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[Illustration: The motor was already well tuned, everything was working
satisfactorily.]
THE RADIO BOYS
WITH THE BORDER PATROL
By GERALD BRECKENRIDGE
Author of
“The Radio Boys on the Mexican Border,” “The Radio Boys with the Revenue
Guards,” “The Radio Boys on Secret Service Duty,” “The Radio Boys
Search for the Incas Treasure,” “The Radio Boys Rescue the Lost Alaska
Expedition,” “The Radio Boys in Darkest Africa,” “The Radio Boys Seek
the Lost Atlantis.”
[Illustration: Radio]
A. L. BURT COMPANY
Publishers New York
THE
RADIO BOYS SERIES
A SERIES OF STORIES FOR BOYS OF ALL AGES
By GERALD BRECKENRIDGE
The Radio Boys on the Mexican Border
The Radio Boys on Secret Service Duty
The Radio Boys with the Revenue Guards
The Radio Boys Search for the Incas’ Treasure
The Radio Boys Rescue the Lost Alaska Expedition
The Radio Boys Seek the Lost Atlantis
The Radio Boys In Darkest Africa
The Radio Boys with the Border Patrol
Copyright, 1924
By A. L. BURT COMPANY
CONTENTS
I. The Army Flyer. 3
II. “That Devil Ramirez.” 11
III. Don Ferdinand Disappears. 24
IV. Word from Don Ferdinand. 33
V. Off to Laredo. 42
VI. Hit from the Rear. 52
VII. Don Ferdinand Again. 61
VIII. “Important Developments.” 70
IX. The Bull Fight. 80
X. Ramirez! 91
XI. Commandeered. 102
XII. A House of Mystery. 111
XIII. Captain Cornell Investigates. 121
XIV. A Novel S. O. S. 130
XV. Bob Has an Idea. 139
XVI. Setting the Trap. 148
XVII. Through the Tunnel. 158
XVIII. The Enemy Strike. 166
XIX. Captain Cornell Strikes a Clew. 173
XX. Don Ferdinand Explains. 182
XXI. On Ramirez’s Trail. 193
XXII. To the Rescue. 202
XXIII. Ramon Talks. 213
XXIV. Jack Surrenders to the “Enemy.” 223
XXV. Conclusion. 231
THE RADIO BOYS WITH THE BORDER PATROL
CHAPTER I.
THE ARMY FLYER.
The tall, sun-browned man whose active sinewy figure belied his fifty
years closed the switch, whipped off the headphones and smiling fondly
turned to his visitor.
“Let’s go out to the field, Captain Cornell,” he said, “and you’ll see
as pretty a landing as any flyer in the Southwest can make. That was my
boy Jack. Radioed he’d be here in ten minutes.”
The uniformed army flyer from the Laredo flight of the Border Patrol
smiled and nodded. Younger than Mr. Hampton by many years, in fact but
half his age, he yet found his host a congenial spirit. Since his forced
landing that morning on the terrace which the Hamptons had cleared on
their Southwestern ranch, the two men had found much in common to
discuss. Already they were fast on the way towards becoming real
friends.
Together they stepped from the radio shack into the hot sunshine. After
the comparative coolness of the interior with its whirring electric fan,
the outdoors was like a furnace. League on league the mesquite covered
plains stretched away to the distant needle-like peaks of the westward
range, unbroken by building of any sort; by tree or moving object.
Behind them, however, lay the group of ranch buildings. There was the
long low main structure, built of timbers and ’dobe, thick-walled, with
cool interior and a shaded patio built about a spring. To one side rose
a spindling tower at the foot of which crouched the radio shack. On the
right was the corrugated-iron hanger, radiating heat like an oven in
shimmering heat waves; and towards this the two men made their way.
“You certainly do yourself well here,” said Captain Cornell, looking
from the beautifully levelled landing field, with its hanger and piped
gas flares for night lighting, to the radio tower and the comfortable
ranch house. The stables and corrals were out of sight in a draw, hidden
by the dwelling.
Mr. Hampton nodded.
“Why not?” he asked. “I have all the money I need and more. Besides, as
I told you, Jack is out here experimenting for the radio people, and
they paid for doing over my little station and equipping it anew.”
By now they had reached the landing field, and Mr. Hampton raising his
voice shouted: “Ho Tom.”
A figure, followed by another, rounded the corner of the hanger. Tom
Bodine and his new assistant had been lounging on the shaded side.
“A great old-timer,” commented Mr. Hampton in a low voice as Tom Bodine
approached in response to his beckoning wave of a hand. “Tell you some
time about how he saved the lives of Jack and his pals, Bob Temple and
Frank Merrick. It was down in old Mexico, when the boys were all several
years younger.”
The flyer noted with approval the sinewy muscular figure of the
ex-cowpuncher who approached without self-consciousness, alone, his
assistant having dropped back. Grizzled, sun-browned, walking with the
rolling gait of the man who had spent a lifetime in the saddle, Tom
Bodine looked what he was—an outdoor man of the wide open ranges.
