for money. Eager to be quit of such an uncouth companion he took several small coins from his coat pocket and dropped them into the beggar’s outstretched palm. But as he did so he looked up to find a man on a bench not far distant watching him closely.

He was rather well dressed when compared to others Jack had noticed about the city, wearing an unusually large sombrero of much better texture than that of the beggar’s. The brim and band about the crown was embellished with Indian beadwork which made it very picturesque. On being observed this man lowered his eyes and began to roll a black paper cigarette, nor did he look up again until Jack left the bench and started across the plaza. However, he watched the lad’s movements from the corner of his eye until the Vermonter turned toward the street that led to the railroad terminal. Then he arose and followed at a distance.

CHAPTER V
IN THE HANDS OF THE SECRET SERVICE

Although the train for Mexico City was due to leave Vera Cruz promptly on the hour, it was forty minutes late when it started to get underway. This slight disregard for schedule did not surprise Jack, however, for already he had discovered this natural failing of all Mexicans. The Pullman coach in which he had secured accommodations was fortunately one of a number of American-built cars that had been taken over the Rio Grande and into Mexico from time to time during the extension of the national railroad system, and in consequence the young traveler did not suffer much from lack of comfort. Before he had traveled very long Jack realized that he had embarked upon the most interesting portion of his journey to the power plant. The train sped along through the most wonderful country that he had ever seen. Now he was racing through deep ravines with perpendicular walls of rock rising so high that daylight was almost shut out and perpetual twilight reigned. From this he was whisked into broad valleys with mountain ranges towering on either side. And often the tracks led high up on the sides of one of these mountains, revealing a broad panorama of tropical country, with Popocatepetl, the monstrous volcano, in the distance.

Now and then Indian villages were passed and Jack caught fleeting glimpses of a group of thatched huts and adobes and crowds of naked children and half-clad men and women who stared stolidly at the train as it shot by. Occasionally a stop was made at some large town and picturesque groups of Mexicans gathered at the station to stare in wonderment at the passengers. Always these groups were made up entirely of men, for the women had far too much to do to waste time idly watching trains. These men were a motley throng, all wearing high-crowned, broad-brimmed hats and gaily colored serapes, or blankets, which they hugged close about them in spite of the heat. The better dressed wore trousers that were extremely tight fitting. The others, however, wore frayed and tattered garments made of everything from sail cloth to sacking and ungainly sandals bound across the arch and around the ankle with long buckskin thongs. Not a shoe did Jack discover among them.

What with the scenery and the picturesque towns and villages, Jack’s interest was kept out of doors for several hours. But eventually even the novelty of traveling through a foreign country grew wearisome and he turned his attention to a book that he had stowed away in his traveling bag. He had not been reading long, however, before he began to be troubled by a strange presentiment that some one was watching him. Quite involuntarily he glanced up from the page he was perusing and looked into the bead-like eyes of a native who was occupying a Pullman chair at the other end of the car. Instantly the Mexican’s eyes were turned away. The lad became suspicious immediately, for he recognized the man as the one who had watched him in the plaza at Vera Cruz. There was no mistaking him, for he wore the same big-brimmed sombrero with its curious beadwork binding.

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.

“Search,” said Jack, “only let me put my arms down.” And the detective forthwith began to go through his pockets while the other passengers, many of whom were Americans, gathered around and looked on. One of the first things that the detective did was to confiscate the yellow wallet with the drawings. His eyes sparkled with pleasure when he opened it.

“Ah! Señor, it is for these you will be shot, maybe. You are a bad gringo,” he said with an evil chuckle.

“They are only working drawings of a machine,” protested Jack.

“Yes, a war machine, I think,” said the Mexican, continuing his search for firearms. Finally, after finding nothing more formidable than a jack-knife, the officer put his own revolver away and informed Jack that he might sit down and be at ease until they reached Mexico City. He warned the boy, however, that any attempt on his part to leave the car would call forth the huge revolver again, and since Jack had no desire to learn how good a marksman the Mexican was he refrained from rising from his Pullman chair for the rest of the afternoon. The Secret Service man sat directly opposite, his dark eyes never moving from the lad from Drueryville.

CHAPTER VI
ON TRIAL AS A SPY

The lights of Mexico City were a welcome sight to the young American. Never had a train ride seemed so long. The Secret Service guard refused to allow him conversation with his fellow-passengers and as the circumstances were too strained to permit his reading with any degree of interest, Jack had little to do but gaze out of the window and think over his misfortune. The moment the train rolled into the station, the detective hustled Jack to the military barracks in the heart of the city. It was almost midnight when they were challenged by the white-clad sentry before the heavy double gates of the enclosure. Jack’s captor answered with a few brief sentences in Spanish and the gates were unbarred to let them pass. Inside another sentry located the officer on duty and he and the Secret Service man held a short conference. A few moments later two privates were summoned. They took charge of the young Vermonter, escorting him toward the far end of the long barracks buildings, where he was locked into a stuffy unlighted cell in the guardhouse.

