Produced by Stephen Hutcheson and the Online Distributed
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[Illustration]
Airplane Boys
Discover the Secrets
of Cuzco
BY
E. J. CRAINE
[Illustration]
THE WORLD SYNDICATE PUBLISHING CO.
CLEVELAND, O. NEW YORK, N. Y.
_Copyright_, 1930
_by_
THE WORLD SYNDICATE PUBLISHING COMPANY
_Printed in the United States of America_
by
THE COMMERCIAL BOOKBINDING CO.
CLEVELAND, O.
In this third book about the Airplane Boys, they get a marvelous
new plane, which they name the “Lark” and which takes them to
new adventures and serves them to good purpose in many a narrow
escape.
CONTENTS
CHAP. PAGE
I AFIRE! 9
II TRACKS IN THE SNOW 30
III PIGEON JUTE 49
IV “THANKS FOR THE BUGGY RIDE” 67
V IN THE “LAB.” 86
VI OUT OF THE SKY 106
VII PARTS UNKNOWN 124
VIII AN OFFICER’S PLEA 144
IX THE STOWAWAY 166
X THE FIGHT IN THE AIR 187
XI AT CUZCO 205
XII AMY-RAN FASTNESS 224
[Illustration]
I.
AFIRE!
“Humph! I wonder where in the name of pulverized pups that young
Slick-and-Slippery took himself. He sure knew how to cover his trail
up good and pronto.” It wasn’t the unseasonable weather that made Bob
Caldwell shiver slightly as he glanced ahead at the deserted ranch
which was rolling toward him. It was the recollection of that day, only
a few months ago, when he had taken Sergeant Bradshaw and Allen Ruhel,
the Canadian Royal Mounties, to identify the outlaws.
Staring at the empty ranch buildings, the boy experienced an uncanny
feeling; it seemed to him that in the weeks which had elapsed since
the Gordons, Senior and Junior, had been forced to vacate so hurriedly
and abandon their schemes, that the huge property had become amazingly
desolate. Drawing swiftly nearer he saw doors swinging disconsolately
in the wind, and although he knew perfectly well that no such sound
could reach his ears, he thought that even the strips of forest wailed
dismally over their condition.
“Anyway,” he remarked with relief, “the old man is safely in prison,
and I reckon that Arthur had aplenty of Texas, so we don’t have to
worry about his turning up here again.” Curiosity prompted him to
take the glasses and examine the vicinity more closely. The rambly
old-fashioned house in which the father and son had made their home for
three years, swayed slightly. Many of its windows were broken, sections
of the roof sagged, and one corner of the veranda was separated from
its supporting pillar. A small shed in the back had fallen in, the
bunkhouse entrance was blocked with debris, the corral fences leaned
wearily, and the tall cottonwood trees that had been decorative during
the summer, were stripped of their biggest branches.
“Guess they didn’t do any more repairing than they had to while they
lived there or it wouldn’t be tumbling apart now,” he suggested as an
explanation. His eyes rested for a moment on the twisted bole of a
gnarled oak and he thought he saw something move swiftly around its
base, but he decided that it was probably a wild animal that had taken
shelter there because of an instinctive confidence that its haunts
would not be molested.
Caldwell had witnessed the ignominious capture of the older man and
the unceremonious retreat of Arthur Junior, who had fled the country
without stopping to lock the place or make provisions for the hundreds
of head of stock which roamed the range. Humane ranchers had driven
the cattle to shelter, and Bob knew that the sheriff or some of his
assistants occasionally patroled the property on watch for signs of the
return of young Gordon or any of his associates, but so far the place
had been shunned by members of the gang as if it were plague stricken.
“At that, some of them might make it a hang-out as soon as they think
people have forgotten or are too busy to keep an eye on it.” He noted
the rugged cliffs which rose like irregular saw-teeth and curved around
sharply, like a protecting elbow. “From the ground the place isn’t easy
to reach without being observed. Well, what a nice little scare-cat I’m
getting to be,” he upbraided himself as he resolutely put the glasses
into their case and turned his attention to the business of flying.
Bob Caldwell was the younger member of the Flying Buddies and he was
returning from a hop in Her Highness to Crofton where he had done
errands for his mother and picked up the mail for the three adjoining
ranches above the Gordon’s on Cap Rock; his own, the Cross-Bar on the
Pearl River; the K-A which was the Austin’s and his home; and Don
Haurea’s of the Box-Z. The recollection of the stirring events and the
eerie atmosphere about the lonely ranch made him turn the plane’s nose
toward the blue dome of northwestern Texas until its magnitude and
beauty enabled him to dismiss the sense of impending danger.
“We are all as safe as if we were in church,” he grinned cheerfully,
then, as the altitude meter read twenty thousand feet, he leveled off,
and shot north. At the boy’s right stretched the seemingly endless
miles of level plain under an almost unbroken expanse of pure white,
while at his left below the great ledge lay miles and miles of sharp
hills, narrow valleys, and in the distance the Pearl River bottom.
Presently he saw the timber line bounding the south of the K-A.
“Good old ranch,” he chuckled. “And Jim, the blithering highbrow, is
all healed up, thank goodness. He sure has deserted us for Don Haurea’s
laboratories.” The boy gave the machine an affectionate tap but he
felt no resentment over the new interests of his step-brother for he
too was culling valuable information from that same source, only Bob
was applying everything he learned to the immediate development of the
Cross-Bar ranch. “She’ll be some producer by the time I’m twenty-one.”
That happy date was five years off and he whistled gaily as his mind
tried to visualize the achievements possible to accomplish during those
years.
