Listen, if you ever go to dear old Mexico keep away from the famous hacienda of Pancho Nogales on the hoopskirts of Tia Juana. It's a swell-lookin' trap, inside and out, full of everything the most exactin' might ask for, what I mean. Likewise, Pancho will be tickled to see you and you'll get treated the same as a king. In spite of all that, keep away from the joint or you'll run into nothin' but grief!
It was whilst Kid Roberts was trainin' to fight Bob Young at Tia Juana that we had the bad luck to run across Mr. Pancho Nogales, and what that mackerel done to us was plenty! Kid Roberts had been matched to fight Young at Syracuse, but I wouldn't let him go against no killer like Young till the wound he got from bein' butted by that Daniels tamale had thoroughly healed. In the meanwhile Mr. Young hauls off and cops the heavyweight title by knockin' Jim Oliver for a loop. With the aid of the newspapers we called Young's attention to his postponed quarrel with us, and after the usual weeks of bickerin' over this and that he agreed to box us twenty-five rounds or less for the good of the sport and $150,000.
The articles called for both men to finish their trainin' on the battle ground and we got our outfit set up in the suburbs of Tia Juana with Ptomaine Joe in charge of the handlers. Bob Young is workin' out at the other end of the slab. Both camps is drawin' big crowds daily and a couple of weeks before the fight Young was only a 6 to 5 favorite over Kid Roberts, in spite of the fact that Bob was champion.
The gils which was promotin' the big fracas had been havin' plenty trouble with the Mexican authorities. I suppose they neglected to sugar the right people or somethin'—anyways, a few days before the mill was due to take place somebody pitched a monkey wrench into the machinery and official sanction was absolutely refused. It looked like everything was goin' to be a terrible bust, but the frantic promoters still had hopes of comin' to terms with the authorities and insisted on the fighters continuin' trainin', as advertised.
Kid Roberts is out doin' road work early one mornin' with me and Ptomaine Joe, when all of a sudden a woman's shriek spears the hot, dusty air it come from the woods which fringed the side of the road and it was just packed with "S. O. S." The three of us stopped dead, looked at each other in amazement, and then tore into the woods, with Kid Roberts in the lead. The scene which met our eyes was so exceedin'ly movie that the first thing I done was to look around for a camera. The first thing Kid Roberts done was to snatch up a big piece of rock and let fly at a ugly-lookin' snake which was menacin' one of the prettiest members of the indispensable sex that ever distended a male eye. She was somethin' to think about, and don't think she wasn't, and her bein' scared stiff didn't make her no homelier either. Ptomaine Joe just stood there and stared with his lower jaw restin' on his oversize chest and his eyes a couple of admirin' saucers.
Well, a crack with a stick on Mr. Snake's head ruined him, so that was all settled and we turned our attention to the girl. She was the picture of gratitude and thanked the handsome, smilin' Kid so prettily that both me and Ptomaine wished a couple of more snakes would come along so's we could do our stuff too. Then the Kid introduced us to the charmin' maiden and that led up to the important discovery that she was entitled Maida Vane. Now that we had rescued the damsel in distress like first-class heroes, I was anxious to shove off and drag Kid Roberts away from the influence of her hypnotizin' smile, but the Kid was in no more hurry to get under way than a drugged snail.
When Maida coyly remarked that she lived near by, Kid Roberts said it would be a good thought for us to escort her to her domicile in case the dead snake's friends should come lookin' for revenge. Maida flung the Kid a languishin' glance and O. K.'d his suggestion, with the results that the four of us started through the woods—Maida and Kid Roberts leadin' the way. It was a cinch that our girl friend thought the good-lookin', college-bred Kid was the bat's waistcoat and also that the romantic way they met had just about goaled her.
Well, to dwarf a tall story, we fin'ly arrived at a clearin' in the woods, and lo and behold! there stands a great big swell-lookin' hacienda, surrounded by high walls and patrolled by a pair of sentries, ragged and armed. Honest to Kansas, these babies was the two toughest-lookin' gorillas I have ever had the pleasure to witness in my life. Ptomaine Joe got pale and let out a gasp.
"For cryin' out loud!" he says. "Look at them mugs! I'd hate to have the pair of 'em choose me!"
Just then one of these murderous-lookin' jazzboes heard him, I guess, because he swung around sharply and aimed his gun at us. But when he seen Maida he brought the gun back to his shoulder, saluted, and kept on walkin' his beat without another glance at us. Three deep sighs of relief come from three manly bosoms.
