"Don't know yet. Looks familiar, though. Here he comes."

"It's Joe Hawkins!" exclaimed Bud, as the horseman rode into view.

"Hi, Joe--Mr. Hawkins, I mean."

"Joe'll do, son," the deputy said with a smile as he dismounted.

"Looks like you was havin' a convention here."

"Just thinking things over," the Kid, who had walked up, explained.

"Glad you came, Mr. Hawkins."

"Thought that was you," Billee Dobb said, rising to his feet and removing the pipe from his mouth. "Seen you way off, and says to myself, bet that's Joe Hawkins."

"You got good eyes," laughed the deputy.

"Oh, it wasn't exactly my eyes. I had a hunch."

"Billee Dobb is our official detective," Bud said with a grin. "Tell him about the hand-bill you copped, Billee."

Explanations were in order, and with continuous interruptions the deputy finally heard the story of the cyclone and what followed. He questioned the boys as to the appearance and talk of Delton, and at last confessed that he must be the man wanted.

"Though I didn't think they knew just who he was," Hawkins added. "All I knew was that the reward of two thousand was for the head of the smuggling system. So they got him spotted, have they? That means we won't have to work in the dark. It's a wonder the central office wouldn't give a man the whole story when they're about it, instead of lettin' it trickle through. Well, boys, it's time you knew what this smuggling is all about, hey?"

CHAPTER XII

THE STORY OF SMUGGLING

"Between this country and Mexico," began the deputy, "there's a strip of land called the border--on one side U. S., and on the other Greaser-land. You know all about that. Across this border run several roads--pa.s.sages into and from Mexico. And each of these roads is patroled by United States officers.

"These men are placed there for a purpose, and one purpose among others is to prevent the illegal sending into the States of Chinamen. You see only so many foreigners from each nation are allowed to settle in the United States each year, and once that quota is reached, no more will be admitted. Naturally there are always men who want to come to the "Land of Plenty" and make their fortunes, but unless these men are within the quota for that year, they are forbidden to enter. All Chinese are forbidden entry and have been for several years.

"But there are ways and means of getting around that situation.

Suppose a Chinaman wants to become rich. The first thing he thinks about is America. All he has to do in America, he thinks, is to bend over and pick up the gold pieces that are lying in heaps all over the streets.

"So the Chinaman makes up his mind to come to America. He goes to Foy Lee, a slick friend of his, to find out about it. Foy Lee says 'Good thing you see me. Sure. I fix you up. Easy. You want go America?

All light. Can do. You got fifteen hundred dollah?' Now where would a poor c.h.i.n.k get fifteen hundred dollars? He tells Foy Lee there ain't that much money in the world. So Foy Lee starts thinkin'. He rubs the top of his head, blinks his eyes, and grunts twice. Then he says, 'you still want go America?' 'Sure!' our c.h.i.n.k answers. 'All light,' says Foy Lee. 'You come with me.' The rascal knows all the time what to do, only he wants to make it seem hard, so he can get his little rake off.

"Foy Lee takes his friend to an office over on a side street in some Chinese city. There he meets a man who guarantees him pa.s.sage to U. S.

if the c.h.i.n.k will just sign the paper. That's all--no money nor nuthin'--only sign the paper an' he gets to America. What is the paper? Oh, just a promise that the c.h.i.n.k will pay the company that's sending him all his future wages--less enough for food--until fifteen hundred dollars have been paid. Just a mere matter of slavery, that's what it amounts to.

"But the c.h.i.n.k signs. What's fifteen hundred in the land of 'plenty dollah?' Now our c.h.i.n.k is put on a vessel bound for Mexico. There he is met by an agent of the same company that put him on board in China.

"This agent takes him to a town, near the border--say Presidio, or some such place. Then the real fun begins. The company notifies their man at headquarters that the c.h.i.n.k has arrived and is ready to be shipped across the border. Headquarters looks up the c.h.i.n.k's bond that he signed in China, and which has been received through the mail, and sends back word that everything is O. K., that the c.h.i.n.k, with several others, is to be handed to a smuggler at a certain spot, to be smuggled over the border. And when the c.h.i.n.k is so delivered the company's part ends.

"After this the c.h.i.n.k's fate is in the hands of the smugglers, and if they get caught, and the poor coot is sent back to China again by the emigration authorities, he's still got to pay that fifteen hundred, although all he got for his money was a long ride and hard treatment.