By this time Her Highness was soaring smoothly above the plain, and in
the distance, so far north that he looked like an animated exclamation
point as he skied on the surface of the frozen snow, Caldwell
recognized the familiar figure of Jim Austin, his Flying Buddy and
step-brother.
Austin’s bright red mackinaw and flapping scarf stood out a cheery
patch of color against the whiteness that surrounded him, and by the
swing of his body Caldwell knew that the older boy was making an effort
to beat him home. With an exuberant whoop, the young pilot waggled
Her Highness’ wings to let the challenger know that she accepted the
dare, but she was a good sport, and although the distance she had to
cover was four times as far as the skier’s, she proceeded to make her
handicap greater, by executing a wide circle, zooming, banking and
spiraling. Bob was having a perfectly gorgeous time in the sky, and
although he looked forward to joining his Flying Buddy, he hated to
come down. But as he sped along, he saw that Jim stood a fine chance
of making good, so after treating himself to a final climb, he leveled
off again, then with the throttle wide open, he started to dive.
Jim was so close now that Bob could see him quite plainly, and he
watched for his brother to pause and admire the spectacle of the
rushing plane as it cut through space at topmost speed. Suddenly Jim
did stop, stare up, then he waved his arms. At first Bob interpreted
the motions as a signal of recognized defeat, but after an instant
the pilot realized that his step-brother was trying to make himself
understood and he seemed rather frantic about it. He glanced swiftly
about to be sure that another plane was not in the vicinity, and
discovering none, he took a swift look at Her Highness. As far as
he could see the little bus was O.K. and he wondered if she had
dropped her landing gear, but just then his eyes rested on the mirror
which reflected the rear, and he gave a startled gasp of incredulous
amazement. There was a thick trail of smoke belching along the fuselage
and to the boy’s horror he saw tongues of flame bursting almost to the
forward cock-pit where he sat.
Mechanically he kicked the rubber, jammed the stick, fought with the
controls, brought the nose up and reduced the speed. All the while his
mind was busy in an effort to account for the fire, but he could find
no explanation. Going more slowly the smoke no longer shot back, but
began to hover forward, swirled about the cock-pit and smudged his
glasses. Groping and straining at the safety strap, he shut off the
motor, but it was evident that whatever caused the blaze was in the
back, yet he knew there was nothing in the construction of the machine
that could ignite in the rear.
According to the meter he was still seven thousand feet up, so he made
a desperate effort to save the beloved plane but nothing he tried
helped matters at all, and finally, with a sigh of regret, he released
the strap, his fingers moved over the parachute buckles, then stopping
to pick up the bag of mail and his glasses, he climbed over the rim of
the cock-pit. One last glance back when the machine was two thousand
feet up, the boy jumped, dropped like a plummet until he was clear,
then he pulled the release and in a moment the chute blossomed above
him and he began to drift easily. As the plane dropped swiftly past
him it seemed to the boy as if all the joy of life was carried down to
destruction in the crackling machine. He clenched his fists inside his
fur mittens, gritted his teeth, then because he simply couldn’t bear to
witness the complete annihilation of Her Highness, he closed his eyes
and paid no attention to his own landing.
“Spill some of it, Buddy!” Jim called sharply. Bob glanced about, saw
that he was drifting toward the jagged tips of underbrush protruding
above the snow, so spilled enough air to drop him more directly. He
could hear his step-brother’s racing skis as the older boy hurried to
meet him. Then Jim caught him by the coat and helped the landing. “All
right?” he asked anxiously peering into Caldwell’s face.
“Sure.” Bob was down now, and the pair of them hastened to get him
freed from the chute.
“What happened to you? Who did you meet?” Jim asked quickly.
“I don’t know what happened and I didn’t meet anyone,” Bob answered
emphatically. “Is there any chance of saving her?”
“No!” Silently they stood together as the hungry flames, like a pack
of ravenous wolves, consumed the helpless plane.
“Gee,” Bob said finally then sank down and buried his head on his arm,
while his body shook in a brave effort to keep back the sobs.
“Don’t take it so hard, Buddy,” Jim urged, but he wasn’t feeling any
too good himself.
“Gosh, I--I couldn’t feel worse if it was one of the h--horses, or
t--the dog. She--gosh, she was a dandy bird, Jim--nobody could ever
have more fun than she gave us--it was more like having a good pal that
you could always rely on, than just a machine,” Bob choked.
“I know it, old man. I’d mighty like to find out what started her
cooking. Have any engine trouble?” Jim asked.
“Not a bit. She ran like velvet, was going great when I was diving. It
wasn’t until I saw you doing a wind-mill with your arms that I thought
of grief, then I had an idea it might be the landing gear I’d dropped
and you wanted me to look out. I didn’t find anything wrong until I saw
the smoke in the reflection mirror.”
“Come on over and we’ll see if we can discover anything.” They made
their way in stunned silence, threw snow over the flames, and carefully
examined all that was left of the little bus, but she was too far gone,
or they were too inexperienced to locate treachery.
“When we get home, let’s look over the plans. Maybe we can find a
spot--some place where it might have been weak--” Bob proposed.
“I don’t believe we will, but it won’t do any harm. Who did you see
when you were in Crofton?”
“Bill, he was going home to lunch, the storekeepers and the postmaster.
Just the usual crowd,” Bob answered.
“Where did you leave Her Highness while you did the errands?”