"Well," says Kid Roberts with a grin, "this is indeed an eventful day in an adventurous country. Who lives in that—er—garrison, Miss Vane? I presume you know, since the sentry recognized you."
"That is the residence of Pancho Nogales," says Maida, returnin' his smile.
"Who's he?" asks Ptomaine, wipin' his forehead nervously. "Where does he rate a joint like that?"
"The Government furnished it," says Maida with another choice smile. "Is it possible you never heard of Pancho Nogales, the once famous bandit and revolutionist?"
"I am somewhat conversant with the career of Pancho Nogales," speaks up Kid Roberts, prob'ly so's she wouldn't think we was all a total loss. "And I must confess to a sneaking admiration for the old fellow's spectacular exploits. So the government now supports him?"
"Yes," says Maida. "Some years ago the harried authorities made a bargain with the old rascal which included a grant of land and practically every luxury, in return for his laying down arms and disbanding his followers. This beautiful hacienda was part of the transaction."
"I see," says Kid Roberts politely. Then he looks sideways at Maida. "And you?" he asks.
Maida hesitates, but only for a instant. "Pancho's—eh—health has been failing of late," she answers. "I am employed here as a nurse."
"The lucky stiff!" busts out Ptomaine. "If I was him, I never would get well!"
Maida thanked him with a blush.
"Do you know, I'd be awfully glad to meet Nogales," says the Kid. "Do you think—"
"I'm sure Pancho would be more than delighted to meet the famous Kid Roberts," butts in Maida quickly. "Come, I shall arrange it at once!"
That was the most unfortunate invitation we ever accepted in our lives!
Well, we got by the sentries, which give everybody but Maida hungry looks and fingered their rifles regretfully when we filed into the patio. Then we had to pass inspection before a couple of highly suspicious secretaries, Maida doin' all the explainin', before we're fin'ly ushered into the presence of Pancho Negales himself.
The bozo which was to play such a important and devilish part in our lives durin' the next few days was a short, stocky, dark-complexioned old gent with a grizzled beard and a fierce eye. He distributed a ferocious frown amongst the three of us till Maida introduced Kid Roberts and then it was different! Pancho grinned and shook the Kid's hand heartily, clapped his own hands and a couple of dirty little guys run in, all but buryin' their heads in the ground before Pancho. Some sharp commands in Mexican and they scurried away. He kicked each of 'em soundly as they was leavin' and I had to nearly kick Ptomaine Joe's ankle off to stop him from laughin'. Pretty soon the little guys come runnin' back with a jug and glasses.
Kid Roberts politely explained to Pancho that he couldn't touch nothin' more aggressive than water, as he was trainin' for a championship battle in a prize ring and only street fightin' can be well done on booze. I says that went for me too, as I was the Kid's pilot and had to be right or I might send him in there with a knife in his belt and we'd lose on a foul. Pancho looked hurt, but Ptomaine Joe quickly salved his feelin's. He drained his glass at a gulp, made a horrible face, choked, and then smiled from ear to ear. His ear to mine, for instance. Then he reached over and drank my drink and the Kid's. Pancho studied him thoughtfully for a minute and suddenly knocked all the glasses off the table to the floor, at the same time pushin' the jug over to Ptomaine with a invitin' wave of his hand.
"Thanks, Pankie!" says Ptomaine, grabbin' the jug with a leer. "This is the real McCoy, and I'm feelin' pretty low. Here's a go!"
Well, durin' the next couple of hours I thought Pancho Nogales about the most interestin' old guy I ever met in my life, I did for a fact. He spoke as good English as you or me, prob'ly better than me, told a mean story, and thoroughly enjoyed one. We was all surprised by the line he had on big sportin' events, till he explained that he had lived a great many years in the United States as a special agent of his government, before he got sick and tired of the wages and throwed a revolution. He'd seen a flock of championship box fights and was a sixty-fourth degree fan. He'd fully intended to have a ringside seat at the comin' fight between Kid Roberts and Bob Young if the local officials hadn't stepped in and gummed things up.
All durin' our talk, various ragged, dirty, and tough-lookin' cholos passed in and out, respectfully salutin' Pancho and givin' us nasty looks. After a while these babies got on my nerves, and I made bold to ask Pancho who they was. Pancho smiles and says they're just a few of his faithful right-hand men which the Government has allowed to serve him in his old age. He called some of 'em over and introduced 'em, tellin' us blood-curdlin' stories about the choice crimes they had committed whilst in his service, and we learned about villains from him!
