Caldwell grinned at the signature, and he was already guiding the plane
toward the Mounties, who were still peppering the cliff with their
rifles. A few of them on both sides were edging up through the brush,
but they were not firing, and the boys guessed that they expected to
close in on the bandits, feeling sure the men could not escape. Jim
glanced about for a weight, but the only thing was the lunch basket, so
he caught it up, saw that the cover was secure, then tied the note on
the handle with his handkerchief so that it could be easily seen.
"Shoot," Bob shouted when he was just enough below the Canadians to
allow the thing to fall close by them and not force a man to expose
himself to the guns at the further end.
The basket went over swiftly, spun around, tipped and tossed, and they
saw it land. A man secured it without difficulty and waved an
acknowledgment, while two others read the message. The boys couldn't see
what action they took, nor did they hear the shrill blast of a whistle
signaling to men stationed above the ravine. Bob brought Her Highness
about, and sent her over so they could get a good look at the scene in
the woods. While they watched, two men slipped across the road and
jumped into the back of the huge fruit truck, which was moving slowly.
Caldwell clenched his fists as he realized that the fellows would surely
slip through the officers' fingers and he looked at Jim, hoping that his
step-brother would have another idea, but Austin shrugged his shoulders.
With anxious eyes Bob scanned the road. He noticed that the truck was
nearing a point which was high and narrow. On either side rain and
winter storms had dug deep gullies, leaving barely room for one vehicle
of any kind to traverse it in safety.
Glancing at the altimeter, Bob read that the plane was less than a
thousand feet up, so he banked, tipped Her Highness' nose, and zoomed in
a swift, steep climb. The needle pointed to twelve hundred, fifteen,
eighteen, but Caldwell held her throttle wide open, going full blast and
climbing at top speed. The wind shrieked through the wires and
threatened to rip the wings from the fuselage, but the pilot did not
stop until he was thirty-five hundred feet and some distance behind the
truck. Then he leveled off and the drama beneath them looked as if it
were being performed by moving dots and dashes. The plane was brought
about with a protesting howl, as Caldwell looked at the globe with its
tiny specks, the narrow, treacherous road and wee puffs of smoke. He
made a swift calculation, came to a decision, and shut off the motor.
The sudden silence was punctuated by faint booms of the guns cracking
far below, and Jim looked inquiringly at his step-brother, who was
sitting calmly, but flushed as Her Highness' tail dropped; nose tipped
foremost, then began to spin slowly, held up by the force of the wind
from underneath, carried forward like a leaf caught in the breeze, and
irresistibly drawn down by the laws of gravitation.
Jim hadn't the faintest idea what his step-brother hoped to gain by the
reckless maneuver, but he saw that Bob had some sort of plan, and that
every fibre of his tense young body was on the alert, hands and mind
ready to carry out his scheme. Once they struck an air-pocket that
bounced Her Highness in a most undignified manner, rolling her over on
her back as if she were a kitten, but she finally tumbled out of it, and
spun on and on. Once the brother's eyes met and they grinned at each
other reassuringly.
"Don't know what you're up to, Buddy, but I'm right with you," said Jim.
"Thanks. You might get your parachute in case I make a fluke. It's more
likely to be that, than it is to do any good," answered Bob, for they
could speak to each other quite easily now.
"How about your own umbrella?" Jim demanded.
"It's O. K.," answered Bob, then added, "See that road?"
"I can't help see it."
"Think there is room--I mean think it's wide enough so we can get into
it without smashing the wings?"
"Ask me another. It's pretty narrow." Jim studied the situation. "That
truck is wide and there's quite a space on each side, but it will take
some fancy landing to get the wheels on the road and miss those trees at
the side. They grow like a wall, and as they are coming up to meet us,
they look like the bottom of a nice torture chamber bristling with
sharpened spikes."
"Nothing wrong with the picture. Keep your eyes on that truck of
Pedro's. I'm going to try to drop in front of it. They can't get by, or
turn back, and all I hope to do is delay them, but that may help, if I
do it. Keep a sharp lookout and tell me if I'm going too far either
side. I don't want to get far ahead of them, not more than a few feet,"
Bob explained.
"Bully idea, old man. If we smash up, I'll meet you at the gate. If you
need any help, I'll tell St. Peter you're a good kid and to let you in,"
Jim promised gravely.
"Go on. _I'll_ have to do some tall lying to get him even to look at
you," Bob retorted. "Here goes."
He started to manipulate the controls, slowly bringing Her Highness as
he wanted her, and Jim scanned the scene ahead. He could see movement in
the brush, men crawling or running on hands and knees, but not a uniform
was in sight. He noted one thing in particular for which he was
thankful. No one seemed to have noticed the falling plane, and that
might be in their favor. Also, he thought ruefully, it might not. If the
Mounties heard them dropping out of the sky, it would direct them more
quickly to the road, but he thought of those men, armed to the teeth,
desperate to get away, and he didn't try to imagine what they would do
to the plane and the boys who threatened to frustrate their plans.
