STEALING AN AEROPLANE.
After a long time Jimmie had his bear steak, potatoes and coffee set
before the men whom he believed to be the burglars who had been chased
across the continent. The two sat down and ate with an appetite, while
the boys were not at all slow in consuming large sections of bear.
“This is a queer world, ain’t it?” laughed Kit after disposing of a
large steak. “Mighty queer world, ain’t it!”
“What’s the Solomon, now?” asked Jimmie, while Phillips and Mendosa
looked up interestedly.
“Well,” the boy answered, “not so very long ago this bear was sitting
under a Sycamore tree thinking what a nice boy steak he was going to
have for dinner. Now, I’m sitting out here by a cosy little fire
thinking what a nice bear steak I’ve just had for dinner.”
“I don’t think the bear had much of a chance of getting his boy dinner,”
Phillips suggested. “Your friends would have rescued you in a short time
if I had not put in my appearance.”
“Anyhow,” Kit went on, with boyish gravity, notwithstanding the twinkle
in his eyes, “the bear and I have buried all hard feelings. At least
I’ve buried about two pounds of it right now.”
During the remainder of the afternoon the two guests devoted most of
their time to talking to each other in low asides, and to asking
questions of the two boys. They wanted to know exactly what the aviator
had said regarding the chief ranger, and especially what had been said
concerning a stay of two or three days farther south.
It was very plain to Jimmie that the outlaws had not as yet been
communicated with by either one of the two desperadoes sent on from New
York. In fact, the pursuers seemed to have had uncommonly hard luck.
The one referred to by the boys as the monkey-faced man, the one who had
chased Jimmie up New York bay, had smashed his machine and broken his
arm, so he was entirely out of the race before reaching the Rocky
Mountains.
The other aviator, the one described as the blond brute, had made
successful progress across the continent only to have his motor go wrong
during the chase of the afternoon. Jimmie was not much inclined to throw
bouquets at himself, but he chuckled at the thought that only for his
success in keeping the blond aviator amused the two outlaws might at
that moment have been beyond the reach of the officers.
“And here they sit,” Jimmie chuckled to himself, “waiting for Ben and
Carl to come back, or waiting for some officer to drop down and give
them the pinch!”
There is an old saying that one must not count chickens before they are
hatched, which Jimmie at that moment seemed to have overlooked. While he
was complimenting himself on coaxing the outlaws into their present
danger, the outlaws themselves were conferring as to what advantage they
could take of the situation in which they found themselves.
“It’s just this way,” Mendosa was saying in a low tone to Phillips. “The
whole country is astir over the smuggling going on, and will be full of
officers in no time. Even if the police do not come here to get us, it
is not improbable that they will blunder into our camp some night and
lug us away as suspicious characters.”
“What ought we to do then?” asked Phillips.
“We ought to get out,” Mendosa replied. “Why, even the forest rangers
are coming down here looking for you. I never did think it was good
sense for you to wear that uniform.”
“Now don’t kick!” snarled Phillips.
“It’s enough to make a man kick!” Mendosa declared. “Here we thought we
had a neat little home for the next three months, with no one aware of
our presence here, and no danger of going hungry. But just look what
we’re up against at this moment! I wish we could get one of the steamers
that come up here with smuggled Chinks.”
“Much good that would do!” sneered Phillips.
“That’s what you say to all my suggestions,” Mendosa snarled.
“Then talk sense!” demanded Phillips.
“How’s this for sense, then?” asked Mendosa. “Suppose we disappear in
that flying machine as soon as it gets dark.”
“Can you run it?” asked Phillips, scornfully.
“Of course not!” was the answer. “I can run a faro lay-out, but I can’t
run an aeroplane.”
“Then where is the sense in the suggestion?”
“The boy can run it!” declared Mendoza.
“Yes, but will he?”
“Will he?” repeated Mendoza. “Let me get a knife next to his ribs and
he’ll do anything I tell him to do!”
“But will the machine carry us two and the boys?”
“The boys?” scorned Mendoza. “We don’t have to take both boys with us!
We can cut the kid’s throat and leave him in the bushes!”
“I wouldn’t like to do that,” Phillips said, hesitatingly.
