A MESSAGE TO THE HEATHEN
It was all so sudden and, to Jack, at least, so unexpected, that it was
not until the airplane lay, a crumpled mass, far back on the desert,
that speech came to either of the boys. Then it was Jack who spoke.
“Wha――what happened?” he gasped.
“I got him,” said Hugh. “Through the shoulder, I think. Anyway, he fell
over sideways and lost his controls. I――somehow, I hope I didn’t kill
him.”
“Oh, the other man!” exclaimed Jack. “I’d forgotten all about him!
Had we better go back? Maybe they’re badly hurt, Hugh, and we can do
something.”
But Hugh shook his head gravely. “If we landed we couldn’t hold her,
Jack, and maybe we couldn’t get up again. I don’t think either of us
know enough about the game to try it. Besides, they brought it on
themselves and they’ll have to take their medicine. I hate to leave a
wounded man like this, but our orders are to make the border. And that
village we saw can’t be more than ten miles away.”
Hugh had slowed the engines down, but now, having reached his decision,
he speeded up again. Jack was looking back through the binoculars. At
first a cloud of dust and vapor had obscured the wrecked plane, but
presently it lifted and to his relief he saw two figures emerge from
the confusion of twisted wood and metal and tattered fabric. One was
evidently seriously hurt, for the other half carried him away from the
wreck and eased him to the ground.
“They’re both alive, anyhow,” he proclaimed. “I hit the observer chap
somewhere, but I guess I didn’t hurt him much. Your man, though, looks
pretty sick.” He handed the glasses to Hugh and the latter studied the
wreck a moment.
“The fellow on the ground is sitting up,” he announced. “I dare say
it was only a flesh wound. Lucky for them the plane didn’t take fire.
Maybe he turned off the ignition when I got him. Well, they got out of
it pretty well, and we got out of it a heap better. Funny that neither
of us was touched, for I could hear the bullets coming thick. Look at
the holes along here, will you? How the dickens we got by without being
plugged is a blooming miracle, Jack!”
“We――we didn’t,” said Jack apologetically. “That is, I――I got winged, I
guess.” He held his right arm out. The khaki canvas of his wool-lined
coat showed a great dark stain between shoulder and elbow. “It isn’t
much, though. Hardly knew he’d hit me. It――――”
“Get that coat off,” growled Hugh. “Why didn’t you tell me, you silly
chump? Here, give me hold. That’s it! Gee, what a mess! Have to rip the
sleeve up, I guess. Wait till I fetch some water and a bit of gauze.”
He plunged down the little ladder and presently scrambled back into
sight, a roll of gauze in his hand. Quite deftly he cleaned the blood
away from the wound and examined it. “Went right through,” he said
finally. “Look here. You can’t see where it came out, though. But I
can, and you’ll have to take my word for it. You’ll have a lame arm for
a few days, but I guess there’s no great harm done. Does it hurt?”
“Of course it hurts, when you squeeze it like that, you crazy loon!
Quit it!”
“Have to do that to clean it,” answered the other, grinning. “Hold
still! Say, there’s some antiseptic solution somewhere aboard. Now
where is it? I know! Hold that gauze there a minute.”
Five minutes later the wound was neatly dressed and bandaged, and when
Jack had carefully donned his coat again a loop of gauze was tied about
his neck and the arm placed in it. “See that you keep it there, too,”
ordered Hugh sternly.
“But I can’t use it!”
“Who wants you to use it? Haven’t you any sense? Look here, I’m the
ship’s doctor and what I say goes!”
“Who made you doctor?” grumbled Jack.
“I did. As commander of the ship I can make myself anything I please,
old son. Just you remember that. And I can put you in irons, too, if
you don’t behave yourself. Now you keep that arm where I’ve put it; at
least until to-morrow; and hustle for’ard and look at your compass. Bet
you a million pesos we’re headed south instead of north!”