Pretty soon Pancho got up and says he'll show over the hacienda. I been in some swell dumps in my time and read about others, but I never seen or heard of nothin' to equal the class, wealth, or magnificence of the hacienda of Pancho Nogales! Hot bouillon! That was some bungalow, I'll tell the squint-eyed world! Rare paintin's, tapestries, books, statues, rugs, furniture, antiques or what have you, filled every nook and corner. All me and Ptomaine could do was stand pop-eyed, but Kid Roberts, which knows all about that kind of stuff, praised Pancho for his taste in this and his judgment in that till Pancho was all swelled up like a boil. The last thing we seen was a vault with all the bars in the world across the doors. Pancho made much to do about this, leadin' us there with great caution, and Ptomaine's face brightened. The big fellow smacked his lips, thinkin' he was prob'ly on the brinks of shakin' hands with some first-class champagne or the like. But Pancho dashed his fond hopes by explainin' that the vault contained a fortune in gold which the Government had allowed him to keep as part of the bargain which retired him from the pleasin' and profitable occupation of banditry. Pancho said we'd hear more about that gold later. We did— Leapin' Tuna, I'll say we did!
About this time Maida joined us and we sit down to a wow of a lunch, featured by the repeated regrets of Pancho that the authorities had stopped the championship fight between Kid Roberts and Bob Young, which he'd looked forward to seein' for months. No kiddin', from the way he moaned over it you'd think he was one of the promoters!
But it was after we had pushed back our chairs from the table that Pancho played his ace. Over some wonderful coffee and marvelous cigars, Maida and Kid Roberts the only ones not partakin' thereof, Pancho begged us to stay a few days at the hacienda. He's a old man, he says, practically shut off from the world and a educated guy like Kid Roberts comin' down there has been a godsend to him. He wants to talk about books, plays, the European situation, etc., and so forth, all stuff of which, I must say, he had a amazin' knowledge. He promised to send into town and have professional entertainers brought down to amuse us. He swore he'd speak to the right people in Tia Juana, people which was obligated to him for past favors, and the championship fight would be allowed to go on. In fact, he offered us everything but the Pacific Ocean and only stopped when his breath failed him.
Ptomaine Joe takes a long, lingerin' look at Maida, who's Alice-blue eyes is fastened pleadin'ly on Kid Roberts.
"Pankie," says Ptomaine, "what my boy friends is goin' to do I don't know, but what I'm goin' to do is park here till Niagara Falls runs backward!"
Pancho beams on this master mind and turns to a servant. "José," he bawls, "one jug for the señor, pronto!"
"Cheese!" says Ptomaine in a awed voice. "He's a mind reader too!"
"You will stay, then, señors?" asks Pancho eagerly.
Kid Roberts looked a question at me, and I shook my head "No!" I liked old Pancho Nogales, but a few days of my boxer stallin' around with the beauteous Maida, the temptation of them rare wines and cigars, the promised festivities and the prospects of Ptomaine bein' incessantly pie-eyed on our hands, failed to hit me as the proper caper for a guy tryin' to battle his way up to the heavyweight championship, as the Kid was.
"Thanks very much, Mister Nogales," I says. "But I'm afraid we'll all have to check out. If Kid Roberts ain't back at his trainin' camp by to-night, there'll be a fearful squawk from the promoters and"
"Oh, bother the old promoters!" butts in Maida, with a tantalizin' smile at the waverin' Kid. "Please stay, Mister Roberts, won't you? I assure you you're being signally honored. General Nogales rarely pleads with a guest to stay—I never have before!"
With that Cutey for your lawyer you'd get off with a reprimand for blowin' up the White House!
The Kid turns to me. "Frankly, Joe," he says, "the general's invitation appeals to me. The bout with Bob Young has been practically postponed, and we may as well stay in these delightful surroundings a few days before returning to the United States. It will afford us all a much-needed rest, and I feel it would be extremely discourteous to refuse the general's hospitality."
With that, before I can say a word, he bows to Pancho and Maida. "We accept your invitation with pleasure," he says.
"Hot coffee!" bawls Ptomaine, half-ways through his jug, "'at's what I call usin' your head for more than a barber's playground!"
"Gracia, señors, I am delighted!" says Pancho, slappin' his hands together and smilin' strangely.
"I knew you'd stay," murmurs Maida to Kid Roberts, risin' from the table. "Come, let me show you our sunken gardens."
