CHAPTER XXVIII
Early next morning Rogeen got an interview with the executive of theMexican province, whom he had never met. The governor received himmost courteously and manifested both alert intelligence and a spirit offairness. During that long night ride Bob had thought out mostcarefully his exact line of appeal.
"Your Excellency," he said, earnestly, "wishes, of course, for thefullest development of the Imperial Valley in Mexico. To that end theranchers must know they have full protection, not alone for their livesas they now have, but also for their crops. They must know it isprofitable to farm in Mexico. I, myself, have five thousand acres ofcotton, which will pay in export duties alone perhaps $25,000. Nextyear I wish to grow much more. Besides, I'm the agent for a very richman who lends hundreds of thousands of dollars to other ranchers inyour province.
"But this can continue only if those who do business on your side ofthe line obey the laws and pay their debts. Such men as Reedy Jenkinsmust be compelled to deal honestly or get out."
The governor agreed to what Rogeen said, and promised to take promptaction.
"But," insisted Bob, "to save us, it must be done quickly. Jenkins'cotton must be seized and held for his debts, and the water turned intothe canals at once."
This was also promised as soon as legal papers could be prepared. Inleaving the office Bob dropped the telegram from the consul,accidentally.
"It apparently will not be needed," he said to himself as he left theoffice, "but it won't hurt to lose it."
The telegram left in the office read:
Present your situation to the governor, and if immediate relief is notgiven I'll close the border within twenty-four hours so tight that nota man, a mule, nor a machine can cross it either way.
LANIER, _Consul._
Two hours later a secretary who spoke good English and a Mexicancaptain appeared at the Chinese hotel where Bob was waiting.
"We have here," the secretary presented Bob with two papers, "anattachment for Senor Jenkins' cotton and an order that the water mustbe turned into the canals at once, and at the old rate. El Capitan andI will accompany you in the governor's own machine to see these ordersare obeyed."
Rogeen requested that no message be sent to Mexicali regarding theseattachments, as that would give Reedy a chance to dodge.
"Can we go back over the Mexican road, and come into the valley roundthe Laguna Salada?" Bob asked. Reedy might already be rushing hiscotton on those trucks down to the waiting boat on the Gulf, and bygoing this route they would intercept them.
The road over the mountains was not completed, said the secretary, butthey could have another machine from the valley to meet them, and inthat machine make the circuit as proposed.
At ten o'clock that night Rogeen, the captain, and the secretary leftthe machine and the chauffeur at the top of the mountain grade, andbegan the two-mile descent to the ancient bed of the sea--the desertround the Laguna Salada.
Bob's satisfaction at winning the governor was more than overbalancedby the torturing fear that it would all be too late. He believed theywould be in time to stop Reedy from getting away with his four hundredthousand dollars' worth of cotton. Jenkins would not start until hehad lost hope of getting that $150,000 from the ranchers for water.But Bob feared he was already too late to save his own cotton andChandler's.
The point on the mountain where they left the machine was almost a milehigh. The descent to the valley was by a steep and precarious trail.The captain who was familiar with it took the lead.
It was twelve-thirty when they reached the road at the bottom which ledto Mexicali. The machine was not there.
"What do you suppose is the matter?" Bob's voice sounded surprisinglycool but a little flat, even to himself. Although the hot winds struckthem here, his skin felt clammily cold.
"He'll be here by and by." The secretary lighted a cigarette. He didnot share Bob's anxiety and felt no undue fret over a little delay. "Itelegraphed the _comandante_ to send driver and car here aboutmidnight. He'll be here before long," he reassured. For an hour Bobwalked back and forth peering at every turn far into the desert,listening until his ears ached. But no sight of car, no sound ofpuffing engine. Another hour passed, and another. His anxietyincreased until the delay seemed unbearable.
They waited nine hours. At last they saw the black bug of a machinecrawling snortingly across the twenty-mile strip of sand between themand the pass through the Cocopa Mountains.