But they weren’t. The _F 8_ was evidently a craft to be trusted, for
in spite of happenings that might have made any dirigible nervous and
caused it to fall off its course the _Fate_ had plugged along without
a tremor, attending strictly to its business of getting there! By this
time the wrecked airplane was only a spot in the sunlit distance, and
not even that to the naked eye. The desert was rapidly changing its
character. Acres of close-growing chaparral and clumps of fat, stunted
trees clothed the ground. Aroyas and dry washes took the place of the
former monotonous flatness, and all the time the earth was gradually
falling further and further away from the balloon. Northeast by east
the hills that they had sighted earlier were now quite plain, a long
barrier stretching from southeast to northwest, some forty miles away.
The distance was Hugh’s guess: Jack would have placed the range much
nearer. Pale blue, with pockets and streaks of a darker shade, the
mountains showed to the crew of the dirigible. At their feet lay a
valley, and from where the _F 8_ flew the land descended slowly to its
floor. The scene, viewed from their elevation, was really beautiful,
the first scene, according to Hugh, that merited that description. But
it was far less the beauty of the view than the evident fact that the
range of low mountains did not reach far enough to the west to dispute
the progress of the dirigible that pleased Jack. Ahead of them lay, so
far as they could yet determine, only gradually descending country,
flat save for occasional dry water-courses and outcroppings of rock.
And the map that they had recourse to verified their vision. Only one
small settlement was indicated on the line of their flight, and that
lay close to the river. It was for sight or signs of the latter that
they strained their eyes now, but the air had lost its clearness and
visibility was lessened, and at twenty minutes before two, the _F 8_
then having logged 112 miles, the Rio Grande was still hidden. There
had been, all along, a discrepancy between the Mexicans’ estimate of
the distance to the nearest point on the border and that of their
maps. At Perdero the distance had been variously stated as from one
hundred and ten miles to one hundred and thirty, whereas, if Perdero
was correctly placed on the military maps the actual distance was
nearer a hundred and fifty. If, as Hugh pointed out, a hundred and
fifty was right, they ought to sight the river by two o’clock. It was
shortly after he had made this hopeful statement that Jack gave a cry
and pointed over the port side. There, far below and well eastward,
the afternoon sunlight sparkled on water, and presently, aided by the
glasses, they were able to follow the stream northward for some miles.
The river was not the Rio Grande, however, but a small, tributary
stream. Nevertheless, sight of it brought encouragement, for the map
showed that it flowed into the larger river but twenty miles away.
They sailed directly over a village a few miles further on and could
see the excitement that their appearance was causing, even though the
_Fate_ was now well over two thousand feet up. The country beneath
showed much cactus and, along what in the rainy season were apparently
water-courses, much vegetation. But for the rest it was dry and
unprofitable looking. Here and there a small plantation made a patch
of green and now and then a peon’s hut showed like a dull drab speck.
Roads wandered uncertainly beneath, losing themselves in jungles of
chaparral or on bare and rocky hillsides.
Just before two the starboard engine showed signs of overheating, and,
since American soil was near and high speed no longer necessary, Hugh
shut it off and ran on the port engine alone, making just under thirty
miles. It was a moment after that Jack, gazing eagerly forward from
the cockswain’s seat, caught his first glimpse of the Rio Grande, far
to the northeast. He pointed it out to Hugh and even as they looked
the river appeared again directly ahead at a distance of ten or a
dozen miles, its course now easily followed by the marching lines of
vegetation.
“Hurray!” cried Hugh. “There’s the little old U. S. A. again, son!
Don’t she look good?”
“I’ll say she does!” agreed Jack fervently, although as a matter of
fact the country beyond the distant river looked no different from
that above which they were flying; and it would have required a lot of
patriotism to see anything attractive in the latter! But the sight of
the arid land across the wide, nearly dry river bed meant that they
had succeeded in their undertaking, and so it appeared to the two boys
a veritable Promised Land, and they indulged in a good deal of cheering
and self-congratulation in the next few minutes. They were still
laughing and joking when Hugh gave an exclamation and pointed down over
the side.
Below them, little oblongs against the parched green of the plain, lay
several buildings of what appeared to be corrugated iron sheeting.