Kid Roberts squandered most of the day in the pleasant company of the fair Maida, whilst me and Ptomaine stuck around with Pancho at Pancho's urgent request. His system for makin' friends was costly, but perfect. For example, I remarked on a kind of odd and no doubt valuable ring Pancho was wearin', and he immediately gives it to me for a keepsake. Ptomaine raves over a bay mare in the stables, and, with a lordly wave of his hand, Pancho makes said bay mare the property of the open-mouthed Ptomaine. A bronze statuette caught the eye of Kid Roberts, and Pancho forces it on the astonished Kid as a remembrance of his visit. Pancho was some host, what?
We file into the big, oak-roofed dinin' room about seven p. m. To our large amazement six guys we haven't saw before is already seated at the table. These babies is no cholos—every one of 'em is dignified, well-dressed, and looks like he knew what it was all about and why. Class stuck out all over 'em. Pancho introduces us to them with great ceremony. But—he don't introduce them to us! Kid Roberts is no little embarrassed and plenty surprised when Pancho makes not the slightest mention of the gents' names, but the six newcomers seemed to take the kind of odd introduction as a matter of course.
All through the dinner the strange sextette never took their eyes off Pancho, watchin' his every move, but they paid absolutely no attention to us. One of the strangers was French, two was German, one a Englishman, one either Spanish or italian, and the last a American. They talked strictly amongst themselves in low voices and mostly in foreign tongues. Maida appeared to have a healthy respect for them all. It was just the opposite with Pancho. Our aged and excentric boy friend took no pains to hide the fact that he liked them the same way he liked sulphuric acid, and every now and then he'd look up over his plate to sneer at them, all of which mystified me and the Kid, but didn't bother Ptomaine. That mock-turtle was busy eatin'!
After dinner come another surprise in the shape of a swell entertainment in the patio, showin' that Pancho had kept his word about sendin' into Tia Juana for performers. Dancin' followed hard on the heels of the show. Kid Roberts was whirlin' about with Maida when Pancho suddenly appeared on the scene, whispered to 'em, and they stopped dancin' at once. The Kid frowned, but excused himself and started away with Pancho, signalin' me to follow him. Maida throwed Ptomaine a mischievously invitin' look, and this big stiff bounded over and finished the Kid's dance with her, missin' the conference which followed. That was just as well, as the only conference where Ptomaine would get any attention would be a conference of maniacs.
Pancho took me and the Kid to a room at the end of the hacienda, locked the doors and windows and otherwise throwed mystery around in a lavish way with precautions for secrecy. With these preliminaries, he announces that the six guys we met at dinner is his deadly enemies! I'll give you his story like he gives it to us.
It seems that when Pancho Nogales was in power in Sonora durin' his revolutionary days, these six jobbies, composin' a oil syndicate, had double-crossed him. He thought their word was as good as their bond. It was—but their bond was worthless. Accordin' to Pancho, they got some valuable concessions from him, gypped him out of the jack they was supposed to pay for them, and, not content with that deviltry, they went to work and led him into a trap so's the Government army could capture him. Well, it's a hobby of Pancho's not to let nobady give him a pushin' around like that and get away with it, even if he's no longer a dictator, and for years he's schemed and plotted for revenge. Fin'ly, says Pancho, Lady Luck smiled on him with the results that he got these six scissor-bills together at his hacienda, makin' 'em think he'd decided to let bygones be bygones. How he pulled off that seemin'ly impossible stunt and just how he's goin' to bear down on these birds, Pancho says he will explain fully the next day.
"You are going to kill them?" gasps Kid Roberts, in alarm.
"Ah, no, señor," smiles Pancho, rubbin' his hands together, "I have done with killings. I have passed my word to my Government, and I am a gentleman. Had I these dogs in my hands ten years ago—well, a firing squad in the patio and poof—it is done! No. señor, my revenge shall smack of the poetic. I shall thrust at their pocketbooks, where it will hurt most!"
Pancho was a peach of a talker—a hypnotist with language, what I mean! In no time at all he had me and the Kid all built up and ready to run them six yeggs ragged. When at last he pleaded with us to help him get even, swearin' he'd ask us to do nothin' illegal or dishonorable, we both unhesitatin'ly shook his hand and promised to be in his corner whenever he started. Down in that country the motto is "Mañana!" i. e., never do to-day what you can put off till to-morrow, so when we asked Pancho his plans he simply smiled and says we'll hear the whole works in the mornin'.
Well, me and Kid Roberts went back to the dance after hearin' Pancho's tale, and, of course, we now regarded the six strangers as villains of the first water. As we entered the patio, the American amongst Pancho's enemies stopped us. We give him a icy cold look. He'd saw us leave the place with Pancho and I suppose he figured Pancho had tipped us off about him and his gang.
