Deeds Of Darkness
Bushes and small trees in back of the machine were bent almost to the
ground by the force of the wind driven rearward by the propeller, and
the machine leaped ahead, bumping and swaying drunkenly over the uneven
ground. Bushes caught at the wide-spread wings, retarding their speed,
and the rough ground also hindered. As they approached the sheer edge of
the chasm, and the awful expanse of empty air was almost under their
wheels, Phil moved the elevating controls, but the aeroplane had not
gathered sufficient speed to rise. It shot out over the brink of the
abyss, the nose pointed downward, and with a tightening sensation around
their hearts the boys realized that they were falling into the dizzy
depths at sickening speed.
For a few seconds the aeroplane dropped like a stone, with Phil fighting
to get control. The rocky floor of the canyon rushed up at them, but
just at the moment when it seemed as though they must strike, the
aeroplane flattened out, quivered and vibrated, and then swooped upward
into the rays of the setting sun.
The genial rays of the luminary had never seemed so welcome to the three
Radio Boys, for they had steeled their hearts to meet death, and they
felt as a condemned prisoner must when a last minute reprieve arrives.
For a time they flew in silence, each one thinking of this last narrow
escape, and breathing a prayer of thankfulness that they were still
alive and uninjured.
“Phil, that’s twice you’ve pulled us out of the hole when it didn’t look
as though we had a chance,” said Dick, at last. “What I want to say is,
that you’re competent to handle an aeroplane, and no mistake.”
“Aw, shucks,” said Phil; “either you or Tom would have done the same
thing. I came pretty near to shaving the tops off a few of those
boulders in that last dive, though. Another hundred feet, and our
troubles would all have been over.”
“I’d just as soon keep my troubles for a while,” said Tom, with a feeble
effort at a joke. “They don’t bother me half as much as the thought of
smashing down on those rocks does.”
“That goes for me, too,” said Dick. “But let’s let bygones be bygones.
We’re right here, scooting along at a fast clip, and not a scratch on
us. The question then arises, ‘where do we stop for the night’? It will
be pretty dark in another hour.”
“I’m going to land at the first decent place I can find on the far side
of these hills,” said Phil. “I don’t feel any longing to land on top of
another mountain.”
“You said it!” agreed Tom. “The mere thought of it makes me see double.
Land on the lowest place you can find on the map, Phil.”
This was precisely what Phil intended to do, and it was not long before
the opportunity appeared. Passing over the last of the hill range, they
saw a level country spread out before them, which offered plenty of
ideal places to make a landing. Phil volplaned down until they were only
a hundred feet up, and then, selecting a smooth stretch of meadowland,
glided swiftly down to a perfect landing.
“Wow!” exclaimed Tom, as he climbed out and stretched prodigiously.
“This looks a little better than our last landing place, fellows. I’m
going to break out some grub in short order, because this has been a
hard day, and I’m as hungry as a wolf.”
This suited the others, too, and they all ate a hearty meal. Then they
stretched out under the wings of their trusty machine, and slept soundly
until awakened by the beams of the morning sun.
They lost no time in getting started, as they were behind their schedule
owing to the mishaps of the day before. They spent an hour’s hard work
on the _Arrow_, putting fresh oil into the engine, turning down grease
cups, and testing the spark plugs. Then they packed up, Dick spun the
propeller over, and the motor took hold instantly. Dick clambered in,
and they soared aloft into the blue sky and gleaming sun. All day they
flew without mishap, Dick taking a spell at the controls during the
afternoon. They landed only once to replenish their gasoline and oil,
and eat lunch. That day they covered over eight hundred miles, and when
they landed for the night they figured that, barring accidents, they
would reach Laguna early the following morning.
Steve had sent them a rough map showing the prominent landmarks in the
vicinity of the Rangers’ headquarters, and late in the forenoon they
picked up the first of these, a large, mushroom-shaped rock, projecting
forty feet from the level surface of the plain. Others followed in quick
succession, and it was not long before they descried the long, low
building, with the Stars and Stripes floating above it. The boys were
evidently expected, for they could see a number of men on the ground,
who, as they drew nearer, waved broad-brimmed sombreros and shouted.
Phil, who was piloting the _Arrow_ at the time, circled once or twice
looking for a landing, and then, selecting a level stretch, landed
gently.
The men who had been waving at them now ran in their direction, and as
the boys descended they had no difficulty in recognizing Steve among the
foremost.
“Hi, yi!” yelled Steve, exuberantly. “Welcome to Laguna, you worthless
old mavericks! The boys never thought that you’d get here in that
overgrown kite, but I told ’em you’d get here if you had to tie a
balloon to it.”
“Oh, nothing like that,” grinned Phil, “although a balloon might have
come in pretty handy at one time. But the old _Arrow_ usually gets where
its going pretty near on schedule time.”
