The Argosy, Vol. 83 No. 1 — page 110: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

100 THE These were not Carranza men speeding across the plain behind the fleeing ban- dits; that long line of riders, urging their horses onward, firing at the panic stricken Villistas. For the onrushing soldiers wore the dull khaki of Uncle Sam’s boys—the polished scabbards which glistened in the sunlight sheathed the sabers of American cavalrymen—Uncle Sam’s boys twenty miles across the border. What could it mean? Jones grew faint and closed his eyes, clinging to the window-casing. When he opened them again the khaki- clad troopers were Swarming past the aero- plane, covering the field. And the Villistas were gone, fleeing across the desert toward the range of mountains to the south. A bugle sounded shrilly; around the out- building the riders drew rein. A cloud of dust, fine as mist, arose around them and clung to their perspiring faces. Some were looking at the house—at Jones, leaning out of the window above the roof of the veranda. He recognized an officer, waved his hand, stumbled down the stairs and with trembling fingers unbolted the front door. “Robinson!” he cried, “‘senorita—senor —we are saved—it is my own command!”’ The officer, followed by half a dozen troopers, had ridden up to the veranda. He looked at Jones searchingly. “Good Heaven!” he cried, and slid out of the saddle. His face was begrimed with the desert dust, his uniform stained with perspira- tion, he limped as he walked and rubbed the sweat from his eyes that he might see clearer. “Jones!” he cried, as he mounted the steps—‘‘well, I’ll be damned!” Then, after a little time, while they waited for the coffee which the senorita had gone to order, and he had heard Jones’s story, he gave the explanation of his own presence on the scene. The Villistas had attacked Columbus during the night; in the first moments of the surprise they had killed men, women and children, and then the boys had taken ARGOSY. things in hand. Washington was too far away to wait for orders—the orders which might never have come. A little band, out- numbered three to one, had crossed the border, scattering before them Villa and his wolves. | ‘““That’s the whole story,” said the ma- jor, polishing his glasses carefully on his coat-sleeve. “‘I’d like to follow them into the mountains yonder, but I guess we’ve done our share for one morning. We’t! rest up a bit and get back again; I’m sorry you’ve lost your aeroplane, Jones, but those fellows have put it out of business. You'll have to come down to earth once more and travel like the rest of us.” “‘T’m glad to be able to say I’m on earth at all; last night it didn’t look as if I’d stay there long,” replied Jones, grinning. He looked at Senor Bilbao and the girl. “You will, of course, go back with us, for—” he grinned again—“‘ I fancy you will not be popular with the Villistas, and you’re pretty near their mountains yon- der.” “T would not care to run away; that is, if I were alone, but—” The senor glanced at the girl, Pepita—“‘if the Villistas should return,” he continued resignedly. “Quite right!” said the major gravely; “‘we will start in about an hour.” The horses were standing in the open space before the house; the troopers were already mounted and the major was help- ing the girl and the old Mexican into their saddles. Jones, standing on the step of the veranda, turned to the boy, Francisco. “Your father is a brave man, and I think he will return to you. Should he come back give him this advice from me: If he will come to Columbus I will see that he rejoin Senor Bilbao; he will under- stand.” Then to Robinson, who was waiting for him on the lawn: “Give me a lift into the saddle, old man; you see one of my wings is almost out of business.’ He nodded at his wounded arm, still bound from shoulder to elbow by strips torn from Pepita’s petticoat. Gomichbook (C@)