Over North Island the high, clear notes of the bugle sounding reveille
woke Johnny. Immediately afterward a guard appeared to take him in
charge, from which Johnny gathered that he was still being "detained."
He did not want to be detained, and he did not feel that they had any
right to detain him. He flopped over and pulled the blankets over his
ears.
"Here, you get up. Captain wants you brought before him right after
chow, and that's coming along soon as you can get into your pants. You
better be steppin'."
"Aw, what's he want to see me for?" Johnny growled. It would be much
pleasanter to go back to his dream of Mary V.
"Why, to shoot you, stupid. Whadda yuh think?"
"I'd hate to tell yuh right to your face, but at that I may force
myself to it if you hang around long enough," Johnny retorted, getting
into his clothes hurriedly, for the morning was chill and bleak.
"Where's that chuck you was talking about? Say, good golly, but you're
a sorry looking bird. I'm sure glad I ain't a soldier."
"Whadda yuh mean, glad? It takes a man to do man-size work. That's
what I mean. Wait till about twelve of us stand before yuh waiting for
the word! Lucky for you this sand makes soft digging, or you wouldn't
have pep enough left to dig your own grave, see."
"You seem to know. Is yours dug already? They musta had you at it
last night."
The guard grinned and suspended hostilities until after Johnny had
eaten, when he led him out and across to where Johnny's inquisitor of
the night before awaited his coming. Captain Riley was not so
terrifying by daylight. For one thing, he betrayed the fact that he
wore large, light-tan freckles, and Johnny never did feel much awe of
freckles. Captain Riley also wore a smile, and he was smoking a cigar
when Johnny went in.
"Good morning, Mr. Jewel. I hope you slept well."
"I guess I did---I never stayed awake to see," Johnny told him quite
boldly for a youth who had blushed and said "sir" to this man last
night.
"You landed pretty hard last night, I hear."
"Why--yes, I guess I did. It looked to me around here last night as
though I had fallen down bad."
"And what has made you so cheerful this morning?" Captain Riley
actually grinned at Johnny. He could afford to, since Johnny was not
in service and therefore need not be reminded constantly of the
difference between officer and man.
"I dunno--unless maybe it's because the worst is done and can't be
helped, so there's no use worrying about it."
"Well, I can't agree with you, young man. You may possibly do worse
to-day. Last night, for instance, you brought in a man who has been
very much wanted by the government. We did not know that he was the
man until you landed with him, but certain papers he carried furnished
what proof we needed. You spoke of another--a man named Schwab. Now I
am not going to ask you to bring him in. He is in Mexico, and the laws
of neutrality must be preserved. I shall have nothing whatever to do
with the matter. I wish he were on this side, though. There's quite a
good-sized reward offered for his arrest--in case he ever does get back
on our side of the line."
"Mhm-hmh--I--see," said Johnny, in his best, round-eyed judicial manner.
"Yes. He's a criminal of several sorts, among them the crime of
meddling with the government. He's over there now--where he can do the
most harm.
"Y-ess--he's over there--_now_," Johnny agreed guardedly.
"However, I can't send you over after him, I am sorry to say. It is
impossible. If ever he comes back, though--"
"He'd be welcome," Johnny finished with a grin.
"We'd never part with him again," the captain agreed cheerfully.
"Well, that Thunder Bird plane of yours had quite a jolt, from the
report. You cracked the crank-case for one thing, and broke the tail.
I had the plane run in and repaired last night, so it's all ready now
for you to go up. We really are much in your debt for bringing in this
man Lowell; though your manner of doing it was rather unusual, I must
admit. Are you--er--ready to fly?"
"Fly where?" Johnny nerved himself to ask, though he knew well enough
where he intended to fly.
"Fly away from North Island," smiled Captain Riley, who was not to be
caught. "Civilian planes are not permitted here."
"If I come back would I be shot at?"
"Oh, no--I think not, so long as you come peacefully."
"I'll come peacefully all right; what I'm wondering now is, will the
other fellow?" Johnny looked toward the door suggestively.
Captain Riley laughed and rose to his feet. "Young man, you seem to
know a sure way of making men peaceful! They tell me that Cliff Lowell
came to himself about two o'clock this morning. For awhile they
thought you had finished him."
"Well, it's time all good flyers were in the air; I'll go with you and
see you start. I'm rather curious over that Thunder Bird of yours. I
want a look at her."
In his youth and innocence--John Ivan Jewel wondered why it was that
the soldiers looked astonished even while they saluted their commanding
officer. He did not know that he was being especially honored by
Captain Riley, which is perhaps a good thing. It saved him a good deal
of embarrassment and left him so much at ease that he could talk to the
captain almost as freely as if he had not worn a uniform.
"Good-by--and good luck," said Captain Riley, and shook hands with
Johnny. "I'll be glad to see you again--and, by the way, I'm just
keeping that money until you call for it."
Johnny climbed in and settled himself, then leaned over the edge where
the bullet had nicked so that his words would not carry to the man
waiting to crank the motor.
"I'll call for that money in about two hours," he said. "I ain't
saying good-by, Captain. I'll see yuh later."