Austin had read of terrific battles with rum-runners who fought to the
last ditch for their lives and stopped at nothing, and now he knew that
if Her Highness was not hung in those spear-like pines, or wrecked on
the treacherous road, the men behind them would instantly open fire and
riddle them with bullets before they could move in the cock-pit. He
glanced about for a sign of the Canadian officers, but not one did he
see, and by now they were so close to the ground that his range of
vision was very limited.
Then Bob brought Her Highness out of the spin, glided forward, her float
ends scraping the edge of the truck as it slipped over, then, in another
breathless second they were over the road, the wheels touched the
ground, raced forward a few rods, slowed down, and at last came to a
dead stop.
"Hey, what the blazes do you think you're doing?" It was the belligerent
voice of the driver and did not sound at all like the musical tones of
Pedro. Jim looked back while Bob loosened the safety strap, but did not
get out of it.
"Hop over and tinker about," Bob directed, and Jim obeyed.
"You get out of the way," bellowed Pedro.
"Oh, hello, Old Man," Jim called good naturedly. "Our engine stalled.
Guess we got something in it. Maybe you can give me a hand."
"I got no time. Get out of the way, fast. I'm in a hurry."
"Sorry, we won't be a minute." Bob was also struggling in the cock-pit
as if something was out of order, and after a minute, during which Pedro
made the air blue with curses, he got back in his seat.
"Guess we got it," he shouted. "Beastly sorry to keep you." Bob tried
out the motor. It thundered smooth as silk, the plane moved a few
inches, coughed apologetically, then stopped.
"Come on, now, old girl," Bob coaxed, and again he set the motor
humming, but the propeller hung idle. Caldwell did not dare to move
forward until he was ready to fly, for there wasn't a foot to spare on
the road ahead, which curved sharply. Frantically the step-brothers
tried out this and that, including the compass, but it didn't seem to
help them a bit, and they were afraid to look over their shoulders at
the fuming truck-man.
"What's the matter with her?" Pedro hadn't been able to sit still a
moment longer, so he climbed from his seat and strode along the gully to
the cock-pit.
"Hanged if I know. She never acted this way before," Jim answered
innocently, and the man scowled savagely.
"What you doing here anyway?" Pedro persisted.
"Great guns," Bob looked up into the man's face. "Didn't you see us
stall up there, and come down tail spinning! You are darned lucky we
didn't smash up in front of you, that would have been something to cuss
about. It takes hours to clear up a busted plane and she digs a hole in
the ground ten feet deep. That would have held you up good and proper.
Now, get back to your bus, we'll fix this thing as fast as we can and be
out of your way."
"You kids look here." Pedro shook his fist in Bob's face. "You be out of
here by the time I get my engine started, or I send you both to hell,
fast, more fast than your plane," he promised.
"Thanks a lot, Old Timer. Every little favor is greatly appreciated,"
Bob answered, and he scowled quite as fiercely as the Canuck.
"And if you send us to hell this afternoon, maybe we won't be lonesome,"
Jim added. "Can you run a plane?"
"No," Pedro snapped savagely.
"Well, we can, but not if we're ghosts. Put that in your peace pipe and
get on your own wave length. You don't own this end of Canada. What are
you doing here? If you can answer that, I've got another to ask you and
it's right on the tip of my tongue--"
"Stick your tongue out at him," Bob suggested.
"I'd rather punch his jaw, I don't like his face. Give me that wrench
and I'll tap him for sap, he's full of it. Run along, old boy--don't you
know your onions, or haven't you got any this load?" Jim demanded.
"You get out of the way."
"You go back to your bus, you make us nervous so we can't tell whether
the tail ensemble is in front or back--"
"You get out--" Pedro insisted, and then as the boys merely stared at
him, he started toward the truck, and through a slit in the big car, Jim
caught a glimpse of a man's face, and heard a soft signaling whistle as
some one called the driver to his seat. Quickly the big fellow climbed
up, and Jim, realizing that trouble was close by, buckled his safety
strap, while Bob too made ready for a quick get-away.
"If I keep the engine going, it will locate us for those Mounties, but
they're afoot, or horseback, and can't come so fast," Bob whispered.
"Start the noise and I'll watch behind. If I give you a kick in the
ribs, lift us up," Jim replied under his breath. In a moment more the
engine was racing again, then it really did stop, but this time it was
by accident and looked as if it was too surprised to go, for at that
instant, Bob caught sight of uniforms, and a sharp command was issued.
