FRANK SAVES THE DAY
Frank's first thought was to go to the assistance of Roy Stone. The
latter and his opponent--in the darkness Frank could not distinguish
whether it was Morales or Von Arnheim--were locked with their arms
about each other and rolling on the ground. His second thought was as
to the whereabouts of the other man.
He glanced about in alarm. Dark though the plateau was, however, he
could see there was no other in sight. Bending down to the fissure in
the rock, he could still hear the voice of Morales, and although he
could not distinguish the words, he received the impression that the
Mexican was angered for some reason. To Frank this meant that Morales
was having difficulty in radioing the Calomares ranch, and his heart
leaped with exultation. Jack had interfered.
A wild thought leaped full grown into his mind. Stone had given Bob a
stiff battle; he probably would do the same to Von Arnheim, even
though his shoulder was sore. What was to prevent Frank from slipping
down to the cave while the two were engaged, where he could release
Tom Bodine, surprise Morales and recapture the cave and the radio
plant?
The next moment a feeling of shame surged over him. If Von Arnheim
gained the upper hand, he would kill Stone without compunction.
Putting aside his first thought, Frank ran to where the two forms
still lay tightly locked on the ground, neither able to gain an
advantage.
He bent down, and the first thing his gaze encountered was an upflung
hand grasping a revolver, and another hand gripped about the wrist of
the first and preventing use of the weapon. He surmised it was Von
Arnheim who held the weapon, and acted accordingly.
Grasping the German's hand, he pressed back the fingers so sharply a
cry of pain was wrung from Von Arnheim's lip. The revolver dropped to
the ground. Its owner, however, pluckily continued the fight. Frank
danced about, the captured weapon clubbed in his hand, ready to deal a
blow when possible. But so furious was the fight that he feared to
strike, lest he hit his friend.
Precious minutes were flying by. He was in an agony. Morales had to be
prevented from radioing the ranch, if Jack and Bob were to stand their
chance.
Then suddenly Roy Stone gained the upper hand of his opponent. He
legs were twined about Von Arnheim, he clutched the other to his
chest, one arm was in the small of his back, the other was pressed
across his throat, his chin was sunk deep into the German's shoulder.
Von Arnheim had only one arm free, the other was pinioned to his side.
With this free arm he plucked futilely at Roy's arm across his throat,
unable to reach the guarded face. It was a grip Von Arnheim was
powerless to break, and it was only a question of time until he would
be throttled into submission.
With a leap of the heart, Frank realized this. And bending down with
his lips to Stone's ear, he said:
"I've got his gun. If you can hold him now I'm going into the cave
after Morales. He's still at the phone."
A grunt was Stone's only reply as he pressed his chin deeper into the
other's shoulder. Von Arnheim's body was beginning to arch like a bow.
If he did not surrender soon, his back would be broken.
Frank darted off down the slope.
Morales was seated at the telephone as Frank entered the cave,
captured revolver in his hand. His own weapon hung forgotten at his
side, so little used was he to the handling of small arms. Frank had
tumbled, fallen, rolled down the slope, taking no precautions, fired
only with anxiety to prevent Morales from radioing while there was yet
time.
The Mexican also, in his anxiety to reach the ranch and give the
warning, had cast caution aside.
Across the outer room dashed Frank, scarcely noting the trussed-up
figure of Tom Bodine flung in one corner. No hangings obscured the
brightly-lighted interior of the inner cave, for they had been torn
down the night before to form a pallet.
Morales sat with his back turned, the headpiece clamped over his ears.
Frank darted forward and brought the butt of the revolver crashing
down on the Mexican's head. Without a sound, without a gurgle or a
cry, Morales swayed in the chair, then slumped to one side and slid to
the floor.
With nervous haste Frank pulled the headpiece from the other and
clamped it on his head. At once a crackle of Spanish words filled his
ears. He could make nothing of them. What little knowledge of Spanish
he once had possessed was not at his command now.
"Jack, Bob," he cried, pulling the microphone toward him. "This is
Frank. Do you hear me? Frank."
The chattering ceased as if by magic.
"Frank? What in the world?"
Glory be! It was Jack's voice in reply.
"Use the code," cried Frank. In this emergency his brain was working
lightning-fast. And in their own private code he added:
"It's all right now. They captured Tom Bodine while we were down in
the valley seeing you off. But we've recaptured the cave."
"You saved our lives," came back Jack's voice. "I heard your Mexican
friend call the ranch while we were flying, and at once started to
interfere. It's been a job and my throat's hoarse. But he never got
his message through, I can tell you that. Whatever it was he had to
tell, I never did find out. I just started interfering, singing,
talking, shouting. The ranch never found out what he was trying to
say, and neither did I. But, boy, you're just in time. We can see the
lights now. What? What's that?"
What he heard was a shout.
But Frank was too busy to answer his question. Morales had recovered
consciousness and was on his knees and struggling to his feet, when
out of the tail of his eye Frank saw his peril. Snatching the
instrument from his head, he flung himself sideways. The impact of his
body hurled Morales again to the floor.
Frank had placed the captured revolver on the table, as he telephoned.
He would have to fight with his bare hands. Well, he would not let the
Mexican overcome him and regain possession of that radiophone unless
he killed Frank first. With hands gripped about the other's throat and
legs twined about his body, Frank fought as he never thought he could
fight. Morales was a heavy man, heavier even than Von Arnheim who had
overcome Frank in that tempestuous fight in the darkness the night
before. But his senses were still somewhat numbed from the blow on the
head dealt him earlier by Frank, and the boy was fighting with a
strength born of desperate resolve.
Frank's grip on the Mexican's throat tightened. Morales was unable to
pluck those cruel hands away. His face became purple. His eyes started
from his head. Suddenly he went limp beneath Frank, and sank to the
floor.
Frank stood up swaying. The excitement and the strain of the combat
had had their effect on him. There are mighty few boys of his age and
build who could have gone through what he did and still keep their
feet. Dancing points of light swam before his vision. He brushed a
hand across his eyes to clear them. He reeled and would have fallen,
but his hand clutched the table and steadied him.
What was it he must do? There was something which had to be done. Oh,
if his head only would clear. Call Jack! Yes, that was it. Had to tell
the old boy to go ahead--radio plant still Frank's--enemy couldn't
get any warning from that Mexican fellow--had to tell him, had to.
Clutching the table, swaying, but with lips tightly pressed together
and teeth clenched, Frank made his way to the microphone. Holding the
headpiece to his ear, he set his lips to the telephone instrument and
called:
"Jack, Jack, you there?"
"Yes, yes," came back the anxious reply. "What happened?"
"It's all right, Jack. Go ahead. I licked--him."
The headpiece fell from his grasp. Frank sank to the floor.
It was there a moment later that Roy Stone found him, fallen in a heap
across the body of the Mexican. Both were unconscious.
Stone was shaky himself. His battle with Von Arnheim had been a severe
one, and the wound in his shoulder had started bleeding again. But as
his gaze took in the situation, he turned to Tom Bodine, whose bonds
he had cut on his way through the outer cave, and said in a tone of
warmest admiration:
"Some boy."