"Pardon me, gentlemen," says the stranger, "but I want to tell you about our relation to Pancho Nogales. He—"
"That will do!" interrupts Kid Roberts sternly. "Pancho Nogales is your host, I believe, and, as a guest, I do not care to listen to any criticism of him while enjoying his hospitality!"
"Besides," I sneered, "we know all about it!"
The stranger gives us a queer look. Then he bows. "Very well," he says. "If you know all about it, there is nothing further to be said. Good-night, gentlemen!"
If we had only listened to that guy!...
Pancho kept out of our sight all the next mornin'—in fact, he didn't even show up for lunch. About the middle of the afternoon me and the Kid is strollin' up and down the patio for exercise, when the Kid lets forth a strangled gasp and buries his finger nails in my shoulder. No wonder. Approachin' us, arm in arm, is Pancho Nogales and Bob Young, the heavyweight champion!
Recoverin' from the first shock of this astonishin' discovery, me and the Kid slipped round a corner and watched 'em. They seemed to be arguin' about somethin'—Young shakin' his head doubtfully and Pancho wavin' his arms with that appealin' look on his face which was there when he talked to us. Knowin' what a high-class pleader Pancho was when he got well under way, I was satisfied that Young would do whatever this egg wanted. I immediately figured there was some kind of a plot in the air to injure Kid Roberts, and the dumfounded Kid did'nt know what to figure! We ducked around to the house, found Maida and sent her scurryin' for Pancho. In a few minutes the exdictator strolls up, smilin' pleasantly and rubbin' his hands together like a well-pleased pawnbroker. Kid Roberts went right to the point and demanded a explanation of the heavyweight champion's presence at the hacienda where he was also a guest.
"Ah!" says Pancho, still smilin', "that is how I will have revenge on those six devils who ruin me!"
Then whilst me and the Kid listen in open-mouthed amazement, Pancho tells us that he lured his six enemies to the hacienda with the promise that they would see Kid Roberts and Bob Young fight there for the heavyweight championship of the world! They had traveled thousands of miles to reach Tia Juana for the big battle, and when it was apparently called off there they eagerly accepted his invitation.
"I must confess that I don't see the point of all this," says Kid Roberts. "As I understand the situation, you have used Bob Young and myself as decoys to bring your enemies here. Well, what is next on your interesting program, and in what way do you think we could help you settle accounts?"
"You and Señor Young will fight for me!" says Pancho promptly.
"You mean thrash those men? Absurd!" says the Kid. "I told you I would do nothing that was—"
"A moment, señor!" butts in Pancho. "You misunderstand. It would indeed be absurd as you say, for you and Señor Young to attack those scoundrels. You will fight each other!"
Me and Kid Roberts just stares at him, thunderstruck.
"What—here?" exclaims Kid Roberts. "You—why, you're joking!"
"I never jest, Señor Roberts!" says Pancho earnestly. "I have wagered those six devils half a million dollars that you will defeat Señor Young. Does that sound like a joke?"
"But, see here!" says the Kid excitedly, "you can't do a thing like this, you know. I—we—"
"You pledged me your word of honor that you would help me!" Pancho reminds him, "I am asking nothing dishonorable. I will pay both you and Sejfior Young handsomely for your services. I have a ring, gloves, and the other impedimenta at hand. I have planned this coup carefully for weeks. You, Señor Roberts, most opportunely appeared. Señor Young was brought here upon the pretence that he was to dine with high Government officials, with a view to straightening out the difficulty of holding the fight at Tia Juana. So you see—"
"Suppose I hadn't appeared and Young had refused to come?" butts in the Kid, half laughin'.
"Señor Roberts!" says Pancho pleasantly, "there are many who are still faithful to Pancho Nogales. I would have had both of you kidnapped. It is a thing I have been known to do well!"
"But how will my fighting Bob Young in any way affect your enemies?" persists the Kid.
"They will lose a half million dollars when you win!" hisses Pancho.
"I may lose," suggests Kid Roberts.
"The moon may be made of cheese, señor," answers Pancho, with a wink and a curl of his lip.
Somewhat to my alarm, Kid Roberts appears to be considerin' the thing seriously. He turns to me with knitted brow.
"Well, what do you think of all this, Joe?" he asks.
"The whole business sounds crazy!" I says, findin' my voice at last, "Why, if—"
"I will pay Señor Roberts fifty thousand dollars!" Pancho cuts me off. "There is nothing crazy about fifty thousand dollars. To Señor Young, the champion, I give one hundred thousand dollars!"
"Yes, and you'll give us a hundred grand too, Pancho, or we won't turn a wheel!" I says, hopin' that would wind matters up.
