LUTHER BARR FORMS AN ALLIANCE.
At daybreak Frank was out of his cot and after dashing cold water over
himself—the liquid being carried from a clear stream in a neighboring
field in a bucket he aroused his companions and breakfast was soon
sending an appetizing odor into the air. The boys fell to with hearty
appetites, and after leaving several telegrams and post cards to be
forwarded to their friends and parents in New York, they started
actively in on preparations for the resumption of their long journey.
The new wheel was soon fitted, and found to answer perfectly. The broken
wire was also soon adjusted.
The work had just been completed and the auto and aeroplane fed with
fresh gasolene, lubricants and water when Witherbee, the miner, who had
slept at a hotel in the village, came hurrying up.
“Call me a horn-toad of the sagebrush desert if here ain’t a go, boys!”
he exclaimed.
The boys looked up at their new friend and saw that his face was pale
and he looked dismayed.
“Whatever is the matter?” they demanded.
“Matter?” echoed the miner; “call me a gila monster if that there
dod-gasted Barr and his companions ain’t stolen my pocketbook.”
“Did it have much money in it?” asked Frank in a sympathetic tone, for
the poor miner’s distress was very real.
“Why, it had two hundred dollars. All I have till I can get back to
Arizonee. Call me a doodelbug, if that ain’t tough luck.”
“It certainly is,” sympathized Harry; “perhaps we could lend you——”
“Not a cent,” broke in the miner. “Bart Witherbee ain’t borrowing money
from kids. But if you’d give me a seat in that benzine buggy of yours
I’ll be grateful to you for the rest of my life. Maybe I can help you,
too, in the far west. You see, I know that country, and if we run into
any bad Indians or cowboys, I can maybe be of some use to you.”
“That’s so,” agreed Frank; “do you think there would be room in the
auto, Billy?”
“Sure,” replied the young reporter. “If there isn’t, we’ll make it. We
can’t leave Bart Witherbee here penniless.”
“Say, boys, it was the luckiest day of my life when I struck you—call
me a comical coyote, if it warn’t!” exclaimed the miner gratefully. “But
I’ll make it all up to you when I locate my mine.”
The red-faced man from whom they had leased their camping-place readily
agreed to take charge of their letters and telegrams. Indeed, any one in
the crowd that gathered to see the start of the boy aviators on the
second day of their long trip would have been willing to do anything for
them in their enthusiasm over the daring young adventurers.
With a cheer from the crowd the auto bowled off first, vanishing down
the road to the west in a cloud of dust. Hardly had it started when
there was a loud whirring noise, and down the road came two other motor
cars. In the first sat Fred Reade and the red-bearded man, who acted as
his assistant, it seemed. In the other, to the boys’ amazement, rode
Luther Barr and his two companions of the night before—the western
gamblers. Apparently Barr and Reade were on friendly terms, for, as the
two machines shot by, Reade turned back in the tonneau and shouted
something to Barr, who answered with a wave of the hand.
“Hullo! That looks bad,” exclaimed Harry, as the cars shot by.
“What does?” asked Frank, who had been busy adjusting the engine, and
had not seen the motor cars.
“Why, Reade and Barr seem to have joined forces. Depend upon it they are
up to some mischief.”
Had the boys known that the night before Luther Barr and the two others
had been guests at Reade’s camp, they would have had even more reason to
feel apprehensive. In his chase after the Boy Aviators and Bart
Witherbee, old Barr had mistaken the road and branched off down a
side-track that soon brought him to Reade’s camp, where he and his
companions were working over their aeroplane by kerosene flares. The old
millionaire recognized Reade at once, stopped and hailed him.
Reade soon explained to him that he was in the aeroplane race as the
representative of the _Despatch_. On Barr inquiring how he came to leave
the _Planet_, Reade explained that his leaving was due to Billy Barnes.
“That interfering cub lost me my job,” he said angrily.
Old Barr was interested at once. Here was another enemy of the Boy
Aviators. Perhaps it would be possible to join forces to harass them.
“I see you like the boys as little as I do,” he ventured cautiously.
“Like them,” exclaimed Reade angrily, “I hate them. I hope they lose
this race. I mean to prevent them winning by fair means or foul, if I
can.”
“Good,” was Barr’s reply; “that’s just the way I feel about it. Now I
have a proposition to make to you.”
There followed a long conversation in low tones, the result of which was
that old Barr agreed to accompany the _Despatch’s_ party as far as
Arizona and the mine, the location of which Witherbee was hiding. He had
instantly made up his mind that Reade was a valuable ally.
“I am sure that Witherbee means to let those boys know where the mine
is, and give them part of it,” he declared; “and if we can find it
first, we can divide it among ourselves.”
Luther Barr had no intention of giving away any part of the mine if he
found it. He wanted it all for himself. But he thought that to hold out
such a tempting bait would make Reade an even more faithful ally. As for
the reporter, he was delighted to have found an enemy of the Boy
Aviators. He was a coward, and had been afraid that his party was too
small to openly cause them much trouble. Now, however, he was highly
pleased at the idea of traveling in such powerful company, and promised
himself a “lot of fun with those young cubs.”
And so it came about that Luther Barr and the _Despatch_ auto traveled
in company when they broke camp the next morning.