“To Jack it all seemed like a horrible nightmare”

To Jack it all seemed like a horrible nightmare. Here he was a prisoner in the capital of a strange country. He had no knowledge of the language spoken by those with whom he had to deal, nor did he have friends or relatives within several thousand miles. His only hope in being delivered from his rather serious position lay in the possibility of calling Harry Ryder to Mexico City so that he could identify his drawings and explain how they came to be in the possession of some other person. But Jack was not altogether certain that this could be done, or if it could be done, whether his captors would be willing to take that much trouble to prove him innocent. At first he had taken the arrest more or less as a joke, but as he reviewed the various stories he had heard of the Mexican idea of justice, he became very much worried. He knew the punishment meted out to a spy and he wondered whether that would be his end. With such thought parading through his brain, he had little chance for sleep that night. Indeed he heard a big clock beyond the barracks walls toll every hour from midnight until dawn.

At seven o’clock breakfast was brought to him by an uncouth looking private in a dirty white uniform. The meal consisted of tortillas, made of corn flour, and frijoles, which are black Mexican beans. There was not even a cup of water with which to wash it down. Though Jack had had very little to eat the day before, the sight of the mess brought by the soldier sickened him, and he put the tin plate aside untouched.

An hour later an officer with four privates came into the guardhouse and unlocked the door of Jack’s cell. The lad observed that each of the soldiers carried a shining rifle at port arms and the officer entered with sword drawn. At this he became speechless with horror. Was this a firing squad! Was he going to be executed without the formality of trial? He was almost too weak to walk when the officer spoke to him in Spanish and motioned for him to come forth. Silently the soldiers formed behind him and urged him forward out of the guardhouse and on to the parade grounds.

His heart-breaking suspense ended there, however, when he noted the direction in which the soldiers turned him. Instead of marching out into the center of the enclosure they headed directly for a building that looked very much like a large dwelling. To the young American it appeared as if it might be the home of the commander of the barracks. He hoped it was, for in that case he could be certain of some form of trial at least, during which he could doubtlessly explain about the drawings.

The boy was ushered before the austere old General by the officer alone, the guard remaining on duty before the door. The commander was seated at a desk in the center of a well-lighted, cheerful-looking room, a uniformed orderly at his elbow. The other occupant of the room was the Secret Service man who had arrested him the day before. Both were poring over the drawings of the lightning arrester which the detective had confiscated, while on the corner of the officer’s desk was Jack’s traveling bag which had been forced open, possibly for the purpose of finding other evidence against him.

The detective and the officer looked up as the youth entered. Jack’s officer escort saluted and retired to the rear of the room, leaving the lad standing in the middle of the floor alone. The detective cleared his throat and spoke.

“I shall be what you call the interpreter. I spik Mexican, I spik also Inglis. Shall you be content?” he queried.

“I will be contented if you will believe what I tell you,” said Jack rather curtly. “It is ridiculous to arrest me as a spy. I am an American citizen and those drawings are not war plans or details of a ‘war machine,’ as you suggested yesterday. They are plans for an electrical appliance that is to be built by Mr. Harry Ryder, in order to give better light to Mexico City.”

The detective looked at him with doubt plainly written on his countenance. Then he turned and in rapid fire sentences imparted Jack’s story to the general. The officer also appeared to doubt the youth’s statement. He was silent for a few moments, however, while he pondered the situation; then through the interpreter he asked:

“Why does Mr. Ryder trust his valuable papers to you?”

“Because he didn’t care to trust your unreliable mail service,” said Jack vindictively.

The wrath of the detective was stirred immediately.

“Mexico is a great country. She has a dependability of mail service. You are a gringo who spies for the revolution. Do not tell me not. I saw you with my own eyes pass some secret something to a sympathizer in the plaza at Vera Cruz. Ah, but he are arrest already and your secret is now known.”

Jack was startled at first. Then as he recalled the whining beggar in the plaza he laughed heartily.

“Why, he was only a beggar. I gave him a few coins. You are making a mountain out of a mole hill, Mr. Detective. Why not have done with all the foolishness by summoning Mr. Ryder from Necaxa? He will prove that the drawings are his and that I am no spy.”

The General and the Secret Service man debated this suggestion for some time. Evidently they thought it a good idea, for the officer presently began to use the telephone at his elbow while the detective talked to Jack.

“We will call Señor Ryder. General Rodriguez say the great electrical engineer is in Mexico City now. He spoke with him in the café last evening. He will come maybe, and then if you can prove, you must prove. If you don’t, you will be shot to-morrow.”

The commander ceased his telephoning after a few moments and spoke to the interpreter, who, turning to Jack, announced:

“Señor Ryder is at the office of the Compania de Luz y Fuerza Montriz in Calle de Tetuan. He will be here quite soon.”

The General and the Secret Service agent spent the next fifteen minutes smoking numerous black paper cigarettes and talking quite excitedly to each other while Jack was left standing in the center of the room. The waiting was ages long for the American. But finally there sounded the tooting of an automobile horn and roar of a motor from the parade ground outside and a moment later a tall fine-looking American, clad in linen trousers and soft shirt, entered the commander’s office.

