THE SIGNAL FIRE.
“I’ll tell you what it is,” Jimmie said, as the boys sat in a little
restaurant on Fourth street, discussing the situation, “if we turn back
to New York now, we’ll be off the beat. Havens told us to go out to
Monterey, didn’t he?”
“He certainly did!” answered Carl.
“Well then,” continued Jimmie, “we ought to go on to Monterey. Look
here, kids,” he went on, “we don’t know what took place in New York
after we left. We don’t know that Havens didn’t disappear from that
stateroom for the sole purpose of getting out of the way of the fellows
who tried to burn his hangar. What do you think of that idea?”
“It appears to me to be a sound one,” Ben responded. “Mr. Havens may
have met with members of the gang we are fighting. In that case it would
be nothing strange if he managed a mysterious disappearance for his own
protection. Would it, now?”
And so, after canvassing the subject thoroughly, the boys decided to go
on to the Pacific coast. It was decided, too, that they should leave
that very night and travel at an altitude which would render collisions
with uplifting summits impossible. They were on their way in an hour
from the time the decision was reached.
The boys speak to-day with reverence when referring to that all-night
ride. At first the clouds hung low, and they seemed sailing through
great fields of mist with neither top nor bottom. Then a brisk wind
scattered the moisture in the air, and they sailed for a time under the
stars. Later, there was a moon, and under its light they sailed lower,
watching with excited interest the lights in the towns they passed, the
shimmer on the water they crossed, and the incomparable light reflecting
on the smooth green leaves of the forests they shot by.
At daylight they came down on an eminence from which the landscape for
miles around could be seen. Below the slope of the hill lay a verdant
valley in which nestled a small settlement. At the summit where the
machines lay there were great wide stretches indicating the action of
waves at some far-distant, prehistoric time.
The boys were well-nigh exhausted with their long ride. As is well
known, the endurance record is not much longer than the time the boys
had spent in the air. Besides being cramped in limb and heavy from lack
of sleep, the boys shivered because of the altitude at which they had
traveled.
When the sun rose it shone with generous warmth upon the ridge where the
boys lay, and they basked in its light with many expressions of joy.
“Here’s the place where we sleep!” exclaimed Carl. “We can watch the sky
and the surface of the earth for miles around,” he added, “and can
finish any ordinary sized nap in peace.”
“I’ll watch,” promised Ben.
“You’ll not!” exclaimed Jimmie. “You watched night before last.”
“And came near getting the machines blown up, too,” Ben commented.
It was finally arranged that Jimmie and Carl should remain awake for a
couple of hours each, after which a hasty breakfast was prepared and the
boys settled down for a long rest. Ben and Jimmie were soon asleep, and
Carl, sitting on the ground near the _Louise_ was feeling like going to
bed himself when a small red head was poked over the edge of the summit
and a shrill voice cried out:
“Hello, Mister!”
“Hello, yourself!” answered Carl.
The boy, a mite of a fellow not more than ten years of age, fully as
freckled-faced and as red-headed as Jimmie, now approached the
aeroplanes cautiously, his wide mouth breaking into a grin as he
advanced.
“Them your machines?” he asked, pointing with a dirty finger.
“Sure they are!” answered Carl. “Ever see one before?”
The boy shook his head while his eyes sparkled with excitement.
“Give me a ride!” he demanded.
“Not yet,” replied Carl with a laugh. “We’re going to remain here for
some little time.”
“If I stay, can I go with you?” the boy asked.
“I should say not!” replied Carl. “What would your folks say if we
should take you away in a flying machine?”
“I ain’t got no folks!” was the reply.
“Where do you live?”
The boy pointed down toward the little settlement in the valley.
“Do your parents live there, too?” asked Carl.
“I done told you I ain’t got no folks!” insisted the youngster.
“Well, where do you sleep and get your eatings, then?” demanded Carl.
“Sleep in barns!” was the reply. “And don’t get many eatings. That’s
what makes me so little and thin!”
“Do they sell gasoline down there?” asked Carl.
“Yessir!” was the short reply.
“Well, I’ll tell you what I’ll do,” Carl proposed. “If you’ll go back to
the store where they sell it, and get the boss to bring us a sixty
gallon barrel, I’ll give you a dollar.”
“Quit your kiddin’!” exclaimed the boy.
“Sure, I’ll give you a dollar,” promised Carl, “and I’ll give it to you
in advance. Can they get up on this hog’s-back with a wagon?” he added.
“They sure can,” was the reply. “There’s a road that climbs the hill out
of the valley, and I guess they can gee-haw their old delivery wagon
along the ridge, all right.”
“Well, go on, now,” Carl exclaimed. “Go on and order the gasoline.”
“Where’s the dollar?” demanded the youngster.
Carl tossed him a silver dollar with a laugh, and saw the boy’s bare
feet twinkle as he disappeared down the slope. As a matter of fact, he
had little hope of ever seeing the boy again, or of having the message
delivered. Still, the little fellow looked so ragged, and forlorn, and
hungry, that he would have given him the dollar if he had known that the
boy would neither deliver the message nor return.
In an hour or so, however, the boy poked his red head over the summit
again and came bounding up to where Carl sat.
“It’s coming!” he cried. “The wagon left the store at the same time I
did, and I beat ’em to it! Say,” he added with a chuckle, “the driver
made an awful row about coming along this ridge, and I told him you’d be
apt to give him a dollar extra. Goin’ to do it?”