Above them a flag hung limply on a pole, too limply to show its colors.
About the buildings tiny brownish specks moved excitedly, like ants
about a disturbed ant-hill. At a short distance from the cluster of
shacks a number of the specks had congregated, and even as the two boys
looked puzzledly down, there was a puff of whitish vapor there and, a
moment later, a faint report.
“Why, the dirty little greasers are firing at us!” cried Hugh
indignantly. “What do you know about that? Gee, I wish I had a couple
of bombs! I’d like to drop ’em and see those rascals run!”
“Do you mean that’s an anti-aircraft gun they’ve got?” exclaimed Jack.
“Sure as you’re an inch high! I suppose they call that thing a fort,
eh? Wonder how near they got to us. There she goes again! Say, maybe
it’s a good thing we didn’t come down when I suggested it!”
“Yes, and if you’ll take my advice,” answered Jack uneasily, “you’ll
start the other engine and get out of here. I don’t know how far that
thing can shoot, but two thousand feet ought to be easy for it!”
“Maybe you’re right, old son. And why not swing her off toward the east
there and follow the bend of the river? As for their ever hitting us,
though, they couldn’t do it in a thousand years.” Nevertheless, the
starboard engine was speedily adding its roar to that of the other,
and, with the rudder swung to port, the dirigible turned lazily, as
though scorning such foolish doings, and headed her red-white-and-blue
nose into the east. Whether the shells fired from the fort came near
enough to endanger the balloon the boys never knew, for, look and
listen as they might, they saw nothing of them, and shortly the _F 8_
had left the menace well behind. Once out of possible range, Hugh again
shut off the starboard engine and, traveling steadily at slightly under
thirty miles an hour, the big dirigible followed the winding course of
the Rio Grande, at that part scarcely more than a muddy apology for a
river.
“Watch for a patrol or any sort of a station on the American side,”
directed Hugh when, the balloonets having been partly deflated, the
dirigible sailed some three hundred and fifty feet above the treetops.
“I’ll write some messages and we’ll drop them the first chance we get.
The sooner they get word at Camp Stanton the better, and it’ll take us
six hours to get to Fort Phillips at this speed.”
“Phillips!” exclaimed Jack. “But I thought we were going to make Punta
Rio!”
“We were――if we could, son, but have you had a look at the gasoline
gauge?” Jack shook his head. “Well, I have. We’ve got enough in the
tanks to make Punta Rio, if we run like this on one engine, but Punta
Rio’s a good five hundred miles from here and, at thirty miles an hour,
it would take us until eight o’clock to-morrow morning to get there,
always supposing we can keep aloft that long.”
“Why can’t we?” asked Jack.
“Maybe we can, but suppose we can’t? How’d you like to tell the C. O.
that you brought the balloon back safely as far as Tie Siding or Chile
Concarne or some other place along the American side and then let it
go dead? No, sir, Jack, we can make a fine triumphal arrival at Fort
Phillips and report by wire, and I don’t want to take any chances
on wrecking the old jitney by trying too much. I’d like landing
nonchalantly in front of Number 6 Shed as well as you, old scout. I’ve
got a perfectly corking picture of myself climbing carelessly out and
flecking the dust from my sleeve and saying, ‘Walk her in, boys. I’m
through with her!’ And there’s no denying that you’d make a wonderful
hit with that arm of yours in a sling, when you faced the C. O. _But_
I’m for safety first, son, me!”
Jack grinned. “All right,” he said. “Get busy with your pencil then.
There ought to be some of the doughboys along here somewhere.”
“More likely the Eighth Cavalry, I guess. Get your map and set her
course for Fort Phillips, Mr. Sterling.”
“Ay, ay, sir!”
“And keep that arm where I put it!”
“It is!”
“Yes, but you keep jiggling it around. Let’s see that chart. There’s
Phillips. Make your course northeast three-quarters east.”
“Get out of my station! You belong aft with the engines, you oily,
dirty swab! Say, isn’t that something ahead there?”
“Where? I see. Yes, a ranch house, I guess. Don’t see anything alive
around it, though. Guess it’s deserted. We won’t waste a message there.