Jack stepped forward instantly and held out his hand.

“Mr. Ryder,” he said, “I am John Strawbridge, Dr. Moorland’s messenger. I have been arrested and am being held as a spy because I happened to have your drawings in my wallet. You see it excited the curiosity of the customs inspector yesterday and the result is I am in the hands of the Mexican Secret Service to-day. I sincerely hope that you can get me out of this rather disagreeable position; otherwise I’ll furnish the target for a firing squad to-morrow morning.”

“Why, this is ridiculous,” said Mr. Ryder as he saw his drawings spread out before General Rodriguez. Then he began to talk in Spanish to the natives. A few moments conversation was all that was necessary to convince the Secret Service agent and the officer that a serious mistake had been made, and each was profuse in his apologies to Jack Straw.

“It is a great regret that I arrest so honorable friend of Señor Ryder,” said the detective with a sweeping bow. “I hope you will pardon, Señor.”

And Jack showed the sort of stuff Americans are made of by stepping forward and warmly shaking hands with the Secret Service agent and the commander.

CHAPTER VII
OFF FOR NECAXA

Jack was not long in discovering that Harry Ryder was a prince of companions. After the little incident at the barracks they were fast friends. Of course the engineer was somewhat older than the boy from Drueryville, having just turned twenty-nine, but withal he was decidedly boyish in spirit. The big gray motor car that stood in front of the commander’s house was the engineer’s latest toy and nothing would do but that Jack should accompany him on a tour of the capital of “this benighted country,” as he termed Mexico. And he made an excellent guide.

Until long after midday they went flying up one street and down another, while Mr. Ryder pointed out all the places of interest. First they visited the Plaza Mayor, or Zocalo, as it is frequently called. And while Jack was noting each interesting detail about the imposing public buildings, the Cathedral and the National Palace, the engineer explained the history of that remarkable section of the City of Mexico.

“This,” he said, “was the heart of the Aztec capital four hundred or more years ago. Indeed, that building over there, the National Palace, was constructed on the very site of the splendid palace of the old Indian ruler Montezuma. And as for the Cathedral, that is built on the very foundation stones that held the wonderful Tecalli, the Aztec temple, where from twenty to fifty thousand lives were sacrificed annually to the powerful Indian deity Huitzilopotchli. The present Cathedral with its towering spires was erected in 1573 and is the most imposing edifice of its kind in the whole of North and South America.”

From the Plaza Mayor they turned to other interesting portions of the community. The famous tree under which Cortez is said to have wept was pointed out by Mr. Ryder; also the various monuments and buildings associated with the old Spanish adventurer. They traversed the causeway over which Cortez retreated and ultimately visited Chapultepec where the Indian rulers once maintained magnificent dwellings.

It was nearly one o’clock when the car rolled into the heart of the city again and stopped before the door of the American Hotel. There Jack and the engineer climbed out, but before Mr. Ryder entered the hotel he inspected his new machine thoroughly.

“That’s a great plaything,” he said enthusiastically. “I bought it a month ago, and I usually arrange to get into the city every Sunday to take a drive. You see I have to leave it here because there is no roadway out to Necaxa, only a pack train trail and our narrow-gage railroad. I couldn’t very well use it out at the power plant anyway for it’s a trackless wilderness there.”

On entering the hostelry the two Americans lost no time in finding the dining-room, for the drive had given them both a ravenous appetite. They ate in silence for a time, for the business of satisfying their hunger was of great importance. But when coffee was finally served and each felt that they had done credit to the ample portions afforded to them, Mr. Ryder began to talk.

“You know, Jack, I think it was mighty lucky for you that I happened to be in Mexico City. Otherwise you would probably have been compelled to spend several days in jail. And it is even possible that they would not have taken the trouble to send to Necaxa for me. A Mexican’s idea of justice is rather crude. Frequently they shoot a suspect and then debate his guilt or innocence over his body. Old Rodriguez and his Secret Service friend were quite positive that you were a spy, and I am afraid that the cartridges with which you were to be executed had already been dealt out, figuratively speaking.”

Jack shuddered as he thought of his narrow escape.

“I guess that I was very fortunate having you so near at hand,” he said.

“Well, I’ll be quite honest with you, Jack, this visit to Mexico City was not a matter of choice with me. I was requested to appear before the officials of the company and old Huerta himself. You see things have been in a devil of a mess at the plant recently and we have had some trouble in keeping the old city supplied with enough light. I fancy it has been getting on Huerta’s nerves and he has been calling the company’s officials to account. They in turn pass the calls along to me.

“You see some of the hundred or more workmen at the plant have developed revolutionary ideas. They seem to be Zapata sympathizers and they are doing all they can to make things unpleasant for Huerta. They have been crippling machinery from time to time, tampering with the searchlights, putting dirt in the bearings of the generators and raising the dickens in general. Of course this reflects on my management and I feel rather ugly about it all. But the men who do it keep pretty well under cover. I wish that I could find out just which of the greasers are the trouble makers. I’d have them line up against the station wall and drilled through with some of their own soft-nosed bullets. That may sound a little inhuman, but honestly one cannot afford to treat them otherwise. As a matter of fact their fate is not in my hands. The moment we discover a sympathizer the rurales stationed at the plant as special guards take the matter in their own hands and all that we hear of the case after that is the report of the carbines. Oh, they make very little bones about human life down here. And that reminds me, have you provided yourself with a protector in the form of a revolver? If you haven’t we’ll see that you are supplied with one before we start back for the plant this afternoon.”

