Radio Boys in the Flying Service
[Illustration: Radio Boys in the Flying Service]
RADIO BOYS
IN THE
FLYING SERVICE
or,
Held For Ransom by Mexican Bandits
BY
J. W. DUFFIELD
M. A. DONOHUE & CO.
CHICAGO NEW YORK
THE RADIO BOYS SERIES
RADIO BOYS IN THE SECRET SERVICE
or, Cast Away on an Iceberg.
RADIO BOYS IN THE FLYING SERVICE
or, Held For Ransom by Mexican Bandits.
RADIO BOYS IN THE THOUSAND ISLANDS
or, The Yankee-Canadian Wireless Trail.
RADIO BOYS UNDER THE SEA
or, The Hunt for Sunken Treasure.
COPYRIGHT 1922, BY M. A. DONOHUE & CO.
MADE IN U. S. A.
CONTENTS
I A Daring Hold-Up
II Skillful Strategy
III In Big Figures
IV Wonders of Radio
V On the Trail
VI A Lively Fight
VII Crooked Work
VIII The Jaws of Death
IX Deeds of Darkness
X Flight and Pursuit
XI Desperate Chances
XII From Savage Clutches
XIII Gun Play
XIV Aerial Scouting
XV Menace of the Cave
XVI The Race for Life
XVII A Perilous Mission
XVIII The Outlaws’ Rendezvous
XIX A Blow in the Dark
XX In Bitter Bondage
XXI Threats of Torture
XXII Held for Ransom
XXIII The Bandit’s Messenger
XXIV Caged
XXV The Visitor at Dusk
XXVI Prisoners and Loot
XXVII A Gleam of Hope
XXVIII In Hot Haste
XXIX To the Rescue
XXX Rounding Up “Muggs” Murray
CHAPTER I
A Daring Hold-Up
“Hands up! Quick!”
The command, barked out in sharp, staccatto tones, was emphasized by the
ugly muzzle of a revolver thrust through the window of the paying
teller.
It was a bright Spring morning in the town of Castleton, a thriving city
of some ten thousand population, located in a prosperous section of the
Middle West. As it was Saturday, there was a little more stir and
animation in the streets than usual, for it was the day on which farmers
and their wives of the rural district served by the town drove in to do
their shopping. Already, though it was no more than eleven o’clock,
there was a fair sprinkling of cars and buggies standing in the open
square in front of the court house, and the number was constantly being
augmented by new arrivals.
In the Castleton Bank, the only one that the little town boasted, there
was unusual activity, for the cashier and his two clerks were busy
making up the money for the payrolls of the three mills on which the
commercial prosperity of the town largely depended.
A large touring car, whose every line denoted speed, came rapidly up the
street and stopped at the door of the bank. The man at the wheel kept
his seat, without shutting off the engine, while four men climbed out.
One took his stand at the side of the machine, and the other three
quickly ascended the steps of the bank.
There were four customers in the bank at the time. One, a woman, was
having a check cashed, two men were depositing cash and checks with the
receiving teller, while a fourth man was at a desk making out a slip.
The man who appeared to be the leader of the newcomers and whose face
was marred by an ugly scar on his right cheek went straight to the
window of the paying teller, roughly thrust aside the woman standing
there and pointing his revolver at the teller ordered him to hold up his
hands.
At the same instant his companions drew their weapons and herded the
four customers up against the wall, where they held them at the muzzles
of their revolvers.
The startled teller stood for a second as though paralyzed, and then
slowly obeyed. A second rough command brought similar action on the part
of the receiving teller. Then the bandit vaulted over the low railing,
and still holding his revolver ready for action, began to thrust great
bundles of bills into the capacious pockets of the ulster that he wore.
Just then the cashier of the bank, Mr. Weston, stepped out of the door
of his inner office. He took in the situation at a glance, darted back,
snatched a revolver from his desk and reappearing in the doorway fired
at the robber but missed him. At the same instant the bandit’s revolver
cracked and the cashier fell with a bullet in his shoulder.
With a muttered imprecation at the necessity for the shooting, which
made him hurry his movements, the robber gathered in the rest of the
packages of bills in sight, jumped over the railing and rushed for the
door accompanied by his confederates.
The sound of the shot had attracted attention outside and men were
already hurrying toward the bank. The robber at the curb fired several
shots and halted them for an instant. That moment of grace was
sufficient to permit the miscreants to leap into the car, which started
up instantly and sped down the street in a cloud of dust.
Three young men came around a corner as the car whirled by. They were
laughing and jesting, and evidently on good terms with themselves and
the world.
“Look at that car,” exclaimed Phil Strong, a stalwart, vigorous young
fellow, slightly taller than his companions. “It’s going like a blue
streak.”
“Smashing the speed law into bits,” agreed Dick Weston. “I guess
that—Hello!” he cried, as he saw the commotion and heard the shouting in
front of the bank. “What’s up?”
They broke into a run and in a moment were in the midst of the excited
crowd. Another moment sufficed to learn of what had happened. They
rushed into the bank, Dick frantic with grief and apprehension at the
news that his father had been shot. A doctor who happened to be in the
crowd was already ministering to the wounded man.