“In the freight yard where we always park. There wasn’t anyone hanging
around and the gate was closed. I had to climb over. Did that because I
didn’t want to call Bill back to open it,” Bob answered, then he added,
ruefully, “You’ll think I’m a rotten pilot to let a thing like that
happen--gosh--”
“Aw go on, you’re a corking good pilot. I’ve got a hunch that some
sneak, maybe some of those fellows that were in that jam at Don
Haurea’s last summer fixed it up so she’d burn slow and then get going
good while you were in the air,” Jim explained.
“But how could anyone do that?” Bob demanded.
“You may investigate me, Buddy. Were any kids hanging around when you
took off?”
“No. No one paid any attention to me. They don’t any more. It isn’t
like it used to be. The people see one of us drop down five or six
times a week, so the novelty has worn off. Why even Bill doesn’t come
out any more and he used to run to meet us if we landed within sight of
the place,” Bob reminded his step-brother.
“That’s so,” Jim nodded. “What you got in the bag?”
“Mail and stuff.”
“We better get home. You get on the back of the ski and we’ll slide,
Buddy slide! It’s lucky we learned to do these things double. Someone
at the house may have seen you drop and be worried to bits. Come
along, Old Timer,” Jim urged. He went for the bag, tightened the
straps of the ski, then Bob planted himself behind his step-brother,
the bag in one hand and the other on the older boy’s shoulder, they got
into step, and presently they were making good speed toward home. Jim
was right in thinking that the blazing plane had been sighted, for they
had not turned into the ranch road when they heard the jingle of bells
as a team came dashing around the curve, the elder Austin standing in
the bob-sled.
“What happened?” he shouted. “We saw Bob--”
“I’m all right, Dad,” Bob assured him, “but Her Highness went up in
smoke, gosh--”
“So long as you didn’t go up with her, old man. Hop in here,” Mr.
Austin urged. “Want to come with us, Jim?”
“I might as well,” Jim accepted. Presently the team dashed to the
house, and on the long veranda, Mrs. Austin was waiting. She had taken
only time enough to throw a heavy blanket shawl over her head, and when
she saw the Flying Buddies, her eyes were filled with tears.
“Boys--”
“We’re top hole, both of us, Mom,” Bob called cheerily.
“I--I watched that plane--the smoke coming from the tail long before
you started to dive--oh Bob--”
“Now, you knew I was wearing my trusty chute over me union suit,” he
teased, but he put his arms around her and held her tight.
“Your union suit, how long since you--”
“Go on. Doesn’t a flying suit look like a step-in or a union suit?” Bob
grinned as he led his mother into the house. The chore-boy took charge
of the prancing team so Jim and his father followed.
“We have been lucky that the boys have not had an accident before,
Mother, and really the danger, no matter what happens, isn’t very great
when they have first-class chutes ready at a moment’s notice to land
them safely. They both know enough to jump and keep out of difficulty,”
Mr. Austin remarked quietly.
“To be sure, and me trusty side-kick was on the job with the elongated
feet to bring me over the snow in fine style,” Bob laughed. They were
in the living room now, both of them peeled down to ordinary clothes,
and stood before her, a pair of fine looking tow-heads.
“What started the fire?” Mrs. Austin was not to be put off.
“As your devoted step-son so aptly puts it, you may investigate both
of us, but I expect it was an exposed wire somewhere,” Bob answered,
casually.
“Did you look to see?” she persisted.
“We did, but Her Highness was too hot to do much examining, and my
breadbasket too empty for me to want to linger so far away from the
commissary department, namely, the eats--is dinner almost ready?”
“It’ll be served in a few minutes. You hurry and get cleaned,” she
urged, for the present need made her forget the past danger, which was
exactly what her son was endeavoring to achieve.
During the evening meal the subject of the wrecked plane was studiously
avoided but not because the boys did not feel the loss of Her Highness
very deeply. Through their minds flashed snatches of memory that made
it mighty difficult to laugh and joke with Mrs. Austin, but they kept
the pretense up courageously. However, later that evening Jim and his
father were in the ranchman’s office alone for a few minutes, then the
boy’s shoulders slumped as he stared through the window toward the
starry sky.
“It’s too bad, old chap,” Dad remarked thoughtfully. “Any idea how it
happened? I don’t like to say much before Bob’s mother.”
“I don’t understand it, Dad. From what Bob says, she was working first
class, every part of her, right up to the minute that he discovered she
was ablaze. If a single part had gone wrong she would have showed it
by the indicators or in the reaction of the controls. I do not believe
that the Kid would have missed anything. Lots of times he’s quicker to
locate pending grief than I am,” the boy replied softly.
“Have you any suspicions?”
“Not one. He said, that as far as he knows while she was parked in
Crofton, no one came near her, and she flew like a charm all the way.”
“Sure there isn’t some technical solution to the mystery?”
“If there is, I don’t know it. I thought of writing to the
manufacturers, and stating the facts, and see if they have any
suggestions,” Jim answered.
“Could someone have put something inflammable somewhere around the tail
assembly, something arranged to burn slowly?” the man suggested.
“I’ve thought of that, Dad. But there isn’t anyone in the state,
outside of jail, who would be revengeful enough to do it. The men
who were given the shortest sentences in that trial after the attack
at Don Haurea’s last summer still have over a year to serve--none of
them--that I know of--have been pardoned.”
“If any of them were I am sure the sheriff would have told us,” Mr.
Austin volunteered.
“Yes, he would. It’s a cinch, Dad, that not more than one or two of
that whole gang who were sent to prison know enough about airplanes and
flying to set a trap that would go off like that. An amateur would have
started the fire and let her go any old way. If the thing was a piece
of treachery it was managed by an air man who didn’t take any chance
of his plot being discovered too soon. I can’t figure out that anyone
is guilty of such a mean trick, but I don’t know how else it could
have been done.” With a sigh he turned back to the room and sat by his
father’s desk.