The two autos had hardly passed down the road and out of sight when a
shout from the crowd announced that the aeroplane of Arthur Slade was in
sight.
“Come on, we’ve got no time to lose,” cried Frank, as he saw the rival
aeroplane coming rapidly into view.
Both boys scrambled into their craft, and a moment later, amid a roar
from the crowd, they shot upward. As they did so, Slade shot by. He was
a powerfully built man, with a mean expression of countenance, and
seemed to harbor a spite against the boys, doubtless because he did not
like to be pitted against such youthful antagonists.
“I’ll win this race hands down,” he shouted, as he swept by.
As the boys’ aeroplane gathered velocity, however, they overhauled him,
and all day the two air-craft fought it out desperately. There seemed to
be little difference between them, and the boys resolved that they were
in for the tussle of their lives if they meant to win the race. The
dirigible hung doggedly on, about three miles in the rear. Her crew did
not seem to be urging her. Doubtless they reasoned that in a race of
such length it was a good plan to husband their resources and not urge
their ship forward too fast.
“The gasolene is running low,” announced Harry, shortly after noon, “and
we need some more oil.”
“All right; send out a wireless, and we’ll drop in a convenient place,”
replied Frank.
The auto was some distance behind, but a reply to Harry’s message soon
flashed back to the occupants of the aeroplane, and a few minutes after
they had landed in a smooth, green meadow the auto came chugging up. The
tank was replenished, and a hasty luncheon eaten. By this time both the
rival aeroplane and the dirigible were out of sight. As the boys had
seen nothing further of the autos occupied by Reade and Luther Barr,
they concluded they must be traveling on another road—which was, in
fact, the case.
“Aren’t you scared to let the other aeroplane get such a long lead?”
asked Billy, as the boys made ready to resume their flight.
“They won’t get very far,” said Frank lightly. “You see, they will have
to come down for fresh gasolene, just as we did. They have got an
air-cooled engine, too, and if they run it too long it will get heated
and stop, so that they will have to quit for a while, too.”
“How about the dirigible?”
“The only chance it has to win this race is for both the aeroplanes to
break down,” said Harry. “We can pass it even if it got a twenty-mile
lead.”
The _Golden Eagle_ flew on during the afternoon without incident. It was
getting toward sundown, and Frank was thinking of descending and camping
for the night, when, as they were passing high above a spot where four
cross-roads intersected, they spied below them the two autos of Barr and
Reade drawn up near to the rival aeroplane, which, as Frank had said,
had been compelled to come down to replenish her tanks.
Through his glasses Harry scrutinized the group. They were gathered
about Slade’s aeroplane, and seemed to be discussing excitedly.
“I thought so,” said Harry, as he put the glasses back in their pocket
at the side of the pilot house.
“Thought what?” asked Frank.
“Why, I guess there’s something the matter with their cylinders.
Over-heated, I guess. They were pouring water on them when I looked
through the glass.”
Hardly had he spoken when there was a singing sound in the air close by
his ear. It was like the droning of a big June bug.
“Pretty high for a bug to be flying,” commented Harry.
“That wasn’t any bug, Harry,” contradicted Frank, “it was a bullet.”
“What! they are firing at us again?”
“Evidently.”
There came another whistling in the air, as a second projectile whizzed
by.
“We ought to have them arrested,” exclaimed Harry indignantly.
“How are we to prove who fired the shots?” rejoined Frank.
He was right. At the time they whizzed by the aeroplane was over a clump
of woods which effectually concealed from her occupants the identity of
the wielder of the rifle. Barr’s party had evidently speeded their autos
in under the trees and were firing from them. No more bullets came,
however. Probably the shooters saw the futility of trying to get good
aim through the thick foliage.
Camp that night was made beside a small river, in which Witherbee soon
caught a fine mess of yellow perch. These, cooked with the old
plainsman’s skill, made an agreeable variation from the usual camp fare,
and were despatched by the hungry boys in an incredibly short time.
Of the other aeroplane they had seen nothing since they passed her in
the afternoon.
“This means we get a good long lead,” rejoiced Frank.
But the boys were doomed to disappointment, for shortly before midnight
the whirring noise of an engine was heard overhead, and, looking upward,
the adventurers, awakened by Billy, who was on watch, saw a dark body
pass overhead.
“It’s Slade’s machine!” cried Frank.
Shortly afterward the dirigible also went by, with several lights
displayed about her decks. The boys shot up a ray of light from the
searchlight on the auto, and were greeted by a cheer from the men on the
dirigible.
“Well, if those fellows think they can steal a night march on us, we’ll
fool ’em,” exclaimed Frank. “Here, Harry, let’s have a look at that map.
I must lay out a course, and then we’ll get after them. You fellows
break camp and be ready to follow us in the auto.”
There was a lot of bustle and excitement while Frank, by the light of an
auto-lamp, with compasses, dividers and measured rule, worked out a
course. A route was soon devised.
“All ready?” he cried at last, when final directions had been given.
“All ready,” said Billy, tightening the ropes that held the tarpaulin
covering the supplies in the auto.
“Then we’re off,” cried Frank, as he and Harry jumped into the _Golden
Eagle_, and with a rattling roar of explosions glided into the air.