"It shall be as you wish, señor," returned Pancho smoothly, with a low bow, "You shall have one hundred thousand dollars, and I shall have revenge. You will be ready, then, to-night?"
"You're dizzy!" I almost shouted, before Kid Roberts could answer. "I should say we won't be ready to-night! I don't even know if we'll do it at all. Anyways, we got to have time to think this cuckoo idea of yours over. There's a whole lot of things to be taken up and—"
"Then let us take up those things now!' Pancho butts in." Further delay would be fatal to my plans—already those six fiends grow impatient, perhaps suspicious. Both Señor Roberts and Señor Young are trained to the minute and expected to fight at Tia Juana within a few days. Señor Young brings definite word that the bout has now been positively forbidden by the authorities. Then what is the objection to holding the contest here? As you say in your country: 'Eventually, why not now?' If not, you will go back to the United States empty-handed and out of pocket your training expenses. On the other hand, if you fight here to-night you will be well paid. Señor Young has accepted my offer. You have promised on the word of an American gentleman to assist me in bringing those six villains to book. I await your answer with confidence, señors!"
Well, as Kid Roberts told me afterward, Pancho's deadly seriousness, the novelty of his proposition and his cool nerve in making it, appealed—to his sense of humor. The Kid had disliked the six strangers at first sight and the fact that they held him so cheap against Young that they was willin' to bet half a million he would lose aroused in him a strong desire to see them taken. But the winnin' argument was that hundred thousand Pancho was goin' to give us, Pancho's hundred thousand grand was important money to Kid Roberts. It meant a swift exit from the ring, a healthy stake to start a new trick with, and the return of the beautiful Dolores.
That's the way Pancho's stunt sized up to Kid Roberts, and in spite of my frenzied protests he accepted it. O sole mia!
The instant the Kid agreed, Pancho Nogales became the busiest guy in the land of Mexico. Trusted messengers was sent scamperin' to the trainin' camps of both Kid Roberts and Bob Young for their handlers. Others rode away to get Young's manager, the official timekeeper, and the referee. Pancho told his messengers that if one word leaked out to the authorities, they knew what to expect. From the way them cholos turned pale and shivered, I was double positive that this fracas was goin' to be more secret than Mr. Secret himself!
The first one to arrive on the battle ground was Toledo Eddie Hicks, Bob Young's manager, and he was fit to be tied! The champ's pilot carried on like a maniac, swearin' me and Kid Roberts had framed his visible means of support, and yellin' that he wouldn't let Young go on with the fight if he had to call out the United States army to get him away from the hacienda. Neither Pancho or us even answered him, and fin'ly Bob Young, which since he won the title had been filled with the idea that a manager was a waste of good money, told Toledo Eddie to shut up and go roll his hoop if he didn't like the way things was goin'. Young thought Kid Roberts a set-up and sneerin'ly offered to bet half his end of Pancho's purse that the Kid wouldn't last six rounds. The offer was refused with thanks. Bob Young was a tough boy—he was also champion, and we was takin' no reckless chances with that hundred thousand. It meant too much, get me? Kid Roberts was goin' in there to do his best. He hoped to win. He figured he prob'ly would win, but if he did get knocked off, why, he wasn't goin' to go back home broke. Smart boy, eh? I thought so too till—but wait!
It was exactly 9.20 that night when Kid Roberts and Bob Young climbed through the ropes in the ghostly glare of a score of lanterns Pancho had stretched over the ring. Pancho sat with Maida and his six enemies at the ringside. The ex-bandit was as excited as a Kid on Xmas Eve, but the six villains was as calm and collected as that many Supreme Court judges. What struck me funny at the time was that they paid much more attention to watchin' Pancho than they did to watchin' the fighters.
No wonder!
At 9.45 to the dot Harry Haines, which was to have been timekeeper at Tia Juana, pulled the bell, and the panic was on.
By agreement there was no hand-shakin', the men comin' out fightin'. Kid Roberts was nervous and looked worried, but Young was confidence itself. The champ landed the first blow, a light left to the head, and followed that with a terrific right uppercut that missed the Kid's jaw by inches and might of ended the fight had it landed. They clinched, and each was too busy tyin' the other up to get in any punishin' blows. On the word from the referee, they broke, and the Kid put a left and right to the wind which made Young grunt. Roberts then tried to feint Young into uncoverin' his jaw, but the champion laughed at him and hooked a hard right to the body. They was talkin' to each other, but what they was sayin' I don't know. Sorry! Kid Roberts shot two stiff lefts to the face. The Kid was now well warmed up, and a torrid right to the head rocked the champ and removed the smile from his pan. Young at once became all business, and they exchanged lefts and rights in mid ring till you could of heard them Mexicans yellin' in Montenegro, and Pancho much further than that! One of Young's swingin' rights caught the Kid high on the cheek bone and raised a big lump. A few seconds later another right to the same place sent him back against the ropes. I bellered for him to clinch, but instead he suddenly straightened up as Young closed in to finish him and shot his left to the champ's jaw. It was a terrible punch, and Young went back on his heels just as the bell rung, sendin' him to his corner a very tired and a very thoughtful scrapper.