“You are going to miss it a great deal.”
“Like fury. Dad, I want to get a job piloting, and save up for a new
machine. Somehow, I can’t see how we can get along without a plane.”
“I will not agree to your giving up your studies, old man. The more you
learn while you have the opportunity, the better off you will be later.
I’m quite sure that mother will feel the same way about Bob. She has
been most happy lately because of his interest in books.” The boy’s
face drew down, but he tried to accept the verdict manfully. After a
moment, he drew a deep breath.
“All right, Dad,” he agreed. His father smiled.
“Since you two came home this afternoon I have been doing some thinking
on the subject. While we had Her Highness, we accepted her rather as
a matter of course. One of you would go, at a moment’s notice on an
errand which ordinarily would take several times the time it took to
go by air.”
“Yes,” Jim nodded his head but he wasn’t following very closely. He
was thinking that it would probably be months before he and his Flying
Buddy went roaring into the sky again. It wasn’t easy to be cheerful.
“This winter has started out as if it is going to be a very hard one,”
the man went on quietly.
“Yes, sir. It’s been a long time since we had so much snow,” Jim
replied.
“Years. In fact, I don’t recall one like it since I was a boy, but
seasons are always doing the unexpected.”
“Sure,” Jim replied as his father paused.
“To a stock man that means loss in straying cattle and horses. Young
stock get lost, sometimes it takes cowboys weeks to locate them, and
often only a few can be saved. That’s according to the old method. I’m
going to miss getting the mail every day too. It’s quite a novelty
reading the newspapers when they are not weeks old, especially in
winter,” he rambled on.
“I’m sorry,” Jim said earnestly.
“We all are. It seems to me, Jim, that Bob’s idea of doing things in
as advanced a method as possible is the greatest money saver we can
invest in, so I think that for the present I shall purchase a new
plane. It will not be quite such a splendid model as Her Highness, but
it will help us out for the time being--”
“Dad!” Jim stared at his father, then he added weakly, “Even one of the
cheaper ones cost quite a lot.”
“Don’t you think it will be a good investment?”
“Ha, ha,” Jim laughed. “Why Dad, I think it will be corking. We’ll save
a lot of the stock and I’ll fly for your paper as soon as it’s off the
press,” he promised eagerly.
“Then we--.”
“May we come in?” That was Mrs. Austin and she was followed by Bob, who
dutifully held the door for her.
“You are always welcome.”
“I say, Jim, Mom says that Dad got Her Highness, so she wants to get us
a new crate--”
“My dear, the boy told me he was going to get a job piloting for the
winter--that would never do, and I should like to--you know, it’s been
rather delightful--”
“Reading your newspaper before it gets old,” Jim interrupted with a
wide grin. “That’s the same tune Dad sang to me, and he’s going to get
a plane for the ranches--”
“Now--my dear--”
“It’s all settled, my dear,” Mr. Austin assured her. “We were just
discussing the details, and we like our plan so well we do hope that
you will not do anything to spoil it.” The two boys looked at the
grown-ups, and chuckled.
“Tell you what, Jim, when the bus arrives let’s teach them to be a pair
of flyers.”
“I believe it would be very interesting,” Mrs. Austin said quickly, but
her husband looked grave.
“You’ll both be safe as in church,” Jim laughed heartily, then he and
Bob executed an Indian dance about the parents until those worthies
begged them to desist.
II.
TRACKS IN THE SNOW
The four days which followed the demise of Her Highness were sad ones
and the whole family on the K-A ranch missed the convenience the little
plane had afforded them. It seemed to the buddies that doing everything
without the machine was far slower than they had ever realized, but
they were both too busy to waste time in regret over the loss of their
capable assistant. Then the morning of the fourth day brought the
steady roar of an airplane as it beat its way swiftly down Cap Rock,
lighting and sliding on a pair of runners until its pilot succeeded in
bringing it to a halt.
“This the K-A?” he called to the choreboy who was racing to meet him.
“Yes, sir. Can you take the buggy around this way? Some horses are
being hazed up the trail, they’ll be here any minute, and they may
get scared of the machine,” he explained and his youthful eyes were
eagerly taking in the lines of the new arrival.
“All right, old man, where had I better park?”
“Close to those trees, off the road.” The pilot lost no time in
following directions and it was well that he did for he had barely left
the vicinity when a bunch of young broncs came crashing through the
woods, sending the snow flying in a thick screen all around them.
“Ki-yi. Ki-yi.” The air was filled with the musical cry, and the pilot,
as soon as he again stopped his plane, climbed on top of it to watch
the performance. He saw the broncs rear, kick, plunge and circle as
they were being driven steadily forward, and the man could hear the
creak of saddles, the jingle of bridles and crack of quirts as the
cowboys dashed hither and yon to keep their charges from rushing off
toward the enormous cliff which rose in a hundred-foot wall a quarter
of a mile ahead. One young bay succeeded in breaking away. The pilot
saw it thundering toward him; its eyes flaming, nostrils wide, and foam
flecked about its mouth. The man was too startled and fascinated to
realize his danger, then he heard another call.
“Ki--ki--ki.” A cowboy, looking for all the world as if he belonged in
a wonderful tale of old-time west came racing after the truant, his
pinto apparently requiring no guiding, and his hands busy with a long
rope which was singing over his head. An instant later the cow-pony
cut in front of the plane, the rope flashed out, its loop opened and
dropped over the bay’s thrashing hoofs. As if the whole affair were one
complete piece of perfect co-operation, the pinto braced its fore feet,
the cowboy pulled back, and the runaway bay was secured.