“Well, we’re all mighty glad to see you, anyway,” declared Steve, “step
up and I’ll introduce you to this bunch of Piute Indians that have the
nerve to call themselves Texas Rangers. They’re a terrible bunch, but
they all have one good point—they all hate greasers like poison.”
After this foreword the Radio Boys were formally—or rather,
informally—introduced to all the Rangers who happened to be present, and
then they all gathered curiously about the aeroplane, and the boys had
to explain some of its mysteries to the interested Rangers.
“That ought to put the fear of the Lord into them greasers, derned if it
shouldn’t,” remarked one tall and sunburnt fellow, whom the others
addressed simply as “Chips”. “They’ll think the great American Eagle has
sure got after them at last.”
“Well, it’s pretty near time,” remarked another. “They’re sure gettin’
peskier and meaner every day. We’re too blamed easy with them, that’s
the trouble.”
The others seemed to be of the same opinion, and as they walked toward
headquarters, the boys heard more than one tale of looting and outrage,
that made them glad that they were to engage in the work of prevention
and punishment.
“Captain Bradley will be glad to know you’ve arrived,” said Steve, after
they had reached the bunk house and had washed up. “He didn’t figure
you’d get here much before tonight or maybe tomorrow morning, and he’s
gone to Austin on some official business. We expect him back in a day or
so.”
“Well, we can spend the time in getting acquainted,” said Phil. “I only
wish we had been here when you had the fight with those bandits that you
told us about by radio.”
“I sure wish you had,” said Steve, “If we had that plane of yours then,
we’d probably have caught them. As it is, though, they seem to have got
away clean, and nobody’s seen or heard of them since. They’re bad
medicine, that gang.”
“They’d give a lot to have their hands on them back in Castleton,” said
Dick. “We haven’t much doubt that the man with the scar that you saw is
the same who engineered the holdup in the bank, and if he is, he’s still
got nearly $40,000 of the bank’s money.”
“Whew!” whistled Steve. “That’s some chunk of kale, isn’t it? If the
Mexicans will stay quiet for a while, we’ll get after that Murray bunch
in earnest. But of course, our first duty is to guard against the
greasers.”
“Are they giving so much trouble at present, then?” queried Tom.
“Trouble!” echoed Steve, “why, a Mex’s middle name is trouble. They’re
all bad, but some are ’specially bad. There’s one gang, headed by a
thieving, murdering son of a sea cook that they call Espato, that’s got
more poison in his make-up than a rattlesnake. We’ve all got scores to
pay off against him, but he’s a cunning devil, and so far, while we’ve
winged a number of his band, he’s always got off scot free. We’ll get
him yet, though,” and Steve’s fingers unconsciously sought and gripped
the butt of his revolver.
“Tell ’em about how he shot up Jack Sanderson’s farm, Steve,” said
another of the Rangers, who was lounging nearby.
“Yes, that was an especially bad case,” said Steve, with a dark frown on
his sunburnt countenance. “This Espato and his gang picked out an
especially dark night a few weeks ago, crossed the border, and
surrounded Sanderson’s farmhouse so quietly that nobody in the place
dreamed that there was a Mex within ten miles of them. Some of them
sneaked up to the barn and set it on fire, and when the people in the
house saw the flames, of course, they rushed out to try and save the
barn. As they ran out of the house, the Greasers picked them off one by
one—wiped out the whole family. Then they looted the house, and set that
on fire, too. And if we ever get our hands on the murdering
gang—well....” Steve did not finish the sentence, but his silence was
more eloquent than words.
“There’s nothing would be too bad for them!” exclaimed Dick, hotly. “I
suppose they got away before you fellows got news of the raid, eh?”
“Yes, they made for the border lickety spit. Of course, after we got the
news, we set off after them, but they had too much of a start, and had
reached their mountains before we could overtake them. Once there, it’s
hopeless to chase them any further—for, horsemen, anyway. That flying
machine of yours might have better luck, though.”
“The varmints hole down in them mountains, and it would take an army to
locate them,” explained the other Ranger. “There’s caves and passes that
only they know anything about.”
“It’s just possible that we might come at them from air, though, as
Steve says,” remarked Phil. “You can see a pretty big stretch of country
when you’re up five or six hundred feet.”
“Gosh, it’s a great sensation,” said Steve, “will you give me a ride
some day, Phil? It’s a long time since I’ve had one.”
“Surest thing you know,” promised the young aviator. “I’ll do a few tail
spins and nose dives while you’re along, just so you’ll really enjoy the
trip.”
“Nothing doing,” declared Steve, emphatically. “It will suit me if you
keep on just an even keel. I don’t crave to imitate a pinwheel, not
nohow.”
Phil was about to make a laughing rejoinder, when suddenly there was a
commotion outside, and a tall, handsome man, dressed in military
fashion, strode into the room.