“I have my father’s big blue steel Colt,” said Jack with pride. “It’s right here in my traveling bag. But I haven’t much ammunition, only the cartridges in the belt.”

“Well, you’d better buckle it on your hip when we start. You will probably find a great deal of comfort in having it handy all the time you remain in Mexico. Why, you should see our plant. It’s a veritable fortress with its rows of trenches, its barbed-wire barriers, its squadron of rurales and detachment of infantry. And our working force is drilled to do some fine defense work too. We are all equipped with Mauser rifles and we have a battery of new French rapid-fire guns and a three-inch fieldpiece that can throw a shell clean over the top of the nearest mountain. We know it will do that for not long ago we had occasion to bombard a handful of Zapatistas from a position on the cliffs a mile away. The rats had an old fieldpiece and they managed to get a couple of solid shot down through the roof of a storehouse near the plant. Oh, we have had an interesting time out there for the last eight or ten months. The Zapatistas have been hovering around like a swarm of bees. They haven’t managed to do much damage, however, but we never know when they will be joined by other mobs of guerrilla soldiers who are operating in that section of the mountains. When that happens then I guess we can look for real trouble.

“I arranged with General Rodriguez last night to have another detachment of infantry accompany us to the plant this afternoon. I think it would be wise to strengthen the guard out there at any rate. We are going out on a train of flat cars that will be ready to move shortly so I guess we had better be getting ready. I’ll drive you over to a gunsmith’s and you can get all the ammunition you want, then we’ll start for the railroad.”

At the gunshop Jack laid in five hundred rounds of ammunition. This seemed a ridiculously large amount but Mr. Ryder assured him that it was wise to be on the safe side in such matters. Several other stores were visited where Jack purchased some clothing suggested by Mr. Ryder for service at the plant. The most important purchase was one of the huge sombreros such as the natives wear. This was secured at a little hat booth on one of the side streets. Jack was amazed at the size of some of these hats and while he was looking over the assortment offered, Mr. Ryder explained that the natives were very vain about their hats. He said that in former days the wealthy Mexicans vied with each other to see who could wear the hat with the largest brim and the most costly embellishments. This competition reached the point where it finally became a public nuisance, for the big hat brims were decidedly objectionable on crowded thoroughfares or street cars. The federal government finally took the matter in hand and imposed a tax of a certain amount for every four inches of brim over a stipulated size. This ordinance put the hat brims at a universal width.

After the shopping they hurried back to the hotel where Mr. Ryder always maintained a room. Their clothes were changed and garments of the rough-and-ready sort adopted. Jack felt very self-conscious as he buckled on the heavy revolver and donned the high-crowned sombrero, but he did his best to hide it from his companion. On his way out of the hotel, however, he surreptitiously glanced at his reflection in one of the large mirrors and found to his great satisfaction that such toggery was not at all unbecoming. He secretly resolved to have some photographs made which he intended to take back to Drueryville when he returned.

The train that was to carry them out to Necaxa was, as the engineer had said, nothing more than a string of flat cars with a yellow caboose at the end. It was a narrow gage railroad that was built especially to carry supplies to the power station, one hundred and twenty-five miles back in the mountains.

Two of the flat cars were heaped high with boxes of provisions and barrels of flour, all on the way to the little community at the power house. Three other cars were occupied by the detachment of infantry from the barracks. The soldiers were not a prepossessing lot, Jack thought, as he viewed them. They were uniformed alike, of course, and for the most the uniforms were in rather good order though somewhat dirty. Their hats were not unlike the forage caps of the United States troops during the Civil War, with the exception that they were higher in the crown. The men were all dark skinned and ugly looking, and the young American was quite certain that as enemies they would probably be decidedly vicious customers.

Three officers accompanied the detachment but they held themselves aloof from the rest of the soldiers, sharing the caboose with Jack and Mr. Ryder. They were tall, fine-looking specimens of Mexican manhood, very jaunty in their gold-braided uniforms, and Jack found them very companionable after they became acquainted, for they could speak English after a fashion and some of the war stories they told helped to make the slow journey into the mountains less tedious.

On leaving Mexico City the train started to climb immediately for the way was entirely up grade, the plant being situated at a higher altitude than the capital. As a result of this and the unusually heavy load, the little engine made slow progress. Indeed, at some points in spite of its snorting and puffing it could not go on and the men were forced to get down from the flat cars and walk, thereby lessening the load. Because of this slow progress it was long after nightfall when Jack discovered a long pencil of light reaching out across the sky. It looked weird and uncanny off there in the solitude of the mountains. But as he watched it began to move along the ridges, searching out each valley and depression. Then Jack understood. It was the huge searchlight at the plant, looking among the hills for lurking bands of Zapatistas.