“Bravo, bravo--what a circus!” The pilot yelled as lustily as a small
boy in peanut row at a wild-west show, and then the cowboy glanced over
his shoulder.
“Oh, hello,” he shouted. His eyes lighted happily at sight of the
plane, but he couldn’t say anything more for the bronc was making a
frantic effort to get free of the lariat and required his undivided
attention. In a minute he was being hazed along with the bunch and
finally all of them were milling around the huge corral, while the
riders went about their various tasks. That accomplished, the pilot
saw the pinto and its rider say something to another rider on another
pinto, then the pair turned their horses’ heads toward the plane.
“By George,” the pilot exclaimed enthusiastically. “I didn’t suppose a
man could see anything like that these days. It’s simply great!”
“Oh, that’s nothing,” Bob answered. “The snow made the range a hard
feeding ground, so we are bringing the stock in.”
“Keep them here all the rest of the winter?”
“Only a few that look as if they need extra care. We’ll give the others
a week around here, then turn them loose,” Bob answered.
“It depends some on the weather,” Jim added, and then the pilot
recognized the young fellow who had turned back the unruly bay. “Glad
you got here so quickly with the new plane.”
“I’m glad that I didn’t miss the show. My name’s Kramer and I hope I
get permission to hang around here a few days. If the fellow who is to
pilot this machine is a crackerjack, my vacation is spoiled, but if he
doesn’t know much about flying I can send word to the firm that I must
stay to teach him.”
“Guess you’re here for a run,” Bob told him, “and you better get your
message off as soon as you can. I’m the lad who has to fork the bird,
and my side kick here. We both have a lot to learn. Last time I tried
to do sky-riding I brought the machine down in flames.”
“Gee, that was tough luck,” Kramer said sympathetically. “I’ll like
staying around and you can be sure I’ll do all I can to instruct you
so nothing of the kind will happen again. You’re a pretty good sport,
really, because very often when a man has an experience like that he
gets air-shy--is off flying for the rest of his life.”
“We’ll appreciate your help. I watched the kid come down and it was no
party. The bus looked like a Fourth of July rocket shooting the wrong
way,” Jim announced. Then followed instructions and Kramer sized up his
prospective students with real interest.
“You know, even if you did have an accident you look to me like the
type who could be top-notch pilots if you don’t get discouraged,
and after all, you are both young. In a few years, flying will be as
ordinary as automobiles then you’ll be glad you took it up and stuck to
it,” he told them earnestly.
“This looks like quite an air bucker,” Bob remarked as soberly as a
judge. He urged the reluctant Tut close and his eyes traveled quickly
over Her Highness’ successor.
“It’s a great machine. Perhaps you know that it’s a Pitcairn mailwing.
They are used a lot as mail carriers, but airmen have become interested
in them for sport use. It’s seven-cylinder, two hundred and twenty-five
horse power. My boss said that Mr. Austin told him over the telephone
that he wants a good serviceable plane for practical purposes. You
could not get anything better than this. It’s got two cock-pits, that
can be covered in bad weather and as soon as you learn more about
flying, if it’s storming, you can shut yourselves up snug as a bug in a
rug, and fly--”
“Flipping Flapjacks, you mean without looking at the ground?” Bob
interrupted incredulously.
“Sure--positively,” Kramer answered emphatically.
“Here comes Dad,” Jim declared. “He’s the air-minded member of the
family. When the other crate cracked up he got right in touch with your
firm and ordered another. Said the K-A couldn’t get along without one.
It’s a wonder to me he didn’t order a herd of them.”
“That goes to show you how really progressive he is. Why most men of
his generation--a lot of them, anyway, think flying is all nonsense--”
“This is Mr. Kramer, Dad. We just told him we hope he can stay a while
and give us instructions in flying.” Mr. Austin glanced questioningly
at his son.
“Yes,” Bob added. “Kramer never saw a real ranch, except from the sky.
He sat here and almost let the broncs jump over him. He likes horses.”
Then Mr. Austin understood what was in the Flying Buddies’ minds so he
nodded approval.
“It will give us a great deal of pleasure to have him stay as long
as he can, and I am sure that your mother and I shall feel much
more comfortable if we are confident that you have had thorough
instructions. It seems to me that you boys are a little slow in
bringing Mr. Kramer to the house. He has had a long trip, perhaps a
hard one, and sitting here is cold work--”
“Oh, I was just telling them some things about the machine. My boss
said that if this plane doesn’t suit you, we’ll send another model,
sir, but from what you told him over the telephone, he thought this
would be the best for your purpose,” Kramer said respectfully.
“The men of your firm must know a good machine,” Mr. Austin smiled.
“Absolutely--but the customer has to be satisfied. I don’t mind telling
you that we all feel kind of cocky over a telephone order--”
“What’s the telephone for?” the older man asked.
“Oh, sure thing, it’s to save time and all that, but there aren’t many
people who will buy a plane on short notice, why they want to see them
all, read about them, listen to a man talk his head off, be taken up--”
“But my dear young man--it seems to me that when one wants a plane that
is a great waste of energy to say nothing of time. Come in and meet
Mrs. Austin and get rested.”
“I’ll take you up any time you can go,” Kramer offered.
“After lunch,” Jim answered.
After lunch the Sky Buddies listened with strained attention while
Kramer conscientiously taught them the operation of the Pitcairn. The
instructor carefully went from the propeller to the tail telling the
name of every part and explaining each function in detail, while the
boys listened with anxious frowns quite as if it were so much Greek to
them. Finally Bob sighed heavily.