Captain Riley stood smiling to himself while he watched the Thunder
Bird take the air. That it took the air smoothly, spiraling upward as
gracefully as any of his young flyers could do, did not escape him.
Nor did the steadiness with which it finally swung away to the
southeast.
"That boy's a born flyer," he observed to his favorite first
lieutenant, who just happened to be standing near. "They say he never
has had any training under an instructor. He just _flew_. He'll make
good--a kid like that is bound to."
Up in the Thunder Bird Johnny was thinking quite different thoughts.
"He thinks I won't be able to deliver the goods. He was nice and
friendly, all right--good golly, he'd oughta be! He admitted right out
plain that they wanted Cliff bad. But he's hanging on to my money so
he'll have some hold over me if I don't bring in Schwab for him. And
if I don't, and go back for my money, he'll--well, firing squad won't
be any kidding, is what I mean.
"O-h-h, no! Captain Riley can't fool me! Wouldn't tell me to get
Schwab over here--didn't dare tell me. But he makes it worth a whole
lot to me to get him, just the same. He knows darn well if I don't
I'll never dare to go back, and he'll be over seven thousand dollars
better off." Johnny, you will observe, had quite forgotten that
receipt in his pocket, which Captain Riley might find it hard to
explain if he attempted to withhold the money.
His doubt of the Captain increased when, looking back, he spied two
swift scouting planes scudding along a mile or two behind him. That
they might be considered a guard of honor rather than spies sent out to
see that he did not play false never occurred to him.
"Aw, you think maybe I won't do it!" he snorted angrily, his young
vanity hurt. "All right, tag along and be darned. I'll have Schwab
and be flying back again before you can bank around to fly hack and
tattle where I went. That's what I mean. I ain't going to be done
outa no seven thousand dollars; I'll tell the world I ain't."
Getting Schwab was absurdly simple, just as Johnny had felt sure it
would be. He flew to where he would be expected to cross the line had
he come from Los Angeles. Schwab would be impatient, anxious to get in
his fingers the money Cliff was supposed to bring. He did not wait at
the house, but came out to meet the Thunder Bird. Johnny had been sure
that he would do that very thing.
To keep the nose of the Thunder Bird toward Schwab so that he could not
see that only one man returned with her was simple. Until he was close
Schwab did not suspect that Cliff was not along. Even then he was not
suspicious, but came hurrying up to know why Johnny came alone. Schwab
wanted that money--they always do.
"Where's my man?" he demanded of Johnny, who had brought the landing
gear against an old fence post used to block the wheels, and shut the
motor off as much as he could and keep it running.
"Your man is sick." Which was true enough; Cliff was a very sick man
that morning. "You'll have to come to him. Get in--it won't take
long."
Schwab hung back a little, not from fear of Johnny but because he had
no stomach for flying. "Well, but didn't he send--"
"He didn't send a darned thing but me. He wouldn't trust me to bring
anything else. Get in. I'm in a hurry."
"What's the matter with him? He was all right last night." Still
Schwab hung back. "I'll wait until he can come. I--I can't leave."
Then he found himself looking up into the barrel of Johnny's
six-shooter. "I was told to bring you back with me. Get in, I said."
"This is some trick! I--"
"You get--_in_!"
So Schwab climbed in awkwardly, his face mottled and flabby with fear
of the Thunder Bird.
"Fasten that strap around you--be sure it's fast. And put on this cap
and goggles if you like. And sit still." Then he called to the
languid Mexican who was idly watching him from afar. "Hey! Come and
pull the block away from the wheels."
The Mexican came trotting, the silver of the night before clinking in
his overalls pocket. Grinning hopefully, he picked up the post and
carried it to one side. But Johnny was not thinking then of tips. He
let in the motor until the Thunder Bird went teetering around in a wide
half circle and scudded down the level stretch, taking the air easily.
"This is an outrage!" Schwab shouted.
"Where are you taking me?"
"Oh, up in the air a ways," Johnny told him, but the roar of the motor
so filled Schwab's unaccustomed ears that he could hear nothing else.
And presently his mind became engrossed with something more immediately
vital than was his destination.
They were getting too high up, he shouted. Johnny must come down at
once--or if he would not do that, at least he must fly lower. Did
Johnny mean to commit suicide?
For answer Johnny grinned and went higher, and the face of Schwab
became not mottled but a sickly white. He sat gripping the edges of
the cockpit and gazing fearfully downward, save when he turned to
implore, threaten, and command. He would report Johnny to his
employers. He could make him sorry for this. He would make it worth
his while to land. He would do great things for Johnny--he would make
him rich.
From five thousand feet Johnny volplaned steeply to four thousand, and
Schwab's sentences became disconnected phrases that ended mostly in
exclamation points. So pleased was Johnny with the effect that he flew
in scallops from there on--not unmindful of the two scouting planes
that picked him up when he recrossed the line and dogged him from there
on.