By the way, can you wigwag?”
“No.”
“Neither can I, worse luck. If one of us could we might make ’em
understand that we were dropping a message. I’m going to learn that
stuff the first chance I get. Well, keep your eyes open, old son.”
“You get those messages written and stop worrying about me, Hughie.
Say, how’d it do to wrap the message around a bolt or something? There
are a lot of bolts and nuts and things in the hole.”
“That’s what I intended doing,” answered the other sweetly. “Either
that or letting you jump over with it!”
Ten minutes later Hugh reappeared again in the forward cockpit. “I’ve
made three copies,” he said. “How does this sound? ‘To the finder:
Report me to Naval Aviation Base, Punta Rio. Making Fort Phillips.
Commander Weeks and Officers Gandell, Traine, Jordan and Wason held
prisoners by General Roza at Perdero, Coahuila. Have commander’s report
to Rear Admiral Thomas aboard. Clode, Ensign, commanding.’ All right?”
“Sounds great,” said Jack. “Only you ought to have put Traine before
Gandell, you mutton-head. Gandell’s only junior grade.”
“What’s the odds? Anyway, it’s too late to change it now because,
unless my eyes deceive me, there’s a town or something ahead there.”
“Of course there is. Look at the chart, ‘Clode, Ensign, Commanding.’”
“You’re envious, old son. That’s right: Tiamina. Never heard of the
metropolis before, though. And those must be the Santiago Mountains
beyond there, eh? Sure to be soldiers at Tiamina. Maybe there’s a post
there. We’ll slow down and make ’em understand that we’re dropping a
message and not a pocket handkerchief. I’ll find a hunk of iron or
something.”
“Yes, and be careful you don’t drop it on some one’s head,” laughed
Jack.
The approach of the _F 8_ caused great and visible excitement in the
little village. Long before the dirigible floated above the first of
the Mexican huts that bordered the settlement the population of the
place, to the last dog and chicken, was gaping upward. You could have
counted the inhabitants without getting into three figures, however!
Hugh, standing in the second cockpit, waved and motioned, and every
man, woman and child below waved enthusiastically back. Of anything
approaching military appearance, however, there was a total lack. No
one in uniform showed down there. With the single engine throttled well
down, the _F 8_ floated slowly and impressively over the village, Hugh
still seeking to convey the information that the white thing he held in
his hand was a message to be read. In spite of the fact that his voice
would scarcely be heard below, he shouted at the top of his lungs and
got very red in the face about it. And the more he waved and shouted
the more the inhabitants of Tiamina waved and shouted back, moving
along in the shadow of the big balloon as delighted and joyous as a lot
of children.
“Oh, they’re crazy!” said Hugh in exasperation. “Bet you a dollar if I
drop this they’ll try to throw it back!”
Jack was doubled up with laughter. “Well, d-d-drop it and s-s-see,” he
called back.
Hugh grunted, hesitated and at last let the message go. Fortunately,
none of the villagers were directly beneath, for the sheet of paper was
carefully wrapped about a six-ounce steel nut. A score of eager hands
sought to pick it up, and for a moment there ensued a mild riot in the
sleepy main thoroughfare of Tiamina. At last a man who might have been
Mexican or American or Tierra del Fuegoan for all they knew, was seen
to emerge with the property proudly in hand. His first act was to wave
politely with his straw hat. After that the throng closed in around him
and he was lost to view.
“I suppose he’ll take it home and put it on the mantel as an ornament,”
growled Hugh. “Did you ever see such a bunch of dubs?” He gazed back
at the sleepy village and scowled. They were still waving, those who
were not striving for a view of the mysterious package dropped from the
wonderful airship. “For the love of lemons, stop your idiotic laughing!”
“I――I can’t help it,” gurgled Jack. “It was so funny!”
“Huh!”
“And――and the funniest part of it,” added Jack, “is that there probably
isn’t a single, solitary one of them who can read English!”
Hugh’s jaw dropped. “Gee, I never thought of that!” he muttered.