“One thing I like about a plane,” he announced.
“You’ll soon learn to like the whole bus,” Kramer smiled, “but what
appeals to you particularly?”
“The tail. Dogs and horses have them and they are real understandable
parts,” the boy replied soberly.
“Yes,” Jim added, “but a dog or a horse doesn’t have to have anyone
work his tail for him. He manages his own rudder.”
“I expect you know dogs and horses better than I do airplanes,” Kramer
laughed goodnaturedly. “Perhaps, while I’m here, you’ll give me a few
lessons in managing them.”
“Sure,” Jim agreed heartily. “We’ll dress you up in a pair of slip-ins,
and show you how to fork a bucker.”
“Guess I’d rather watch someone more experienced do that. I say, if you
want to go anywhere, we might take a hop. Perhaps the first time up,
I’d better do the piloting, but you can learn a lot--”
“Mom wants some pink crochet cotton. Let’s go to Crofton,” Bob
proposed, then added quickly, “You take Jim in with you first. I’d kind
of like to sit in the back with nothing to do.”
“That’s all right with me--”
“Why the heck can’t you let me take things easy?” Jim urged.
“Go on, you learn first. I have to get over being air-shy. Don’t want
my insides doing a tail spin till they get kind of used to it.”
“It’s a good idea,” Kramer put in. “Sit in the back until we get to
Crofton. It will restore your confidence. Perhaps on the return trip
you can ride in front.”
“Wall--” Jim drawled. “Sure that’s pink crochet cotton?”
“Absolutely, I wrote it down.” Bob fished about in his pocket and
found a scrap of wrapping paper. “Here it is. One skein of blue twist.”
“You were almost right, Buddy,” Kramer laughed heartily. “Anything else
she wants while we are there?”
“The mail,” Jim answered.
“And the newspapers,” Bob grinned.
“Fine. Let’s go.”
Presently the Pitcairn was soaring splendidly into the air, and in the
front Jim eyed the controls. His fingers itched to take hold of them,
but he braced himself and hooked his hands under his safety belt, while
Kramer cheerfully did his piloting so the student could see every
operation and analyze its purpose. Once in the air it wasn’t so simple
keeping up the pretense of ignorance and twice Austin nearly gave
himself away, but Kramer was so absorbed in his task that the slips
were unnoticed. However, he did feel that he was making great progress
with this youngster, but he rather anticipated a more difficult time
when he took Bob in hand.
There wasn’t a single mishap during the trip, and finally, when they
reached the little town, the pilot began to look about for the best
place to land. With the blanket of snow on the ground visibility was
hard, and Kramer circled over several sites before he finally turned to
the boy.
“I’m looking for a place to come down,” he announced through the tube.
“The cattle pen by the freight yard. It’s been trampled,” Jim suggested
and pointed to the triangular runway. It was smaller than Kramer
wished and built on a steep incline, but he didn’t want the new owner
to think the plane wouldn’t do all that was expected of her, so he
started the descent and at last landed perfectly. Austin hid a smile of
appreciation at the accomplishment, and nodded indifferently.
“I’ll get the yellow yarn--”
“Blue twist,” Kramer corrected quickly.
“Sure. You come along so I won’t get it wrong, and you can wire your
firm from here, unless you did it at the house,” Bob proposed.
“It slipped my mind,” Kramer admitted.
“I’ll wait here,” Jim decided. He slid low in the cock-pit as soon
as the pair were out of sight, and his mind was busy with the idea
that someone--perhaps the lad who was responsible for the loss of
Her Highness, might come nosing around. He wanted to give whoever it
was plenty of opportunity to get close in case he was again in the
vicinity. Austin kept perfectly quiet, his head well below the rim of
the cock-pit.
He heard the jingle of bells as small sleighs slid by, the shout of
neighborly greetings, an occasional automobile and the distant whine of
a buzz-saw as it bit into huge logs, cutting them into cordwood. The
boy was beginning to believe that his vigilance was to go unrewarded
when he heard the thud of a pair of boots dropping with someone into
the cattle enclosure; then came the cautious approach. They were
coming to the plane, that was evident, and Jim got ready. Watching,
with every muscle keyed to spring, he waited. There was a moment’s
hesitation, whoever it was stopped under the wing, then a second later
a hand rested within a few inches of his face. He swung up with all
his strength, caught the wrist firmly and yanked. At that there was a
scraping, then the business end of a six-shooter was pointed into his
face, and simultaneously he leaped up with a yell.
“What--” He stopped short and stared in startled amazement.
“Oh, that you, Austin?” The gun was slipped back to its holster.
“Sure, Sheriff.” Jim was too astounded to say anything more.
“I calculated I’d find you here, and I’m right glad you dropped in to
town today because I’m going to ask you to help me.”
“I’ll do anything I can,” Jim assured him.
“Wall, it’s this way. You know we’ve been keeping the Gordon place
under observation. Got a deputy there most of the time. Maybe he’s
getting nutty, I don’t know, he’s alone and there’s a sort of sameness
to this here snow. He reported a couple of days ago that he thought
someone was hanging out up there but he hasn’t been able to fetch up
with whoever it is and he ain’t seen no tracks. I ain’t had a minute to
go and look myself, and I ain’t got no one to send right now. He put in
a call ’bout noon time. Said he’s seen some tracks, they look like a
bear’s.”
“There are no bears out this time of year,” Jim reminded him.
“I told him the old fellows has crawled in and pulled their holes
after ’em, but he says it’s a big bear track plain as can be and it’s
round the ranch house.”
“What can we do for you?”