At nine-thirty the car arrived, a powerful machine of expensive make.The chauffeur was a slender, yellowish young Mexican who delighted intaking dangerous curves at fifty miles an hour and who savagelythrilled at the terrific punishment his car could take and still go.
Through the secretary Bob told him of the plan to skirt the LagunaSalada and go south round the Cocopas instead of going through thepass. This way they would follow the ancient bed of the Gulf ofCalifornia and forty miles south turn across the desert of the LowerColorado, thence northeastward until they struck the trail along theriver. By this route they could reach the Red Butte, the head of theDillenbeck canal, almost as quickly as through the pass and byMexicali, while at the same time they would follow for thirty miles upthe river trail down which Jenkins' trucks must pass on the way to thehead of the Gulf.
"Do you think we can do it?" Bob asked the chauffeur.
The chap lighted a cigarette, shrugged, and replied they could do anydamn thing.
"Let's be doing it then," urged Bob, jumping into the luxurious car.
The Laguna Salada is a dead lake made from the overflow of the ColoradoRiver and salted by the ancient bed of the sea. There is no vegetationround it, no life upon it. Along the salty, sandy shore that glittersin the sun there is no road, no broken trail. But the recklesschauffeur hit the sand with the exultant fierceness of a bull fighter.And at every lunge Bob clung to the iron bar overhead and devoutlyprayed that the machine would live through it.
It did. At one o'clock they swung round the headlands into the maindesert--the worst of its size on the continent, the desert of the LowerColorado.
As far as the eye could see stretched the dead waste, so dead that nota mesquite bush, not a cactus, not a living thing grew or crawled orflew. And upon it smote the sun so hot it seemed a flame, and over itboiled a wind like the breath of a volcano.
It staggered even the four men, used as they were to the heat of thevalley. But it was only forty miles to the river.
"Pretty damn bad," the chauffeur muttered in Spanish, and shrugged.Then he turned the nose of his machine northeast, and straight acrossthe hard-packed sand shot into the blistering desert.
"Two miles, four miles, six----" Bob counted off, watching thespeedometer. Every mile took him nearer the road, the water gates--andReedy Jenkins.
"Eight--nine----" he continued. Then a terrific roar; the machinestaggered; the chauffeur swore and applied the brakes.
They all jumped out. It was the right hind tire--a hole blown throughit ten inches long. The chauffeur kicked it two or three times,lighted a cigarette, and stood looking at the burst tire. Finally heshrugged and glanced across the desert. The wind was blowing hard;there was sand in it. He shrugged and sauntered round to the front ofthe car, got out his jack and wrenches, took the wheel off, prowledround a quarter of an hour, then lighted another cigarette, again stoodlooking at the burst tire, and kicked it a few times as though tryingto make it wake up and mend itself.
"What is the matter?" asked Bob. He had been afraid to ask.
"He says," interpreted the secretary, "he has no inner tube. Forgot tobring any."
"Then he'll have to run on the rim," said Bob, desperately; "we've gotto get out of this."
But the secretary nodded toward the radiator which roared as thoughabout to blow up.
"Where is his water?" Rogeen felt more than the heat surging throughhis head.
The chauffeur sauntered round the car twice as though looking for it.
"Say
s," explained the secretary, "he had a can but must have lost it."
They tried running on the rim, without water and with the hot windblowing the same direction they were going. The machine lasted fourmiles, and then quit in the middle of a sand drift, with the mostinfernal finality in its death surge.
Bob got out and looked at the stalled car hopelessly. The boiling windsurged over the hot dust and smote him witheringly. The driven sandalmost suffocated him. It was twenty-five miles at least to the river,twenty more to possible assistance. He looked at his watch--it wasfive minutes after one. Six hours before the sun would set, and untilthen walking would be suicide.
He climbed back into the machine, and sank limply into the shadedcorner of the seat. Six hours of this--it would be torture; and therewould be one long night of walking to reach water; another day ofwaiting for night--without food--and again a long, staggering walkbefore they reached a human habitation.
Two days and nights of delay--then it would be too late!