"Climb down out of that, Pedro." The boys looked back and saw the
truck-driver's face turn green with terror. "Lively now, no funny
business." Pedro literally tumbled to the ground, his legs shaking as if
he had the ague, and his teeth chattering.
"I--I wasn't touching 'em," he stammered.
"Sure, I know you didn't, but you were impolite to American citizens and
you ought to know better. Stand on your feet." Then the boys saw more
than a dozen silent figures surrounding the truck.
"I didn't lay a hand on 'em," Pedro declared.
"It's well for you that you didn't send them to hell as you promised.
What are you doing here and what have you got a green cover on your bus
for? You went down the line this morning and you aren't reported back
yet. Come, explain yourself." The man was on horseback and evidently the
chief of the outfit. Jim guessed that he was playing for a few minutes
to give his men time to close in, then he snapped again, "Cuff him. You
boys let fly." Immediately the truck wagon was literally alive with men
swarming over it. The doors at both ends were jerked open, and in
another second, crouching outlaws were being tumbled over each other.
Some of them opened fire, but their guns were knocked out of their
hands, and in less time than it takes to tell about it, the fight was
over. Fifteen prisoners were lined up on the road, while the officer
looked at them calmly.
"Put them back in and take them along." The crowd was bundled back, this
time each was securely handcuffed, then a familiar voice called from the
woods.
"We got the last of them out of the hole, Chief. What shall we do with
them?"
"Pile them in here," the Chief answered, then, as the group came
stumbling forward, the man went on, but his voice was stern, "These your
Texas friends, Bradshaw?"
"Yes sir," Bradshaw replied quickly.
"You'd better bring them to headquarters for obstructing traffic."
"All right, sir," Bradshaw agreed. "What'll we do with Her Highness? Put
her under arrest?"
"Who is Her Highness?"
"The bus. I was introduced a few days ago."
"Thought United States didn't like nobility." There was a tiny smile on
the chief's lips and a twinkle in his eyes. "How do you explain the
title, Bradshaw?"
"I don't know, sir, unless they are of Irish descent--"
"We are not," Jim declared positively.
"You've done devilment enough today to be pure-bloods," Bradshaw
informed them. The chief dismounted and came close to the fuselage and
held out his hand.
"I want to thank you for your devilment, boys," he smiled and they both
thought he was a grand looking man, the sort one reads about.
"We didn't do much of anything," Jim stammered.
"We like Canada," Bob added for he was less fussed and shook the
officer's hand vigorously.
"If we've helped, we're mighty glad," Jim drawled, then went on, "But
we'd have been wash-outs if it hadn't been for Her Highness. I think
being among nobility made her do her job extra well."
"No doubt. Is she all right, or has something gone wrong with her?"
"Her Highness is fine as silk," Bob declared emphatically. "Nothing is
the matter with her, Sir."
"Glad to hear it. Now, can you get her out of this trap?"
"Surely. It'll be a close shave, but she'll do it."
"All right. Wish you would and let the truck by. And, next time you are
in Canada, look me up, there's something important I want to show you,"
the chief told them.
"We'll be mighty glad to see you--"
"But we're not coming if it's one of those parties with all the world
looking on," Jim added quickly. The chief laughed.
"We'll spare your feelings, but if you'll come, we'd be glad to have you
dine with us some evening, only just our own crowd--all these fellows
you know, and the cook."
"That'll be fun," Jim agreed.
"We'll let you know some night when we're not having corned-beef and
cabbage. So long."
"So long." Bob opened her up, the engine thundered, the propeller
whirled madly. Her Highness slid forward, lifted, cleared the curve
gracefully, zoomed and climbed. Both boys waved at the men, and a moment
later Jim saw the truck load of outlaws being driven to some unknown
point. That is, the point was not known to the boys, but they knew it
was a good strong jail.
"It's been quite a day. Anything left in that basket?" Jim asked through
the tube.
"Left in the basket! Well, if there is the squirrels are eating it back
there in that ravine. You nut, you threw it overboard with your note,"
Bob answered.
"Great guns, so I did, and it's your Aunt's basket. Say, hop down in
some town and let's buy another for her," Jim urged.
"Oh she won't mind, there's no hurry. We can get her one when we drive
to North Hero," Bob objected.
"I know she won't mind, but just the same, let's get another to take
back with us, and something because we lost the napkins and dishes," Jim
insisted.
"Say, what's your rush?" Bob demanded impatiently.
"We want a basket again, don't we? Don't we want to go up tomorrow?
Well, we can't lose all your aunt's baskets and expect her to pack grub
stakes for us, can we?" Jim answered.
"That's so. We better get her a couple," Bob agreed quickly. He
consulted the map. "St. John's is the nearest," he announced, so gravely
he turned Her Highness' nose in the direction of the town, because, when
the matter was put to him that way, he could see the need of keeping
Mrs. Fenton supplied with baskets.