“Wish you’d stop on your way home and see what the heck’s eatin’ the
feller. It’s Carl Summers--reckon you know him.”
“Yes, sure I know Carl,” Jim replied.
“He’s needin’ a job, and I’se needin’ a watchman, sort of, so I swore
him in. He rigged up a contraption--taps the wire and that’s the way he
reports every day to me,” the sheriff explained.
“Couldn’t he follow the tracks and see where they lead?” Jim asked.
“That’s the goldurnest part of it. They only lead ’round in a circle.
Ain’t no entrance or exit, as it were. He can’t find no place where
they start or stop.”
“That is odd. What do you want us to do?”
“See what Carl has to show you and hear what he has to say. If he seems
kind o’ sick, take him to your house en fetch the doctor, or if he’s
all right, you get in touch with me. If you take him home, ask your
pa if he can spare a man to kind o’ keep his eye on the place for a
couple o’ days till I can get someone else. I got a bee in my bonnet
that young Gordon will land back there one o’ these days, and I’m
aimin’ to catch him when he does.”
“We’ll be glad to stop and have a talk with him. I can telephone you
from there if it’s anything serious,” Jim agreed.
“That’s fine. I knew I’d find you here soon’s I saw Bob swinging up
the street. Watched you the other day when the kid came down and you
were loafing here--” He broke off suddenly, and frowned. “Why the name
o’ hen’s teeth did you make such a grab at me? Boy, you might o’ got
a whole round of lead in you and I’d had a fierce time apologizing to
your folks.”
“I was watching for a sneak--”
“Think you caught him?”
“Oh, no, I know I haven’t--but say, what did you mean when you said
that you saw me in the cock-pit the other day?” Jim asked.
“Saw you from my window up there. That is, I happened to look out and
discovered the plane parked in the freight yard and you fussing away in
the back seat.”
“I didn’t come with Bob the other day,” Jim told him.
“You didn’t come--why I saw you as plain--”
“My face?” Jim was excited. He hoped the sheriff could describe the
fellow who was responsible for the loss of Her Highness.
“Wall no, can’t say that I did. Saw the top of that helmet and as I
know there are only two Flyin’ Buddies in these parts, I reckoned it
was you,” the man answered, and Austin was most disappointed.
“It wasn’t, and great guns I wish you’d come over then,” he said with a
sigh. He went on and explained about the burning of the plane and the
sheriff scowled.
“Thunderation, that ain’t lookin’ too good.” He took off his hat and
scratched his head. “You-all got a hunch that plane’s death--as it
were--wasn’t due to no natural causes?”
“That’s the way it looks.”
“All them guys that might be sore on you because of last summer at
the Don’s place is working off their grudge in jail--that is--let me
see, Gordon got away--the young feller I mean, en the chauffeur chap.
Humph. Maybe Carl ain’t so loony. You can shoot?”
“Of course.”
“Maybe it’s mighty important that someone get up there to Carl fast as
he can get. You take a set o’ irons--I’ll get ’em--one for you and one
for Bob--”
“There’s another chap with us--name’s Kramer--he came with the new
plane. I don’t know if he can shoot or not--”
“I’ll get three.” The man hurried off and while he was gone, Bob and
the instructor returned with an arm full of mail.
“Get that red--”
“Blue,” Kramer corrected with a laugh.
“We have to do an errand for the sheriff.” By the time the officer had
returned, Jim had given his companions details of what was required and
they both looked rather sober at the task before them.
“You boys know that Gordon--if you see him don’t take no chances.
I’m gettin’ a gang together, and we’ll follow pronto--fast as the
automobile can bring us.”
“We could take you along now,” Kramer suggested.
“I can’t leave the office for half an hour. Got something needs my
attention here and it’s almost as important as gettin’ Gordon. Do
you swear to do your duty as officers of the law and upholders of the
Constitution of the United States? That ain’t real regular, but you
know what it means.”
“I do,” came from three throats. Then they climbed into the cock-pits.
III.
PIGEON JUTE
“Hit her up, loop the sun,” Bob called as he climbed into the rear
cock-pit. Kramer let the motor run for a moment, then managed to smile
at her performance.
“That’s a motor what motes,” he announced. Soon they took off and
they looked most war-like with the sheriff’s artillery added to
their equipment. Through the minds of the Sky Buddies raced a varied
assortment of possibilities regarding what they would find when they
came down on the Gordon ranch. Jim rather wished that Bob was not along
for if either young Arthur or any of his former associates were there
no one would anticipate how much trouble awaited them. Although there
was only a few months difference in their ages, Austin felt years
older and was anxious that the younger boy be kept out of danger. He
recalled the scheme the two Gordons had concocted and nearly brought
to perfection at Don Haurea’s ranch a few months ago. While Caldwell
had not been hurt physically the horror of what he had witnessed had
almost taken the fun out of him.
In the back seat Bob too was thinking of that day. Through his brain
flashed the vision of his step-brother lying wounded and bleeding on
the steps of the Bar-Z ranch house. It wasn’t a picture a fellow could
shake off easily and he was wishing that Jim was not going to be in
this, whatever was ahead of them. To be sure, under the splendid care
of the medical men and surgeons of the Don’s people, his Buddy had
healed and recovered with remarkable speed, but just the same being
a target was a hazardous business and one couldn’t expect to get off
so easily very often. He whistled softly and determined that he would
keep his eyes open and if possible shove Austin into the background.
The plan looked good to the boy, and then he thought of something
which seemed even better. When they came down he’d suggest that his
step-brother fly on home and explain the matter to his father who could
get a number of the men on the K-A together and join the deputies at
the lower ranch. That was a great idea, and an even better one was to
propose that Jim get in touch with Don Haurea. From this highly capable
man’s laboratories something very effective could be accomplished.