“Of course!” laughed Carl. “Anything you say goes. For the time being,
you are the purchasing agent for this outfit.”
When at last the delivery wagon with the barrel of gasoline came bumping
along the surface of the hill, the driver leading the horse, the boy
began a knowing inspection of the flying machines, as if determined to
give the delivery boy the impression that he had already become a member
in good standing of the party. This was very amusing to Carl.
The driver unloaded the barrel of gasoline, received his pay and his tip
and then stood with his hands on his hips surveying the two aeroplanes
critically.
“There’s one of them things lying busted on the other side of town,” he
said directly.
“Some one have an accident?” asked Carl.
“I dunno,” was the reply. “Sol Stevens drove in to sell his hogs, a
little while ago, and he said he saw one o’ them busted airships lyin’
busted by the road out near the Run.”
“How far is that from here?” asked Carl.
The delivery boy looked over the landscape, as if estimating distances,
and at the same time establishing his own importance, and answered that
it was not far from ten miles.
Ben and Jimmie, awakened by the rattle of the rickety wagon wheels, now
came out of the shelter tent and joined in the conversation. They looked
curiously at the boy for a moment, and then turned their attention to
the driver, listening intently to his repetition of the brief story of
the wrecked aeroplane.
“Well,” the driver said presently, beckoning to the boy, “we may as well
be going, Kit.”
“I’m going with the machines!” answered the boy.
Ben and Jimmie looked from Kit to Carl but said nothing.
“Ain’t I going with the machines?” demanded the youngster of Carl.
“What would your folks say?” demanded Ben.
“Huh!” said the delivery boy. “He hain’t got no folks. He just sleeps
around and gets his meals wherever he can.”
“I sent him after the gasoline,” Carl explained, “and paid him in
advance. He came back all right.”
“Did you think I wouldn’t come back?” asked Kit, indignantly.
Before the question was answered, Jimmie pulled Ben lustily by the
sleeve. Carl saw what was in the boy’s mind and remained silent.
“Come on, let’s take him!” Jimmie urged. “He’s all right.”
“I’m willing,” replied Ben. “In fact, I’m getting tired of riding alone
in the _Bertha_. The little fellow will be good company.”
The delivery boy departed quickly, and Kit at once began making himself
useful, assisting Jimmie in the preparation of dinner.
“Don’t you ever think I can’t cook!” Kit exclaimed, as he sat by the
fire watching the skillet of ham and eggs. “Don’t you think I don’t know
how to get up a square meal. I’ve helped cook lunches many a time.”
“Perhaps we’d better make you chef of the expedition!” laughed Ben.
There seemed to be something on the boy’s mind as he gave his attention
to potatoes roasting in the hot ashes, and after a time he turned to
Carl with a puzzled face. His brows were puckered as he asked:
“Why didn’t you ask the delivery boy about that smashed machine?”
“I did ask him about it,” replied Carl. “You heard me.”
“Well you didn’t ask him about the man that got smashed up in it,”
continued Kit. “The man who got smashed up in it,” the boy went on, “hid
in Robinson’s barn, where I slept last night, and lay groaning and
whining with a broken arm so that he kept me awake. This morning, when
he saw me, he gave me a dollar to get a doctor there without telling
anybody, and I went and got Doctor Sloan. I promised not to say a word
about it, but you boys have been mighty good to me, and I think you
ought to know.”
“What kind of a looking fellow is he?” asked Carl.
“A monkey-looking fellow, with hunched shoulders and ears like cabbage
leaves,” replied the boy. “He don’t look good to me.”
The boys heard the description of the wrecked aviator with undisguised
pleasure. At least one of their pursuers had been put out of the
running, for the time being. This, they thought, increased their chances
of reaching the Pacific coast in advance of any friends of the outlaws.
“Where did the man go after Doctor Sloan set his arm?” asked Ben.
“He said he was going to the nearest railway station and return to
Denver,” was the reply.
“Machine quite busted up?” asked Jimmie.
“That’s what he told the doctor,” replied Kit. “He swore awfully while
he was talking about it. And look here,” the boy went on, “after he left
I picked up a letter which fell from a pocket of his coat when he took
it off to have his arm set.”
The boy presented a yellow envelope, sealed but not stamped, as he
spoke. Ben took the letter and, without any compunctions of conscience
whatever, opened it. It contained a sheet of paper, blank with the
exception of four words. Ben studied the writing for a moment and passed
the sheet to Jimmie. The boy in turn handed it to Carl.
“At Two Sisters canyon!” Carl read.
“Now what does that mean?” asked Jimmie.
“Why, you boy,” Carl explained, “it means that this busted aviator was
headed for a canyon in the mountains known as the Two Sisters. Do you
get that? What else would he have this letter for?”
“That’s the first bit of luck we’ve struck since we started out on this
journey!” declared Ben. “I guess, Kit,” he went on, “that you must be a
mascot. What do you know about that?”
“Oh, I’m a mascot all right!” grinned the youngster.
When the boys started away to the west again Kit occupied a seat on the
_Bertha_. Satisfied that they had distanced at least one of their
pursuers, and encouraged by the thought that their way might now be
clear, the boys made few stops of any length on their way to the
Pacific.
Three days later Sierra de Santa Lucia loomed up before them. It was
then twilight, and against the darkness rose the flames of a signal
fire!