Mr. Hampton introduced them, and the two men shook hands. Each noted
with a pleasurable thrill the firm grip of the other.
“Jack radioed he’d be landing soon,” said Mr. Hampton.
Through puckered eyelids his sharp blue eyes swept the sky to the south.
A haze which had filled the sky for days, telling of sand whipped off of
the Mexican desert hundreds of miles away by a wind storm, obscured the
air.
“There he comes,” he said suddenly, pointing.
The gaze of the others followed. Heads nodded. They, too, saw the
distant speck which betokened the approaching plane.
“Guess I left him plenty of room for landing,” said the army man,
casting a glance towards his own De Haviland near the hanger.
“Yes, suh,” said Tom, not withdrawing his gaze from the sky. “I wasn’t
here when you come down, but afterwards I wheeled yo’r bus to the south
end. See? She won’t be in Jack’s way. Besides, that boy could land on a
nickel a’most.”
There was such obvious pride in his voice that again Captain Cornell
smiled discreetly. To himself he said that he wished people felt that
way about him. But he did not do himself justice. He was one of the
best-liked men of the Border Patrol.
On came Jack, the thrumming of his motor clearly heard by the watchers
below. When almost overhead, the tune of the motor changed, and Captain
Cornell’s practised ear could tell that Jack had throttled down to eight
or nine hundred revolutions. He was nosing down. His plane was shooting
earthward.
When little more than a thousand feet up, the plane was thrown into a
tight spiral. Then Jack began circling downward.
“Pretty work,” muttered the army flyer. And Mr. Hampton overhearing
could have gripped the other’s hand in his pleasure. The way to his
heart lay through praise of his motherless son.
At two hundred feet the plane was seen to straighten out, and then Jack
leaned overside and waved a greeting. He dropped down within fifty feet
and then, with wide-open motor, roared along above the field towards the
north end. There he turned for the landing.
“Always a ticklish task for a young flyer,” commented Captain Cornell,
as the three men stood grouped and motionless, watching, while waiting
beside the hanger could be seen the figure of the mechanic. “But he
certainly handles himself like a veteran. Look at that,” he commented,
as Jack shot downward in a shallow glide. “Beautiful.”
Jack levelled off a foot or so above the ground. Then tail-skid and
wheels dropped to the hard-packed sand for a three-point landing.
“Beautiful,” the army flyer commented again, as he and Mr. Hampton
started forward, with Tom Bodine rolling-leggedly alongside.
Tom and the mechanic who approached from the other side took the wings
and guided the idling ship towards the hanger, but Jack waved them away.
“Let her go boys,” he said. “I want to run the motor out of gas.”
Obedient they stepped back. Then in a few moments, Jack snapped her off,
and stepped out of the cockpit.
“Hello, Dad,” he called. “Got your message about Captain Cornell having
honored us, so here I am. But if I hadn’t been taking Isabella for a
ride when you radioed this morning, you wouldn’t have gotten me. Their
radio’s out of commission. Tell you about it later. But here I am
running on and you haven’t introduced us yet. Captain Cornell, I guess,”
he added, turning squarely towards the army man, and holding out his
hand.
“And mighty glad to meet you,” asserted the other, as their hands met.
“Pretty landing,” he added.
Jack flushed under the praise, but so tanned was he like all the others
that it would have been hard to distinguish the mantling blood in his
cheeks.
“Oh, that was nothing,” he demurred. “But still it’s mighty nice of you
to say so. Excuse me a minute while I talk with Tom. Something I want
him to fix up.”
So saying, he strode off to where Tom Bodine and his mechanic were now
trundling the plane into the hanger.
Captain Cornell saw a square-shouldered lean youth, hard as nails,
almost six feet tall, with an open and ingenuous countenance who bore
himself with an air of confident assurance. When Mr. Hampton earlier had
been elaborating on Jack’s merits and capabilities and had told him
somewhat of the confidence reposed in his son by the great radio trust
which had commissioned him to carry out experiments in research and
engineering problems, the army flyer had been inclined to discount the
tale to a certain extent on the ground of parental partiality. But now
he experienced an instinctive liking for Jack, and felt that in all
likelihood Mr. Hampton had not been exaggerating.
His thoughts were interrupted by Jack’s quick return.
“Whew,” said Jack, tearing off his helmet and letting his damp hair blow
in the light wind. “This heat is terrible. Haven’t had a day like this
for ages. Big storm working up from the south, I’m afraid. Certainly was
cooler up above. Well come on, let’s get out of the sun. Besides, I want
something cool to drink. Then you can tell me how you happened to land
here, Captain Cornell. And, I’ll have something that will interest a man
of the Border Patrol, or else I’m mighty badly mistaken.”
“Why, Jack, what do you mean?” questioned his father, striding beside
him towards the house.
“Sounds mysterious,” commented Captain Cornell, on Jack’s right.
“That’s what it is, too—mysterious,” said Jack. “Something brewing down
there in the mountains behind Rafaela’s home that I don’t understand.
Neither does her father. But let’s get inside where it’s cool, and I’ll
tell you all I know about it, which isn’t much.”