“You wouldn’t, eh?” demanded Mendoza. “Who struck the watchman?”
“I didn’t!” replied Phillips.
“Yes, you did!” sneered the other. “Now, I’ll tell you what we’ll do,”
he went on. “Just as soon as it becomes dark, we’ll settle the kid’s
case and mount the machine with the other one. There are only two seats,
but I’ll hold him in my lap, so I can embroider his back with my knife
if he don’t do exactly as I tell him to. After he gets us out of the
country, way down into lower California, we’ll drop the machine, boy and
all into the ocean.”
“I’m a burglar but not a murderer!” insisted Phillips.
“Unless we do something,” Mendoza exclaimed, “you won’t be either a
burglar or a murderer. You’ll be a corpse. For my part, I have no
inclinations toward New York and the electric chair.”
“It may not be necessary for us to injure the boy,” Phillips suggested.
“May not be necessary?” repeated Mendoza. “If we go away and leave the
kid here, he’ll chase over the hills until he finds some one to tell
what we’ve done and which way we’ve gone. If we leave this boy, Jimmie,
flying about in his machine, he’ll never rest until he tells the
officers where he left us, and all about us. In order to protect
ourselves, we’ve got to keep them quiet. Are you going to weaken now?”
“I’ll do whatever is necessary when the time comes,” replied Phillips.
Mendoza seemed satisfied with this, and the two men walked back to the
fire and, notwithstanding the treachery in their hearts, engaged in
friendly conversation with the boys.
Between that time and dark they brought out their bear steak again and
clumsily broiled great slices over the fire. They also cut large
quantities of bread into slices and made sandwiches. They even made
large quantities of coffee and bottled it up in milk jars with patent
tops in which the boys had brought a supply of the lacteal fluid.
The boys regarded them curiously as these liberties were taken with
their provisions, but Phillips explained that he had many miles to
travel during the next two days, and would not be within reach of his
base of supplies. Mendoza was not so careful to quiet the suspicions of
the lads, and his brusqueness was one of the things which put them on
their guard.
“Those fellows are getting ready to jump out!” Jimmie insisted as he
walked away from the fire with his chum.
“Well, we can’t help it if they do start away!” Kit responded.
“We might shoot,” Jimmie went on, “but that is a game two can play at,
and it might not be a profitable one for us.”
“I wouldn’t like to do that, anyway,” said Kit.
“I’ve got a notion,” Jimmie went on, “that these fellows want to get
away in the machine to-night. They probably believe the story I told
about the chief ranger, but, still, they doubtless want to beat it while
the beating is good.”
“I don’t believe they can run the machine,” argued Kit.
“I don’t believe they can, either,” answered Jimmie. “But they know that
I can,” he added significantly.
“They wouldn’t take you along!” Kit replied.
“They would take me along while they could use me,” answered Jimmie,
“and that would be the last of yours truly. Those fellows are
cold-blooded murderers! I wish the other boys would come!”
“I’m afraid something has happened to them,” Kit replied soberly.
Twilight fell as the outlaws planned murder and the boys planned
capture. As the latest finger of light touched a summit to the southwest
an aeroplane was seen slowly moving toward the valley. It was plain even
to the outlaws that she was seriously crippled. As for the boys, they
watched her interestedly until a mass of clouds from the ocean settled
down over the mountain top and shut her from view.
“That’s the fellow that give us the run to-day!” laughed Jimmie.
“You mean the man who told you about the chief ranger?” asked Phillips.
“The same,” answered the boy noticing at the same time with deep
satisfaction the alarm in the other’s face.
“He couldn’t give any one a chase now,” Kit exclaimed. “Because he’s
limping along like an old woman with a crutch!”
“He’s probably got a poor spark plug,” Jimmie commented.
There were a good many furtive glances passed by both parties as the
outlaws began to prepare for the night. They were given a shelter-tent
by Jimmie, and saw fit to place it within a short distance of the
_Louise_. The tent to be occupied by the boys was put up not far away.
More wood was put on the fire as the darkness grew. The outlaws
understood that they would need light in order to execute the wicked
purpose in hand.