"I suppose," snorted Johnny to the Thunder Bird, "they think they're
about the only real flyers in the air this morning. What? Can't you
show 'em an Arizona sample of flying? What you loafing for? Think
you're heading a funeral? Well, now, this is just about the proudest
moment you've spent for quite some time. This man Schwab---he craves
excitement. Can't you hear him holler for thrills? And don't you
reckon that Captain Riley will be cocking an eye up at the sky about
now, looking to see you come back. Come, come--shake a wing, here, and
show 'em what you're good for!"
Whether the Thunder Bird heard and actually did shake a wing does not
matter. Johnny remembered that he had yet some miles to fly, and
proceeded to put those miles behind him in as straight a line as
possible. Schwab's voice came back to him in snatches, though the
words were mostly foreign to Johnny's ears. Schwab seemed to be
indulging in expletives of some sort.
"Don't worry, sauerkraut, we'll show you a good time soon as we get
along a few miles. There's some birds behind us I'm leading home
first."
"My God, don't go straight down again! It makes me sick," wailed
Schwab.
"Does? Oh, glory! That ain't nothing when you get used to it, man.
Be a regular guy and like it. I'll _make_ you like it, by golly. Come
on, now--here's San Diego--let's give 'em a treat, sauerkraut. You
never knew you'd turn out to be a stunt flyer, hey? Well, now, how's
this?"
"Whee-ee! See the town right down there? Head for it and keep
a-goin', old girl! _Whee-ee_! Now, here it goes, sliding right up
over our heads! Loop 'er, Thunder Bird, loop 'er! You're the little
old plane from Arizona that's rode the thunder and made it growl it had
enough! In Mexico I got yuh, and to Mexico you went and got me a
regular jailbird that Uncle Sammy wants. You're takin' him to
camp--whoo-ee! Give your tail a flop and over yuh go like a doggone
tumbleweed in the wind!
"Come on, you little ole cop planes that thinks you're campin' on my
trail! You'll have to ride and whip 'em, now I'm tellin' yuh, if you
want to keep in sight of our dust! Sunfish for 'em, you doggone
Thunder Bird! You're the flyin' bronk from Arizona, and it's your day
to fly!"
With the first loop Schwab went sick, and after that he had no wish
except to die. Whether the Thunder Bird rode head down or tail down he
neither knew nor cared. Nor did Johnny. As he yelled he looped and he
dived, he did tail spins and every other spin that occurred to him.
For the time being he was "riding straight up and fanning her ears,"
and his aerial bronk was pulling off stunts he would never have
attempted in cold blood.
He thought it a shame to have to stop, but North Island was there
beneath him, a flock of planes were keeping out of his way and
forgetting their own acrobatics while they watched him, and Johnny,
with an eye on his gas gauge and his mind recurring to his parting
words with Captain Riley, straightened out reluctantly and got his
bearings. There was room enough for one more nose dive, and he took it
exuberantly, trying to see how many turns he could make before he must
quit or smash into a building or something.
There was the field, just ahead of him. He flattened, banked, and came
down circumspectly enough, considering how his head was whirling when
he finally came to a stand. He crawled out, looking first at Schwab to
see what he was doing.
What Schwab was doing has no bearing whatever on this story. Schwab
was not feeling well, wherefore he was not showing any interest
whatever in his surroundings and probable future. John Ivan Jewel
laughed unfeelingly while he beckoned a guard who was coming up at a
trot and needed no beckoning.
"Here's another man for your boss to take charge of," Johnny announced.
"And lead me to him right now. I've got a date with him."
This guard was a new guard and looked dubious. But presently the
captain's orderly appeared and took charge of the situation, so Johnny
straight-way found himself standing before Captain Riley "Well, I'm
back," he announced cheerfully. "And I've got Schwab out there."
Captain Riley dismissed the orderly before he unbent enough to reply.
But then he shook hands with John Ivan Jewel just as though he had not
seen him a couple of hours before. He was a very pleased Captain
Riley, as he showed by the broad grin he wore on his freckled Irish
face.
"Schwab," he said, "will be taken care of. He's a deserter from the
army, you know. Held a captaincy and disgraced the uniform in various
ways, the crowning infamy being the sale of some important information,
a year or so ago when things were at the touchiest point with Mexico.
We nearly had him, but he deserted and got across the line, and since
then he has been raising all kinds of cain in government affairs. Of
course, his capture is a little out of my line, but I don't mind
telling you that it's a big thing for me to have both these men turned
over to me. I can't go into details, of course--you would not be
especially interested in them if I could. But it's a big thing, and I
want you to know--"
The telephone interrupted him, and he turned to answer it.
"Yes, yes, this is Captain Riley speaking. Yes, who is this, please?
Who? Oh, yes! Yes, indeed, no trouble at all, I assure you. Yes, I
will give the message--yes, certainly. I shall send him right over.
At your command, believe me. Not at all--I am delighted, yes; just one
moment. Would you like to talk with him yourself? Just hold the line,
please."
One should not accuse a man like Captain Riley of smirking, but his
smile might have been mistaken for a smirk when he turned from the
telephone. He straightened it out at once, however, so that he spoke
with a mere twinkle to Johnny.
"Some one in San Diego," he said, "would like to speak with you. I
judge it's important."