Havin' the time of his life, Pancho shook his fist at his six boy friends and yelled encouragement to Kid Roberts in Mexican and English. The six didn't give him a tumble. The Kid was in great shape as he sat on his stool, and required little attention. Over in Young's corner they was just drownin' him with advice.
Evidently sore at the Kid's showin' in the openin' frame, the champ come out in the second with a rush that swept Kid Roberts to the ropes. Young jolted the Kid hard with rights and lefts, but instead of coverin' up and givin' ground, Roberts seemed more than anxious to trade punches, and stopped Young's rally with two hard rights over the heart. A clinch caused the perspirin' referee plenty trouble bustin' up and then Young sent the Mexicans wild by droppin' the Kid to to canvas with a short right hook to the chin. Roberts took "eight" and come up shakin' his head to clear away the cobwebs. He tried to work in close, but Young jabbed him away with a nearly perfect left that soon started the claret in a stream from the Kid's nose. At this point Maida got up and left the ringside, her hands over her eyes. Young drove Roberts around the ring with a shower of rights and lefts, fin'ly sendin' him down in a neutral corner. This time the Kid was hurt, but he was up at "nine," swayin' dizzily on his feet. Young carefully measured him with a straight left and sent him sprawlin' again with a clean right swing. The referee had just begun the count when the gong come to the rescue. Three knockdowns in that round. Not so good, but Kid Roberts wasn't out yet!
I had a very sick young man on my hands between the second and third rounds, whilst in Young's corner they were laughin' and jokin'. They figured the fight was in. I told Kid Roberts to stall out the next frame till he got a little stronger, and his answer, through lips puffed and bleedin' from Young's straight left, was that he was goin' to end it in the next frame! Pancho Nogales sat with his head in his hands sayin' nothin', and the six conspirators didn't look no more excited then they had from the start.
The third round of that quarrel was worth walkin' miles on your hands to see! Kid Roberts dashed from his corner and carried the fight to Young. He opened the ball with a sizzlin' left hook that rocked the champion from head to toe and brought a fresh outburst from the highly delighted Pancho. Young steadied himself and hooked his own left to the wind, but was short with a followin' right. Roberts missed a right swing, and then both forgot all they knew about science and slugged away like a couple of stevedores. A straight right connected with Young's jaw, and he dropped to one knee. Pancho went crazy and I wasn't far behind him.
"Finish him now, Kid!" I roared, and Roberts nodded coolly, waitin' for the groggy champ to rise.
Young was up at "seven," unsteady on his feet, but still willin' to make a fight of it. The Kid missed a left hook through bein' overanxious, and Young fell into a clinch. Roberts fought himself free, but he was tired and winded from the effort and the terrific pace, which was showin' on both men. Roberts drove a tight to the wind and a left to the face, takin' a stiff tight to the heart in return. This exchange seemed to wake both of 'em up again, and the fun waxed fast and furious. In this rally the Kid used his vicious right uppercut with such good effect that he soon had Young staggerin' all over the ring, plainly in distress. The Kid was wild, however, and missed a half dozen punches that would of made him champion. Toward the end of the round he hung Young over the ropes with a left to the jaw, and the champion slipped to a half sittin' position as the bell rung.
Both Kid Roberts and Young was dead tired in the fourth and content to spar for wind. The champion, hurt and very careful, took no chances, and the Kid, sure he had his man well started on the road to defeat, was satisfied to rest and recover his strength rather than waste it in wild and misplaced blows. About the middle of the round Young managed to send in a hard right to the head that seemed to bother Kid Roberts, but a barrage of rights and lefts to the wind had Young hangin' on for his life at the bell.
The champion's handlers worked like beavers over their man durin' the rest, while all the Kid required was a light massage and half a orange jammed in his mouth. He himself stopped the jubilant Ptomaine from wavin' the towel, sayin' it chilled him. Pancho Nogales was screamin' his head off. His six victims might have been watchin' a checker tourney for all the emotion they displayed!