The lad watched the light travel from point to point until finally it located the supply train, which it escorted all the way to the station, illuminating the tracks just ahead of the engine.

CHAPTER VIII
THE CRIPPLED GENERATORS

It was a veritable fortress that Jack entered when he left the caboose of the supply train. Before him, on a slight eminence, was the massive building of the power station with the searchlight mounted on the roof. The grassy slope below was marred by a double line of trenches unoccupied, of course, save for one or two white-clad sentinels who paced back and forth restlessly. On the lawn between the first trench and the station, the lad noted a bulky object covered with canvas. This he immediately decided was the three-inch fieldpiece about which Mr. Ryder had spoken. To the north of the station was the irregular outline of many small cottages. As the searchlight threw its rays in that direction, the boy observed that nearly all of them were constructed of wood and erected after the fashion of the cottages furnished to the quarrymen in Vermont. There were also several long low shed-like structures which he learned later housed the soldiers. The entire community did not occupy more than five or six acres and was entirely cut off from the surrounding country by barbed wire barricades. Indeed, the place looked well-nigh impregnable to the American. To approach from the north, south or west, invaders would have to get through the mass of barbed wire first and carry two lines of trenches before they reached the station, and as far as the east side of the plant was concerned, approach in that direction was made impossible by the roaring mountain stream that furnished water to the station’s turbines.

The enclosure became a perfect bedlam a few moments after the supply train rolled in. To the roar of the river and the grumble of the huge generators inside were added the shouts of the soldiers detraining and unloading the supplies. The entire barracks had turned out to welcome the reinforcements, for it happened that they composed two companies of the same regiment. Altogether Jack estimated that there were more than 200 men ready to defend the place against the rebels, not including the squad of twenty-five rurales who were stationed there to patrol the surrounding country. The rurales, the lad learned, were not soldiers in the stricter sense of the word. They are maintained by the Mexican Government to do practically the same work as that required of the famous Canadian mounted police; which is to rid the country of bandits, smugglers and bad men, and run down the outlaws that hide in the mountains. They are far better drilled than any of the Mexican troops and are well equipped with clothing and firearms. Their horses are the best that Mexican dollars can buy. These men ride exceptionally well, shoot almost as accurately as the Texas ranger and are brave and fearless. A Mexican president who believed in the old saying that “it takes a thief to catch a thief,” organized the rurales years ago when the country was infested with bandits and bad men. Every time one of these men was apprehended he was forced to join the rurales and hunt down bandits. In this way his vicious nature was well satisfied and at the same time he was able to consider himself a law-abiding citizen, which usually appeals to all individuals who have been outlaws for any length of time. To Jack these soldier-policemen were very picturesque as they swaggered about in their dark-green, tightly fitting uniforms and broad-brimmed hats. He noticed, however, that they did not associate with the white-clad regulars, but stood apart in a little group by themselves and watched the other men unload the cars.

Mr. Ryder and Jack lingered long enough to see that the unloading was well under way before they turned toward the station.

“I’ve a strange premonition that the troublemakers hereabout have taken advantage of my absence,” said the engineer as they approached the office. “I would not be surprised to find the plant dynamited some day. These rebel sympathizers will go the limit to make it disagreeable for old Huerta.”

The office of Ben Nedham, first assistant engineer, was vacant. When Mr. Ryder saw this he looked worried. Immediately he bounded up the spiral iron staircase to the balcony-like control room where the switchboards were located. Allen Lyman, a tall light-haired American in charge of that section of the plant, advanced to meet him, and his face also bore a troubled look.

“They’ve been at it again, Mr. Ryder,” he exclaimed. “We haven’t been able to carry the load all evening. Machines five and six are out of commission. Couldn’t even start them. Nedham and a gang are down there on the generator floor now trying to patch them up.”

“What is the trouble?” demanded the engineer, his brow wrinkled by a perplexed frown.

“Well, some one got in after two o’clock this morning, evidently, and threw a bucket full of fire sand into the gears of both machines. Nedham has had only one watchman here and he must have gone to sleep.”

“Have you heard from Mexico City yet?” demanded Mr. Ryder anxiously.

“No, not yet, but we can gamble that the lights are mighty dim there. Shouldn’t wonder but what we’ll get a call before the night is over.”

He had hardly completed the sentence when the telephone bell on the desk in the center of the room jangled sharply.

“Dollars to doughnuts that’s Mexico City now,” exclaimed Lyman as he removed the receiver. A moment he talked with the man on the other end of the line; then he beckoned to Mr. Ryder.

“It’s President Huerta himself,” he said, holding his hand over the transmitter. “He’s as mad as a Mexican bull too. Wants to speak with you.”

For fifteen minutes the chief engineer attempted to explain the situation to the country’s executive, and in the meantime Jack busied himself trying to puzzle out the reason for all the switches, knobs, handles and indicators on the huge marble switchboard that extended all the way around the circular room. He knew that all the machinery in the station was controlled from that board, but just how it was done he had not the slightest idea. He decided, however, to take advantage of the first opportunity and learn the function of each of the mysterious looking black rubber handles.