“Only a flesh wound,” the doctor assured Dick, bringing him an immense
relief.
“Don’t mind me, Dick,” said Mr. Weston, trying to summon up a reassuring
smile. “It’s the bank I’m thinking of. It’ll be seriously hurt if those
scoundrels get away with all that cash. Get after them as fast as you
can. Every minute counts.”
Dick was loth to obey, but Phil, standing beside him, put his hand on
his arm.
“Your father’s right, Dick,” he said. “He’s getting good attention here,
and you can’t serve him better than by trying to run down the thieves.
Come with me and come quick. I’ve got a plan.”
They hurried out of the bank, pushing their way through the constantly
increasing crowd that congested the doors. In the street, men were
piling into cars and starting out in the direction that the robbers had
taken.
“It’s well meant but of no use,” said Phil, pointing to the cars. “They
haven’t a Chinaman’s chance to catch up with them this side of kingdom
come. The robbers’ car can run rings around any of these. But I know
something that’s faster than any car.”
“The airplane,” exclaimed Dick, a light breaking in on him.
“Right you are,” replied Phil. “But that isn’t all. There’s something
faster than the airplane.”
“Radio,” cried Tom Hadley.
“Now you’ve hit it,” approved Phil, relaxing for a moment the speed at
which all three had been racing down the street. “Now, fellows, here’s
the dope. Tom, you run to my house and get busy with the radio. Call up
every town within a radius of fifty miles. Tell the police of the
robbery and describe as well as you can the kind of car that the men are
escaping in. Don’t forget the scar on the face of the leader. Hustle
now, old scout. Dick and I will get out the airplane.”
Tom was off like a shot.
“Now Dick,” said Phil, taking the lead, as he always did in a crisis
that demanded quick thinking and swift action, “it’s us for the
airplane. Lucky, isn’t it that you and I spent almost all of last week
in getting the _Arrow_ into shape? She’s in splendid condition and fit
to fly for a man’s life. It will be strange if we don’t give those
thieves a run for their money—or rather for the bank’s money.”
In a few minutes they had reached the hangar in which their airplane was
stored, at a flying field on the outskirts of the town.
They unlocked and flung open the door and wheeled out the machine, a
biplane of the latest make and one with whose operation both of them
were thoroughly familiar.
They wheeled her out into the open, made one last hasty examination to
make assurance doubly sure and climbed into the fuselage. Phil gave her
the gas and the machine after a short run made a perfect takeoff from
the grassy field and soared into the air like a bird. Phil turned her in
the direction, as nearly as he could guess, that the robbers had gone,
and she clove the air with the speed of the arrow after which she was
named.
The roar of the motor made it difficult to carry on much conversation,
but Phil’s brain was working hard. He figured out that the robbers would
not continue far in the direction that they had taken at the start,
since that would be too obvious and easy for their pursuers to follow.
At some point of the road they would turn at right angles, or possibly
double on their tracks, in the attempt to bewilder their would-be
captors.
The only way in which Phil and Dick could circumvent such strategy was
to describe a wide curve that would take in not only the road ahead of
them, but a large extent of the cross roads to the right and left. This
disadvantage however was counterbalanced to some extent by the lofty
position of the plane, that permitted the landscape to be seen for many
miles in every direction. They had also a splendid pair of field
glasses, which Dick kept glued to his eyes while Phil drove the plane.
The superb condition of the plane also favored them. The engine never
missed a stroke, but ran with the steady hum that is music to the ears
of the aviator. Encouraged by the way the _Arrow_ was working, Phil let
her out until she was traveling at the rate of nearly ninety miles an
hour. At this rate it seemed inevitable that they would soon sight their
quarry, despite the start that had given the latter the advantage.
The roads beneath were dotted with cars coming and going, and two or
three of them seemed so like the robbers’ car that Phil swooped down
near enough to establish that they were not the one he had in view.
After several such disappointments, Dick suddenly straightened up with a
sharp exclamation.
“Spotted them this time,” he cried. “It’s dollars to doughnuts that’s
the car. Same shape, same color and it’s going like all possessed.”
He passed the glasses to Phil, who turned them in the direction that
Dick indicated. There, sure enough, on a road to the right, was a
machine that answered the description they had hastily been able to
gather of the car in which the bandits had made their getaway. It was
going like the wind.
“There’s another car about half a mile behind it,” Phil remarked after a
moment’s keen scrutiny. “The top’s down and I can see that it’s full of
men in uniform.”
“Good old Tom!” exclaimed Dick jubilantly. “He’s got busy with the radio
all right, and that second car’s chasing the first one. Do you think it
can catch up?”
Phil studied the situation for a full minute before replying.
“Not a chance,” he answered finally, handing back the glasses. “The
first car is steadily increasing the distance between the two. But
here’s where we get busy.”
He turned the plane in the direction pursued by the flying cars.
“What’s your plan?” asked Dick.
“You’ll see in a minute,” muttered Phil, all his attention centered on
the chase.