Chapter XXIX The Capture - Dave Porter and his Double by Edward Stratemeyer
What Dave said concerning the man he had known as William Jarvey was true. He was in reality Ward Porton’s father, his full name being William Jarvey Porton. Years before, however, on entering the United States Army, he had dropped the name William and been known only as Jarvey Porton. Later, on being dismissed from the army for irregularities in his accounts, he had assumed the name of William Jarvey.
A lively discussion lasting several minutes, and which our hero and Roger failed to catch, followed the discovery of Jarvey Porton’s identity. Then the listeners heard the former lieutenant say:
“Brown, I think you had better go outside and watch to make sure that no one is coming to this place.”
“All right, just as you say,” was the other man’s answer. Evidently he understood that this was a hint that Jarvey Porton wished to speak to his son in private.
As Packard Brown placed his hand on the door leading to the semi-dark hallway Dave and Roger lost no time in tiptoeing their way back to the closet in which they had before hidden. From this place they saw Brown leave the room and walk outside. Then they returned to their position at the door.
“Are you sure the cases are in a safe place, Ward?” they heard Jarvey Porton ask anxiously.
“Sure of it, Dad. I hid them with great care.”
“Are you sure nobody saw you do it?”
“Not a soul.”
“Where was the place?”
“On a high knoll not far from where we have been tying up the boats,” answered Ward Porton. “There are a number of big rocks there, and I found a fine cache between them.”
“It’s rather dangerous to leave them around that way,” grumbled the man. “Maybe you would have done better if you had brought them over here.”
“I thought there would be no use in carting them back and forth,” returned the son. “I wanted to have them handy, in case the Basswoods met my demands.”
“Well, we’ll see what comes of it, Ward. I hope we do get that money. I certainly need some,” and Jarvey Porton heaved something of a sigh. Evidently father and son were equally unscrupulous and took no pains to disguise that fact from each other.
More talk followed, Ward telling something of the way in which the miniatures had been obtained and his father relating the particulars of his troubles with the Mentor Construction Company. In the midst of the latter recital Dave and Roger heard Packard Brown returning on the run.
“Hi there!” called out the man in evident alarm. And then as the two chums hid in the closet once more, he burst into the room occupied by the Portons. “Those greasers are coming back and they are heading for this place!” he explained.
“In that case we had better get out,” answered Jarvey Porton, quickly.
“But you and Brown helped them in that raid, Dad,” interposed the son. “Why should you get out?”
“We had a big quarrel after that raid, Ward,” explained the parent. “And now those greasers have no use for us. We’ll have to get out, and in a hurry, too.”
Shouting could now be heard at a distance, and this was followed by a volley of shots which surprised all the listeners.
“I’ll tell you what it must be,” said Jarvey Porton, as he led the way from the deserted ranch. “A detachment from the regular army must be after General Bilassa’s crowd. Maybe they’ll have a fight right here along the border!”
“I don’t want to get mixed up in any fight!” exclaimed Ward Porton. “Maybe we had better get back to the United States side of the river.”
“That’s the talk!” put in Packard Brown. “Come on!”
All left the ranch and headed directly for the river, at the point where Ward had left his flat-bottomed rowboat. Dave and Roger followed them, but did their best to keep out of sight in the tall grass.
“Oh, Dave, I hope they do go over to the other shore!” exclaimed the senator’s son. “It will be so much easier to capture them.”
“Exactly, Roger. And don’t you remember what Ward told his father–that he had left the miniature cases hidden on the other side? He said they were on a high knoll not far from where the boats had been tied up. We ought to be able to find that cache.”
By the time the two chums gained the shore of the Rio Grande those ahead of them had already entered Ward Porton’s boat. Ward and Brown each had an oar and rowed as rapidly as possible to the other side of the stream. Jarvey Porton sat in the stern of the craft, and looked back from time to time, trying to catch sight of the guerrillas and the other Mexicans, who were still shouting and firing at a distance.
“Hadn’t you better hold back a bit, Dave, so they don’t see you?” questioned Roger, as he and our hero managed to gain the rowboat they had used, which, fortunately, had been placed some distance away from the other craft.
“Good advice, Roger, if it wasn’t for one thing. I don’t want to give them a chance to get out of our sight. Let us tie our handkerchiefs over the lower parts of our faces. Then they won’t be able to recognize us–at least unless we get pretty close.”
With Dave’s suggestion carried out, the chums leaped into the rowboat, and, this done, each took an oar. They pulled hard, and as a consequence reached the mouth of the little creek on the United States side in time to see those ahead just disembarking.
“Where do you suppose they are going?” queried the senator’s son.
“That remains to be found out,” answered Dave. “Duck now, so they won’t see us.” And with a quick motion of the oar he possessed he sent the flat-bottomed boat in among some tall grass which bordered the creek at this point.