Jimmie and Kit promised each other that they would not close their eyes
in slumber even for a minute, but the day had been a hard one and
presently Jimmie dozed off. Kit was still awake, but was inclined to let
his chum sleep as long as he could keep his own eyes open.
“There’s no use in both of us keeping awake,” the small boy thought. “I
can just as well watch those fellows. Anyway, if Jimmie has the
situation sized up correctly, they won’t go away without letting us
know,” he continued with a grim smile.
This reasoning was all very well on the part of the boy, but in five
minutes he was sound asleep himself.
It was ten o’clock before the outlaws emerged stealthily from their
tent. There was no moon as yet, although there would be one later on,
but the light of the stars was quite sufficient for them to look over
the entire valley in which the _Louise_ lay.
Once beyond the circle of fire they could see quite distinctly up to the
rim of the thicket at the sides of the bowl. They conferred together for
a moment, and then Mendoza crouched down on the ground, drawing Phillips
with him and drew a revolver.
“What is it?” asked Phillips.
“There, at the edge of the thicket!” replied Mendoza. “There is some one
creeping along the ground!”
“It’s a dream!” declared Phillips.
At that moment the figure of a man left the underbrush and crept
cautiously down toward the fire. The outlaws secreted themselves in the
shadows and watched him. He hesitated for a moment, just at the rim of
the firelight, apparently listening for some indication of wakefulness
in the tents, then he moved straight to the collection of provisions
which had been prepared, and a portion of which had been left in view.
“Guess it’s some hungry tramp,” suggested Phillips.
“Is it?” replied Mendoza. “Just look again! That’s Graybill from New
York. Look at the big shoulders and the blond head of him!”
As Mendoza ceased speaking he gave a low whistle which the approaching
man seemed to understand, for he straightened out of his stooping
position and approached the provisions with confidence. In a moment he
was greedily devouring meat sandwiches and drinking cold coffee, while
Phillips and Mendoza were explaining the situation to him.
“Who’s in the shelter-tents?” he asked in a moment, and Phillips
explained. “They’re nervy little foxes!” was Graybill’s only comment.
The three men talked together for perhaps ten minutes, during which the
provisions were being stored away on the _Louise_. Graybill stood
looking inquiringly into the air most of the time, while his companions
were so occupied.
“It may be a bad night,” he said after a while, “and yet it may be a
good one; but I’m willing to take the risk if you are. As I’ve told you,
my machine is pretty well smashed, but I think the _Louise_ will carry
us all if we take good care of her.”
“She’s got to carry us all!” insisted Mendoza.
Graybill walked cautiously over to the shelter-tent where Jimmie and Kit
were still sound asleep and looked in at the sleeping boys with a smile
on his hard face.
“The little scamps!” he exclaimed. “They’re hardly larger than peanuts,
yet they gave me a run to-day that many a trained aviator wouldn’t be
able to manage.”
“Mendoza was thinking of quieting the boys for good and all before
leaving,” Phillips suggested, rather suspecting what the answer of the
aviator would be.
“Nothing doing!” said Graybill. “If he touches the boys, I’ll duck him
into the first canyon we come to. They’re gritty little chaps, and I’m
not going to see them harmed!”
“I knew what your decision would be,” said Phillips, “and that’s why I
mentioned the matter to you. I don’t want to see the boys injured.”
“They won’t be!” declared Graybill.
Mendoza now approached the two, declaring that the provisions were all
packed on the _Louise_, and that they were ready to take their
departure.
“All we’ve got to do now,” he went on, “is to fix these boys so they
won’t run out and tell tales after we’re gone!”
“Nothing doing!” exclaimed Graybill, and Mendoza turned away sullenly.
A few moments later, when Jimmie and Kit were awakened by the clatter of
the _Louise’s_ motors, they crawled sleepily out of their shelter-tent
and looked up into the starry sky.
“That’s a joke on us!” Jimmie said.
“Yes,” Kit admitted. “We didn’t understand that they could operate the
machine themselves, so we went to sleep. Now we’ve lost the murderers
and what’s worse, we have lost the _Louise_!”
“And the _Bertha_,” added Jimmie, “and Ben, and Carl, and Mr. Havens,
and the whole bunch!”