Mr. Ryder left the ’phone apparently thoroughly angry. He paced the narrow room for some time before he uttered a word. Finally, pausing before the desk again, he brought his fist down with a resounding blow.

“By Jupiter,” he thundered, “this must stop or I’ll know the reason why. The old man is as peeved as a wet hen and I don’t blame him. He informed me that we had made a failure out of the most important state function of the year simply because the palace was so poorly lighted. They had to resort to smoky oil lamps to help out. He was furious. Told me the city looked like an Indian village, it was so dark. Oh, if I could only get my fingers on the villains who did this work!”

Thus did he storm to Jack and the operator until he became thoroughly out of breath and was forced to pause. Then turning he called Jack and started down the spiral stairs again. Three flights they descended until they reached the floor of the generating room. Six huge generating units occupied the space. They were great black monsters of steel that looked like so many mastodons chained to the floor. Water was roaring down from the forebay through four of the massive penstocks that supplied the turbines, but the other two were silent. Around each of these silent machines was gathered a group of workmen. They had unbolted the steel protecting plates and were assiduously wiping the sand from the delicate armature bearings. Some of these workmen were Americans but there were a number of Mexicans among them, many of whom were distinctly of the peon class, with bared feet and shabby garments.

As Jack and the engineer hurried across the floor a short, dark-haired American advanced to meet them.

“We’ve trouble on our hands this time!” he exclaimed. “The two machines are full of sand and we won’t be able to get them cleaned until long after midnight.”

“Well, how did it happen, Nedham?” demanded Mr. Ryder. “You were in charge while I was away and you are responsible. Are you going to let this plant go to the devil? I got a good blowing up yesterday from the board of directors and here to-night President Huerta himself had me on the long distance telephone. Told me flatly that things would have to go smoother; and I propose to see that they do go smoother hereafter.”

“How do I know how it happened? Maybe I was in charge, but they manage to work the same tricks when you are here too, so you can’t altogether blame me,” said Nedham indignantly.

“Well, I suppose not,” replied Mr. Ryder in calmer tones. “I didn’t mean to accuse you of neglect of duty. I know they work the same tricks on me too. I hope you’ll pardon my temper.”

The chief engineer extended his hand in cordial apology and Nedham grasped it, his anger disappearing immediately.

CHAPTER IX
JACK PROPOSES A TRAP

Nedham was right. It was some time after midnight before the big generators were in condition to operate again. For hours the men toiled to get every vestige of the gritty substance out of the machines. Mr. Ryder went at the task with the rest, and Jack, unwilling to remain idle, rolled up his sleeves and seized a piece of cotton waste also. With the steel jacket removed, an excellent opportunity was afforded the lad for a better acquaintance with the mechanism of a water turbine generator, and as he worked beside Mr. Ryder, the engineer briefly explained the details.

“This is not really a generator that we are working on, Jack,” said Mr. Ryder, “because a generator is supposed to create energy. This does not do that. The real energy is in the water that turns the turbine, and this machine merely converts that energy into electric current, so you see the word ‘generator’ is a misnomer in this case. It is the same in a steam plant. Steam furnishes energy which is converted into electricity by the so-called generators. In fact, man-made electricity is nothing more or less than some other kind of energy in a new and more useful form. I guess you follow me.”

“I understand all right,” said Jack, “for it is very simple, though I must confess I had never considered electricity in that way before.”

“The energy here comes from the water that plunges over the dam we built across the river about a mile back in the mountains. The dam is sixty-odd feet high and the water that is stored up behind it is carried down to the plant here through a very large flume. The flume is built at the same level as the dam and brings the water around the mountain to the north of the plant and into the big forebay or reservoir just back of the station.

“The water in the forebay is kept at about the same height as the dam also, so it can get a sixty-foot direct drop to the turbines here in the building. The stream rushes down through the large penstocks, or feeders, and strikes against the mass of concaved blades on the waterwheel or turbine. The blades are set across the drum of the wheel and at a slight angle, thus giving the turbine the full benefit of the force of the water striking against them as well as the suction of the water after it leaves the blades. This is known as the reaction type of turbine and is only used in plants where the fall of water is less than 100 feet. There is another type of waterwheel on which buckets take the place of blades. This is known as the impact type and is driven entirely by the pelting of the water against the bottom of each cup. This wheel is used chiefly where the fall of water is more than 100 feet.

“The armature of the generator is also mounted on the shaft or axle of the turbine. The armature, you know, is composed of coils of wire wound very close together on an iron frame, or spider. Since the turbine whirls around very fast the armature is bound to turn at the same rate of speed. Now, the armature is surrounded by electrically excited magnets, which are the positive and negative poles of the generator. And as the coils of wire on the armature rush past the magnets the attraction or lines of force between the poles are cut abruptly and immediately electricity is created. By means of those brass collecting rings which you see on the armature the coils are connected to the transmission lines and the electricity flows through them to the lights in Mexico City.”

