The Race for Life
When this fact became apparent to them, they stopped and held a council.
“Fellows, we seem to be in a pretty bad fix,” said Phil. “If you have
any ideas for getting out, now’s the time to say so.”
“Search me,” said Tom, shaking his head. “All I can see is, to keep
going and trust to luck to come out somewhere before we starve to
death.”
“Shucks!” exclaimed Phil, “that’s no kind of an idea. Can’t you think of
anything better, Dick?”
“Well, I don’t know,” returned his friend, slowly. “I’ve noticed there’s
a slight draught through these passages, and it must come from some
opening into the outer world. I think that if, at every fork, we turn in
the direction that the wind is coming from, that we may land out
somewhere. How does that strike you?”
“I was thinking the same thing,” nodded Phil. “We were careless to get
in this fix without having anything with us to eat. I’m half starved
already.”
“I’m about nine-tenths starved,” lamented Tom. “I was never so hungry in
my life.”
They started on again, following Dick’s suggestion. At some of the
forks, however, they found that a draught blew up every one, so that
they were no better off than before. The air was dark and chilly, too,
and in spite of the exercise they were chilled to the bone. They kept
doggedly on, but were almost ready to give up hope, when Phil stopped
and listened.
Far away in the depths of the black passageway they could hear a faint
murmur, like the sound of running water. They pressed onward, the sound
growing ever louder as they went. Soon the murmur had grown to a roar
that filled their ears, and made it impossible for them to hear each
other’s voices.
Two of their three flashlights were useless, the batteries being
completely exhausted. The third gave only a dim light, that seemed only
to accentuate the darkness through which they groped. It sufficed,
however, to show them the cause of the roar that echoed through the
subterranean caverns.
Their passage opened out into a vast cave. From a point near the roof of
this a great waterfall thundered down a wall of glistening black rock,
and then swirled away in a rushing torrent.
The boys gazed awe-struck at this mighty spectacle, drenched by the
spray that seemed to fill the vast cavern. As he gazed, a desperate plan
took form in Phil’s mind, and he lost no time in communicating it to the
others.
He pointed to the rushing river, and started removing his coat and
shoes. The others divined his purpose, and with a reckless light in
their eyes they followed suit.
They had heard of underground rivers, and knew that they nearly always
come out into the open at some point. They were all good swimmers, and
preferred to trust to the river rather than waste their strength in
aimless gropings through the endless subterranean tunnels. But it
required the highest kind of courage to plunge into the black and raging
torrent, knowing that the chances were all against them.
Phil was the first to take the plunge, closely followed by the others.
The roaring flood caught avidly at them, like some ferocious monster
seizing his prey. They were whirled away like chips on the surface of
the torrent, caught up in eddies, drawn under the surface, battered and
buffeted, but always fighting gamely for life against overwhelming odds.
The river flowed deep and strong, and they were carried at tremendous
speed for what seemed an infinite lapse of time. In the black darkness,
no one knew what had become of the others, but each one struggled
valiantly against the mighty torrent that was beating the life from him.
At last, far away, they caught a glimpse of daylight, and the sight put
renewed strength into their tired muscles. Buffeted about on the
torrent, they shot out from black gloom into the glorious light of the
setting sun. By some miracle, they were all close together, and they
started then to work across the stream toward the bank. After the river
emerged from the mountain, it broadened out and slowed down somewhat, so
that it was not long before the three comrades reached the bank, and
dragged themselves out onto a gravelly beach.
Chilled to the bone by the icy water, and exhausted by the struggle,
they could hardly move at first, but soon their lusty youth asserted
itself. Phil was the first to struggle to his feet, pale and dripping,
but with a brave attempt at a smile nevertheless.
Dick and Tom sat up, and then got to their feet, and the three friends
silently shook hands. Then they set out to locate the aeroplane, as they
knew it would soon be dark, and they had no desire to spend the night
hungry and in their wet clothing.
But it took them longer to find the _Arrow_ than they had anticipated.
The place where the river emerged from the mountain was almost on the
opposite side to that where they had left their machine, and it was only
after nearly two hours of heartbreaking struggle through dense woods and
underbrush that they finally came in sight of the white-winged airship.
But almost at the same moment they caught sight of something else that
whipped their flagging energies into instant action.
On a slight eminence about a mile distant were gathered a group of
horsemen. They had caught sight of the airship, which was a conspicuous
mark against the green background. They were pointing and gesticulating,
and even as the boys watched them, headed their horses at a gallop in
the direction of the airship.
The Radio Boys were several hundred yards from the _Arrow_ at this time,
and they fought their way silently and savagely through the dense
underbrush. As they neared their machine, they could hear the Mexicans’
horses crashing through the bushes and the cries and oaths of their
riders.
Drenched with perspiration, their breath coming in great gasps, and all
but exhausted, Phil hurled himself out into the clearing. Tom and Dick
laboring close behind. Heads down, and traveling sheerly on will power,
the boys sprinted for the machine.
“You fellows get her started,” gasped Phil, “I’ll stand them off until
you get moving.”
Dick waved his hand in token of understanding, and he and Tom leaped for
the plane, Dick throwing himself into the control compartment, while Tom
summoned up the last vestige of his waning strength to turn the
propeller. The engine was cold, however, and it was not until the fourth
time that it consented to start.
Meantime, Phil kept on until he had passed the plane and was between it
and the oncoming Mexicans. Their leader had outdistanced the others, and
Phil had barely passed the airship when this man dashed into the
clearing. He was a squat, powerfully built man, and as he rode he
spurred mercilessly at his horse. Some hundred paces behind him rode the
rest of his band, shouting and cursing. Phil had only four cartridges
left in his revolver, but as the leader, who was none other than the
notorious Espato, broke into the clearing, Phil emptied his revolver at
him. The first shot went low, and the bandit’s horse pitched to earth,
hurling its rider headlong. But the Mexican was on his feet like a cat,
and sprang at Phil.
The latter heard the roar of the engine, and a shout from Dick told him
that the _Arrow_ was moving. His revolver was empty, but as Espato
sprang at him, Phil clutched the barrel, and brought the butt down on
the bandit’s head in a sweeping blow that cut his swarthy face to the
bone.
The Mexican staggered back and slumped to the ground, and Phil, hurling
the empty weapon at the oncoming horsemen, turned and ran like a deer
after the _Arrow_ which was gathering speed rapidly. As he neared it,
Tom reached over the fuselage, and Phil made a flying leap just as the
wheels left the ground. He caught Tom’s arm, swayed dizzily in the air a
moment, and then half climbed and was half dragged into Tom’s
compartment.
“The bomb, Tom, drop it!” gasped Phil.
The Mexicans had leaped from their horses, and were grouped below the
aeroplane, unslinging their rifles in preparation for a volley. In
obedience to Phil’s command, Tom reached down and pressed a lever,
releasing a small bomb containing a charge of high explosive.
Swift and sure as doom itself dropped this missile. It landed close to
the group of bandits, and exploded with a terrific report.
The aeroplane rocked and pitched violently in the terrific uprush of air
that followed. As the smoke cleared away the boys could see the
surviving Mexicans rushing wildly in all directions, leaving several of
their number where they had been thrown by the force of the explosion.
Spent and well nigh exhausted, but victorious, the Radio Boys winged
their way into the calm evening sky, and straightened out for the flight
to camp.