Ward Porton and those with him had tied up their boat and were walking to the higher ground away from the creek. Jarvey Porton paused to look back along the creek and the bosom of the river beyond.
“I don’t see anything on the river just now,” he announced.
“Look! Some one is coming from the other way!” exclaimed his son, suddenly.
“Is that Lawson, the ranchman?” questioned Packard Brown, anxiously.
“No, I don’t think it is,” answered Ward Porton. “They seem to be strangers,” he added, a minute later.
Two men and a well-grown boy were approaching. They came on slowly, as if looking for some one.
“I’d like to know what those fellows want around here,” came from Jarvey Porton, as he gave up looking along the river to inspect the newcomers.
From their position in the tall grass bordering the creek, Dave and Roger looked from the Porton party to those who were approaching. Then, of a sudden, our hero uttered a low exclamation of surprise.
“Look who’s here, Roger! Ben Basswood and my Uncle Dunston! And Mr. Andrews is with them!”
“Oh, Dave! are you sure?”
“Of course I am! I would know my Uncle Dunston as far as I could see him. And you ought to know Ben.”
“My gracious, Dave, you’re right! This sure is luck!”
“I know what I’m going to do,” decided our hero, quickly. “I’m going to send both of the boats adrift. Then, no matter what happens, those rascals won’t have any easy time of it getting back to Mexico.”
In feverish haste Dave sent the flat-bottomed boat out into the creek once more. Roger assisted him, and a few strokes of the oars brought the craft alongside of that which had been used by the Porton party. Then the chums leaped ashore, threw all the oars into the water, and set both of the rowboats adrift.
“Hi there! What are you fellows up to?” came suddenly from Packard Brown, who had happened to look behind him. “See, Jarvey, those two fellows have cast our boat adrift!”
“Who are they?” demanded Jarvey Porton, and looked in some bewilderment at the two figures approaching, each with a handkerchief tied over the lower portion of the face.
“Uncle Dunston! Ben!” cried Dave at the top of his lungs, and at the same time whipped the handkerchief from his face. “Here are Ward Porton and his father! We must capture them!”
“Hurry up! Don’t let them get away!” put in Roger, as he, too, uncovered his face.
As he uttered the words Roger drew his pistol, an action which was quickly followed by our hero, for both understood that the criminals before them might prove desperate.
Of course Dunston Porton and Ben Basswood, as well as Frank Andrews, were greatly astonished by the calls from Dave and Roger. But our hero’s uncle, while out hunting in various parts of the world, had been in many a tight corner, and thus learned the value of acting quickly. He had with him his pistol, and almost instantly he drew this weapon and came forward on the run, with Ben and Frank Andrews at his heels.
“Stop! Stop! Don’t shoot!” yelled Ward Porton in alarm, as he found himself and his companions surrounded by five others, three with drawn pistols.
“We won’t shoot, Porton, if you’ll surrender,” answered Dave.
“Oh, Dave! has he got those miniatures?” burst out Ben.
“He sure has, Ben!”
“Good!”
“I haven’t got any miniatures,” growled the former moving-picture actor.
His father and Brown looked decidedly uncomfortable. Once the former army officer made a motion as if to draw his own weapon, but Dunston Porter detected the movement and instantly ordered all of the party to throw up their hands.
“Oh, Dave! are you sure he has those pictures?” queried Ben, and his face showed his anxiety.
“I think so, Ben. However, we’ll find out as soon as we have made them prisoners.”
“That’s the talk!” put in Roger. He turned to Dave’s uncle. “Can’t you bind them or something, so that they can’t get away?”
“We’ll disarm them,” announced Frank Andrews. “Jarvey and Brown are wanted for that raid on old man Tolman’s ranch and for using that bomb on the bridge. We can prove through Pankhurst that they were with the party.”
“That man is Ward Porton’s father,” explained Dave to his uncle and Ben, while the evil-doers were being searched and disarmed one after another.
“Ward Porton’s father, eh? Well, they seem to be two of a kind,” answered Ben.
With their weapons taken from them, the prisoners could do nothing but submit. They were questioned, but all refused to tell anything about what they had done or intended to do.
“You’ll never get anything out of me, and you’ll never get those miniatures back,” growled Ward Porton, as he gazed sourly at Ben and at Dave.
“We’ll see about that, Porton,” answered our hero. And then he requested his uncle and Frank Andrews to keep an eye on the prisoners while he, Roger and Ben set out for the knoll some distance away from the creek.
“Ward Porton said he had hidden some cases in a cache between some rocks on that knoll,” explained our hero. “By cases I think he meant those containing the miniatures.”
“Oh, I hope he did!” returned Ben, wistfully. “To get those miniatures back means so much to my folks!”