Mr. Ryder’s description of the hydro-electric plant was so simple and so easily understood that Jack was able to follow the entire process of converting water power into electrical energy. The conversation had also helped to lighten the rather disagreeable task of cleaning the generator and it was midnight almost before they realized it.

At this hour Mr. Ryder gave up all hope of using the generator that night, for, as he explained to Jack, the lights were fast being put out in the houses and stores of Mexico City, thus cutting down the load on the power plant to a point where the supply could be easily furnished by the remaining four machines. That being the case, he suggested they quit work and leave the task entirely to the peons and other workmen under Nedham. Jack’s arms were black to the elbow with dirty oil when he finally tossed his piece of waste away, and Mr. Ryder’s condition was little better.

“Come on, we’ll wash up a bit and start for the cottage; I am rather tired and I fancy you are too.”

Together they proceeded to the washroom and a few moments later left the station building and started up the short dusty street that led between the two rows of cottages. The searchlight was still playing from the roof and here and there a lonesome sentinel could be seen silhouetted against the skyline. Otherwise the little community was quite lifeless.

Mr. Ryder’s cottage was at the very end of the short street. It was a one-story affair but somewhat more prepossessing in appearance than the rest of the dwellings. The engineer lived there entirely alone save for Tom Why, his aged Chinese cook. In fact, each American at the plant had a separate cottage, which was usually taken care of by some old Indian woman. There were only two white women in the village. One was the wife of Allen Lyman and the other was Mrs. Harriet Clifford, the wife of a young American foreman in the plant-maintenance department.

Mr. Ryder’s cottage was no better furnished than any of the rest. The main room, which was living room, dining room, library and study all in one, was equipped with several heavy wooden chairs, a square table and a flat desk littered with old magazines and papers. The remaining three rooms boasted small iron beds and washstands. Just in the rear of the cottage was a little house in which Tom Why and his American cookstove were quartered. Tom was acknowledged to be the best cook in the village, excepting, of course, the two American women.

Though it was very late, Tom was up and waiting for the engineer. He had prepared a rather substantial midnight luncheon and when Jack caught the odor of steaming coffee he suddenly realized that he was extremely hungry. Neither he nor Mr. Ryder had tasted food since their dinner at the American Hotel in Mexico City, and they were both ready to do justice to Tom’s tempting spread. Between mouthfuls, however, they did find time to talk over the recent trouble at the plant.

“I must get at the bottom of this and find out who the rebel sympathizers are. Of course they are among the peon laborers, at least I think so, for none of the white employees have the slightest interest in Zapata and his gang of cutthroats, as far as I know. Still, the way the trouble makers have tampered with the big switches and other dangerous machinery that most of the peons are afraid of, makes me believe sometimes that the culprits are white men or natives who know a little more about electricity than the peons.”

“I should think then, that you would try and find out whether you are dealing with peons or Mexicans of another variety,” said Jack.

“Find out!” demanded the engineer sharply. “Do you think I have been sitting with my hands folded all this time? I’ve had the place watched. I’ve done everything I could to discover who is up to this crooked work. You see, after two in the morning things slacken down at the plant. There isn’t much of a load to be carried, only the street lighting in Mexico City, and one or two generators are enough to take care of that. At that time most of the men leave the plant. There is only the night operator and two or three watchmen in different parts of the building, and they are not always as alert as they might be. Well, between two o’clock and the time the day force comes on at six o’clock in the morning, the meddlers get in their best work. The day men usually discover the trouble, though in a case like to-night, when one of the big machines have been tampered with, the disturbance isn’t noticed until the operator tries to start up at nightfall.

“We’ve watched everything and everybody, but when we are in one place trouble turns up in an entirely different part of the plant. The thing that worries me the most about the whole business is that some night after the meddlers have been at work the rebels out there in the mountains might take it in their heads to attack. Suppose the searchlight generator was crippled. In that case we’d have a serious time, wouldn’t we? Indeed, I would like to find out whom we are dealing with. But how can I?”

“Well,” said Jack after a moment’s reflection, “at least we can learn whether we are dealing with peons or white men. Here’s a suggestion. Why not sprinkle a little powder or dust around the machines, switchboard and other apparatus likely to be tampered with? Sprinkle it at two o’clock every morning and sweep it up again at six. In the meantime if any one has tampered with these contrivances they are bound to leave footprints. If the prints show naked feet we’ll know it is one of the peons, and if we find the trouble maker wears shoes then we’ll know it is a white man.”

“By Jove, that’s a corking idea,” said Mr. Ryder enthusiastically; “we’ll do it. We’ll sprinkle cement dust on the floor. Let’s try it out to-night and keep it up religiously until we get an imprint of the villain’s feet. We’ll saunter over to the plant after those workmen clear out, which I judge will be about three o’clock; meanwhile, if you care to, you can snatch an hour’s sleep.”

To Jack sleep sounded particularly good and as soon as Mr. Ryder pointed out his room he tumbled into it without even removing his shoes. But it seemed to him however that he had only closed his eyes when he felt the engineer’s hand upon his forehead.

