He mopped his forehead with a large bandana and scanned the heavens. The
sun was blazing down and shortly the temperature in the little bowl they
were in would be stifling.
"We'd better get out of here," he said.
"But Janet? Where can she be? We've followed the trail but it's simply
vanished." The questions tumbled from Helen's lips.
"I wish I could answer them all," said Curt. "Maybe I can later."
They rode back to the ghost town at a brisk trot and Curt cornered Henry
Thorne and told him of their discovery. Then he led a searching party of
half a dozen into the hills back of the town while the other members of
the company assembled for the day's work under the boiling sun.
Helen attempted to join the searching party, but was told it was no place
for a girl so she went with the company out into the desert where the
airport had been laid out and a dummy hangar erected.
Shooting went ahead on schedule until just before noon when someone
shouted an alarm and they turned toward the ghost town. The remaining
houses were rapidly being consumed by flames and before they could reach
them there was no hope of saving anything, including a number of valuable
cameras, sound equipment and hundreds of dollars worth of costumes.
Henry Thorne fairly blazed for he knew now that a deliberate effort was
being made to stop the production of "Kings of the Air."
But before they had recovered from that disaster, another befell with
startling swiftness. There was a dull boom from the valley and they
turned to see a fast, black plane swinging over the set on the desert. A
cloud of dust was rising near the hangar and as they watched, another
explosion echoed in their ears.
"That guy's bombing the set!" yelled a cameraman, leaping into a car.
The third bomb was a direct hit and the hangar collapsed. Over to the
right were half a dozen planes which were being used in the picture and
the unknown flyer turned his attention toward these.
"If he blows them up, we can figure a hundred thousand dollar loss right
there," groaned Helen's father.
But the unknown flyer had reckoned without the resourcefulness of Curt
Newsom. The lanky cowboy, riding hard by in the hills, had heard the
first explosion and the roar of an airplane motor. They saw him flash out
into the desert at a mad gallop.
"He's crazy; someone stop him!" cried Henry Thorne, but there was no one
near enough to reach Curt.
Helen saw him drag a rifle from the scabbard on his saddle. The flyer was
apparently disdainful of the lone rider for he dropped another bomb. It
missed the planes by only the narrowest of margins and the pilot of the
black ship swung around for another try. He swooped toward Curt and waved
jeeringly as Curt leaped from the saddle.
They were too far away to hear the report of the rifle but they could see
the little puffs of smoke from the muzzle. Suddenly the black plane
heeled sharply, its motor sputtering. The pilot shot over the side, his
chute billowing out and Curt, jumping back into the saddle, rode like mad
toward the hills.
The plane gyrated uncertainly, then dove toward the ground. It struck
with a tremendous explosion as the bombs still aboard let go.
Helen saw Curt whirl back into the valley and sweep down on the flyer,
who had landed in a tangle of cord and silk from the parachute. All
thought of resistance was gone from the flyer's mind and the cowboy
captured him easily. By the time the others arrived, Curt had the
situation well in hand.
"I think a confession out of this guy will solve our troubles," said the
cowboy star as Henry Thorne stared at the flyer.
"What have you got to say for yourself. Who employed you?" demanded the
director.