Young came out for the fifth round somewhat revived. He opened with two lefts to the face, and Kid Roberts closed in, hammerin'. Young seemed to wilt and hung on. The referee tore them apart, ahd on the break Roberts landed a left uppercut and a second later almost floored the champion with a right of the same brand.
Young was desperate now. He must of felt he was goin' to get it, and he clinched at every opportunity. Kid Roberts sent a half dozen clean jabs to the champ's face without a return. Young was bankin' everything on landin' one swing. A lucky punch was his only chance, and he knew it!
The Kid continued to shoot left jabs at Young's face, occasionally crossin' his right. With a dyin' flurry the champion staggered the too-eager Kid with a left swing to the neck, and, in attemptin' to follow with a right, Young fell to the floor. Kid Roberts helped him up, and the champ planted a right solidly in the ribs. The Kid rushed and drove Young before him with a volley of rights and lefts to head and body. The champ's defence was feeble, and the ropes against his back brought him up short in his own corner. He swung wildly with both hands, but the Kid had steadied now and blocked cleverly, keepin' the dazed Young off balance with a straight left. With fifty-five seconds to go, Kid Roberts planted a left hook under the jaw and the champ tottered. Another left to the chin sent Young to his knees. He arose unsteadily, just in time to beat the count, and both the referee and the Kid called to the champ's handlers to throw in the towel. Instead, Young's seconds bawled for him to clinch, as the bell would save him in about twenty seconds.
The champ was too far gone for advice, however. He grazed the Kid's face with a weak left, and an instant later crashed to the canvas face down from a right to the point of his jaw. The gong clanged just three seconds after the referee had counted Young out, but it was fifteen minutes later before he was able to leave his corner!
Well, while Kid Roberts was shakin' Young's limp glove and tellin' him the old stuff about what a game fighter he was, Pancho Nogales rushed about like a wild man, almost cryin' with joy. The six which had lost half a million on the Kid's victory arose and went into the house, seemin'ly not the least bit disturbed by their hard luck. I left the Kid in the capable hands of Ptomaine and the other handlers and rushed up to Pancho for our hundred thousand bucks. Pancho throwed his arms around me and kissed me on both cheeks.
"Ah, but that was magnificent!" he says. "A contest to thrill the gods. Come—you shall have your reward!"
I followed him down to the room with the heavily barred vault, and after openin' between 65 and 124 locks, he swings wide the door and tells me to dash in and help myself to the gold bars. I made one lunge past him and then let out a yell.
The vault was absolutely empty!
Kind of dazed, I turned to Pancho for a explanation, and he's nowheres in sight, but from the end of the hall comes sounds of scufflin'. I'm there as fast as a pair of tremblin' legs can take me, and my eyes pop out till you could of hung your hat on either of 'em when I see Pancho Nogales strugglin' in the grasp of his six enemies. One of them is sayin' soothin'ly:
"Come, Pancho, you have had enough excitement for one day. We shall put you to sleep for a while!"
Just then Maida blows in and walks up to this baby.
"Oh, Dr. Mazelli, shall I prepare a hypo?" she asks him.
I come out of my trance as a horrible suspicion begins to dawn on me!
"Doctor?" I holler. "What the—"
The American among the six whatnots looks at me curiously.
"I tried to explain to you, sir," he says coldly, "but you informed me that you knew all about it. Those were your very words. I naturally thought Mister Roberts and his friend Mister Young were conversant with General Nogales's condition and had put on that interesting boxing exhibition to humor the whim of a once great man. Nogales, of course, is as crazy as a bat—has been for years!"
Sweet Mamma!
"Then you guys ain't no oil syndicate which gypped him?" I managed to gasp.
The doctor smiles like I was a child or a idiot.
"My friend," he says, "we, the general's personal physicians, have listened to that hallucination of his for months. We are always the six who have ruined him! It grows tiresome, but is quite harmless. I—"
"But the jack—the hundred grand for fightin' Young?" I howled, interruptin' him. "Where do we get that?"
"My dear sir," says the doctor, lookin' at me in alarm, "is it possible that you are also mentally deranged?"
"I would advise the gentleman to file a claim with the Government," butts in another of the doctors, "which pays for all the general's reasonable expenditures."
"D'ye think there's any chance of me collectin'?" I asked him wildly.
"About the same day!" murmurs the American doctor thoughtfully.
"What d'ye mean the same day?" I says, crazy with rage.
"The same day the Gulf of Mexico turns into malted milk!" says the doctor, and turns to a grinnin' servant: "Pedro, show the gentleman out!"