“It’s after three o’clock,” said Mr. Ryder, “and the workmen have all left the plant. What do you say to setting our trap now?”

Jack was on his feet in an instant, for he was as eager as the engineer to see how his plan would work out. First they visited a tool shed where they secured a bucket, then Mr. Ryder ripped open a bag of cement with his jack knife and by the light of an electric pocket flash lamp supplied himself with a pail of the fine gray powder.

As they passed the front of the plant they could see Nedham in his office working over some papers. They continued on around the corner of the building where Mr. Ryder opened a large door that let them in on the generator floor. Two of the big machines were running, but there was not a soul in sight. Through the glass front of the control room, high up among the girders, they could see Lyman watching the switchboard.

“Is there any wonder that the rebel sympathizers can tamper with the machines?” said Mr. Ryder; “there isn’t a watchman in sight, and Lyman would not be likely to see us down here unless he made a point of looking out of the window, which is not necessary, for he can see how the machines are running by looking at the indicators on his board. Nedham is in his office and the only other man on duty is the engineer and he is probably in his office watching for signals from Lyman. There should be a watchman here on the floor, but I guess when no one is looking he steals off and takes a nap. I’ve fired at least five men for doing that, but you can’t teach these Mexicans anything. They’ll do exactly as they please in spite of you.”

In fifteen minutes Jack and the engineer had set their trap and returned to the cottage again. They were both thoroughly tired and Mr. Ryder began to take off his things the moment he entered the house. As he unloosened the front of his shirt, however, a rather bulky yellow wallet slipped out and fell to the floor.

“There are those drawings,” said the engineer. “I’d almost forgotten them with all our activities to-day. Here’s your wallet, I guess I won’t need it any longer.”

He removed the envelope of blue prints as he spoke and opening the top drawer of his desk dropped it inside, at the same time handing the wallet to Jack.

“I’ll be up at six to look for results,” said he as Jack started for his room, “but I really don’t expect to find any footprints right off. I rather think the trouble maker has done enough damage to satisfy him for several days at least.”

CHAPTER X
FOOTPRINTS

In spite of the fact that he had been able to get but a few hours’ sleep, Jack was awake before six o’clock. The noise Mr. Ryder made in the adjoining room aroused him, and when he realized that the engineer was getting ready to start for the power plant, he dressed with all speed. But though they were up early, old Tom Why had been awake fully half an hour before them as a steaming breakfast testified.

The two did not linger long over their coffee, however, for they were too eager to reach the station before the day men arrived and tracked through the cement powder. Indeed, they left the cottage still munching the last of their meal. The sun had been up two hours, but the mountains across the river were so tall that its rays were only just getting down into the broad valley that held Necaxa. Jack’s first view of the place by daylight pleased him greatly. As Mr. Ryder had said, the country was wilderness, the only evidence of civilization being the tracks of the narrow gage railroad and the steel poles that carried the four black serpent-like transmission lines across the clearing and into the forest toward Mexico City. Necaxa was completely shut off from the rest of the world by mountains, the nearest community being a little nameless Indian village down the river.

However, the lad had no time to gaze at the scenery just then, for in a few minutes the workmen would be on the way to the plant. Jack and Mr. Ryder hurried to the side door they had used but three hours before, and in a few moments they were looking at their recent handiwork. From one machine to another they hurried, closely inspecting the dust on the floor, before sweeping it into the pail again. Though they did not expect to find traces of a nocturnal visit by the mysterious trouble maker they were keenly alert for every little clue. They inspected each appliance in the main room but all seemed to be in good order, nor did the cement powder reveal a single telltale mark. There remained only the small generators of the exciter sets to be inspected. Jack hurried forward to brush up the dust about these machines, for the men were already entering the plant and he did not care to let them know of the trap.

And as he stooped over, his eyes caught the distinct outline of a foot close to the base of the generator! Another and still another were discovered close by. He could scarcely credit his eyes. But Mr. Ryder, who was directly behind him, saw the imprints also.

“By George, we’ve a clue at last!” he exclaimed, leaning forward and examining the tracks. “They have been made by naked feet too! What do you think of that!”

“And I’ll be hanged if that isn’t the mark of a scar on the left heel!” he ejaculated, as he dropped to his hands and knees and scrutinized the tracks. “Oh, our task is an easy one now! I’ll guarantee to have the meddler in the hands of the rurales by sundown with this evidence to work on. But look how they have riddled the exciter!”

As Jack bent closer he too could see the mark of a scar. The foot had removed the concrete dust completely except for a little ridge diagonally across the heel. This showed plainly that there had been a sharp indentation in the flesh at that point. And as the same mark showed in every other imprint of the left foot there was small room for doubt.

“Well, it looks as if our trap had worked far better than we expected,” he said jubilantly, as they prepared to obliterate the track by sweeping up the dust.

“Indeed it did,” replied Mr. Ryder. “Here’s positive proof that the culprit is a peon, and with this telltale scar to help out it is only necessary to inspect every peon in the plant and pick out the guilty individual. We’ll have them lined up immediately.”