Bob had no thought of what the Box-Z owner would do, but since the
difficulties of the summer he too had paid a visit to the subterranean
department and had seen the workings of the super-television-radio.
It was an awe-inspiring place and the young fellow knew that the
proposal of getting in touch with its head would appeal strongly to his
step-brother.
By this time the rugged peaks of lower Cap Rock were rolling swiftly
toward them, and presently the buddies from their separate points of
observation were examining the ranch through the glasses. Finally Jim
located Carl Summers sitting on a projecting ledge from which he could
keep a watchful eye on his territory. It struck the boy that the young
deputy appeared very unconcerned. He had expected to discover Carl
crouched in some out-of-the-way corner where he could not be taken by
surprise, and surrounded with a battery of artillery. Touching Kramer
on the shoulder, Jim pointed out the ledge where he had landed with
Her Highness the day Lilly Boome and Ollie had inveigled him to give
them a lift from Laville. Three minutes later the Pitcairn lighted
perfectly on the strip of table rock, and Bob, eager to put his plan
into operation, called:
“I say, Jim, I’ve got an idea!”
“Take off your hat and let your head cool,” Jim advised. The younger
boy got out of the cock-pit with all possible speed and was standing
by the forward door before it could be opened. Austin grinned at him
cheerfully.
“I don’t need to, you nut. Listen, Old Timer, you fly on to the K-A and
tell Dad what’s doing, then telephone Don Haurea. I bet a thin dime
against the State of Texas that he’ll be able to do something worth
while from his place--”
“But your brother can’t fly well enough yet!” Kramer interrupted.
“Say, you sent that wire to your firm, didn’t you, that you are going
to stay here?” Bob demanded.
“Yes, but what’s that got to do with it?”
“Nothing much, old man, but the Buddy and I know a lot more than
you would suspect about airplanes. We’ll give you a demonstration
when we’re not too busy. It’s this way, we thought you looked like a
deserving lad, and we were sorry for anyone who never got real close
to a good horse, so, when you said that your firm would give you
permission to stay a while, we wanted to help you--we’re a pair of
regular little helpfuls--ask our folks.”
“I’ll tell the world you are. Think I’m going to hang around here to
teach you something you know? I’m not lying to my firm--”
“Gosh,” Bob’s face flushed. “That’s right, I didn’t think of it--you
couldn’t do that--” then he grinned--“but, look here, if you do like
Texas and horses and dogs--and us--I’ll bet you could sell a couple of
planes to some of the ranchers. We’ll introduce you around--”
“I’ll bet the sheriff would buy one,” Jim added. Then the frown
disappeared from Kramer’s face and he too grinned.
“Now you are talking. I’ll get in touch with the firm and see what
my boss thinks. Much obliged, Buddy, for the tip, and much obliged
too for the desire to give me a good time.” He held out his hand and
Caldwell gripped it firmly in his own.
“Now that’s settled,” Jim put in--“the sheriff said that Summers has
an instrument here and he has tapped the telephone wires. Your idea of
getting in touch with Dad and the Don is great, I’ll do it by phone.”
“Oh--yes, sure you can do that.” Bob’s face fell and he sighed as he
saw how quickly his perfectly good plan to get Austin away from the
danger zone vanished into thin air. “Sure, you can do that and it will
save time, too.”
“Hello there!” Carl Summers, who was a stocky little Texan, came
swinging carelessly up the winding trail, his face wreathed in smiles.
“Hello yourself. We were at Crofton and the sheriff asked us to drop in
and see how things are,” Jim explained.
“That’s fine. For a couple of days I sure have been doing some tall
figuring without getting an answer. Guess I was sort of hipped with the
snow and the emptiness of this place, but I wasn’t all goofy,” he said.
“Did you find anything?” Jim asked. He and Kramer were out of the
cock-pit ready to listen to the story, whatever it was.
“Yes, a spell ago. I’ve been feeling that I wasn’t alone on this ranch
and it got me worried, not because I was afraid, but because I couldn’t
come up with anyone. The first time was at night, I was asleep in a
bunk I fixed myself in the old root house, that dugout, and I awoke
thinking I heard prowlers. I couldn’t find anything, but dozens of
times since then I was sure I was being trailed; then I found those
bear tracks and I know bears are enjoying a siesta this time of year,
but they were tracks and they went around in a circle. It didn’t make
me feel too good trying to figure what made ’em.”
“It must have made you anxious,” Kramer remarked.
“Surely did, brother. I reported to the sheriff and he promised to get
someone here as fast as he could, and he told me to keep watch. Now,
you two know bear tracks, just for fun come and look at this set and
see if you can tell what made them and where the animal came from or
went,” he proposed.
“Lead on, McDuff,” Kramer invited.
“You got my name wrong, buddy, it’s Summers--”
“I know, but that’s just a quotation,” Kramer hastened to explain.
“He wants you to show us,” Bob added.
“Oh, I see, he’s from Missouri. Well, come along.”
“Do we need the battery?” Kramer asked. He didn’t like toting a gun and
seeing the two in the boys’ belts made him feel uncomfortable.
“We’ve got them on, and we might as well keep them,” Jim answered
cautiously.
“Bring it with you, it will make you feel more as if you are in the
woolly west,” Bob put in quickly. Both he and Jim were sure that
leaving them behind would be foolish, and although all thought of
danger had been effectively dispelled by Summers, they were not taking
needless chances, at least until the ranch guardian had absolutely
convinced them.