"The border runners take their consignment of Chinese and either pack them in the back of an auto or wagon, or arrange to smuggle them across some other way. If they're lucky, they get through. If not they get hauled up by the border officers, and the runners get jail and the c.h.i.n.ks are sent back to their native land. And even if they do get through the lines the c.h.i.n.ks' troubles aren't over, for at any time they're liable to be pulled in for not having what they call a 'chock gee,' which is a government paper signifying they are here lawfully and not by smuggling. I told you about that before.

"And that's how the game works. These smugglers get hold of a ranch near the border so they can hide their c.h.i.n.ks when they get them across, until the time is set to turn them loose. 'Course I can't say that's what this place has been used for. But it would be great for it."

The narrator paused and the Boy Ranchers drew long breaths of excitement.

"Well, boys, what do you think about it?"

The tall deputy looked from one to the other. He was prepared for a deluge of questions, and they came.

"Can't the Chinese counterfeit this 'chock gee'?"

"Who gets the fifteen hundred dollars?"

"Has that smuggling been going on here--near the Shooting Star?"

"Cease firing!" the deputy laughed. "I'll answer Bud's question first.

Yes, it _has_ been going on here--right past Roaring River. That's how our marshal got shot up--tryin' to stop a load of c.h.i.n.ks from gettin'

through.

"That fifteen hundred, d.i.c.k, is divided between the men who actually do the running, and the company that ships the c.h.i.n.ks to Mexico. The smugglers get about five hundred a head for every man they get in. The 'chock gee' is often counterfeited, but not very successfully. It's printed like a government bank bill, and is just as hard to fake."

For some time the discussion about smuggling went on. The deputy told of the different tricks resorted to by the border runners in getting their human cargo safely into the United States, and to what lengths they will go to prevent capture. Boats are also used to transport the Chinese to the American seacoast, Hawkins said, and if, by chance, the runners were caught with a load of prospective undesirable Americans they got out of the difficulty by the simple expedient of dumping the Chinese into the sea.

Another method of transportation was for the smugglers to put off in a small craft from a Mexican port, with a cargo of barrels and Chinese.

When the boat neared the United States coast the Chinese would be nailed in the barrels and thrown overboard, to trust to the mercies of Fate to bring them ash.o.r.e. Often the wind blows in an offsh.o.r.e direction, which spells death to the floating Chinese; weeks later they are found dead, when the barrels pile up on some distant coast.

This system of sneaking Chinese into this country was well established, said Hawkins, and the smugglers make use of scouts in small cars before they attempt to bring a load of Chinese across the line. These scouts ride swiftly along the route of the proposed entry, and locate, definitely, the position of each border patrol, so that when the run is actually made the driver of the car filled with Chinese knows the spots to avoid.

Of course the Boy Ranchers were chiefly interested in the part their new Shooting Star property might have played in this game of smuggling.

"And the fellow that lived here is the local head of that system!" Bud exclaimed. "Say, we let a rare bird go when he escaped."

"We've still got a chance to get him," d.i.c.k declared. "He must be around somewhere. That note--you saw the note we found, didn't you, Mr. Hawkins?--well, that indicated we might look for another visit from the coot. The Kid will be glad to see him, eh, Kid?"

"An' I don't mean maybe!" Yellin' Kid exploded. "Stealin' the best bronc I ever had--just when I was gettin' him broken in proper--an' me away out here in the wilderness with nothin' to ride----"

"I'll get you a pony," the deputy offered. "There's one I know of that's a beaut--fast and strong. Friend of mine wants to sell her."

"I'd be sure grateful if you'd do that, mister. It sort of hits me hard, losin' a good bronc like that."

"It wasn't your fault, Kid," Bud hastened to say. "And Dad will insist on buying you another. So if Mr. Hawkins knows of one that will suit you, take it. You'll fix him up with a horse then, Mr. Hawkins?"

"Depend on it," the tall deputy declared. "Now to business. I've told you boys all I knew about the way smuggling is being done around here, but I didn't do it just to be interestin'. I want you-all to help me."

"Sure!"

"That's what we're here for!"

"No, we're not, Kid," Bud corrected. "We're here to herd sheep. But we'll certainly help Mr. Hawkins all we can."