more, and there was no explanation as to why the small room was there
or for what it had been used. The torch was beginning to burn close to
his hand, so he made his way out. They could explore it later.
“Hey, Jim, I got it. Whoopee!”
“Good work.” Jim stuffed a few bits of the paper into his pocket and
hurried to see what Summers had accomplished. He found that the deputy
had unearthed a wire, had attached his instrument, and was listening
for a response to his call. At last it came, then after a moment’s
delay, Carl began to put in his message.
“I say, Sheriff, Arthur Gordon, the young fellow, was here. He got
away in the Austin’s airplane--” There was a pause. “He blew up the
place, but we’re all right, except Kramer, he was shot--” Another
pause then Carl looked at Jim. “He wants to know how much gas was in
the plane, how far it could go.” Austin frowned and thought hard, then
he remembered that as he sat in the cock-pit with the pilot he had
calculated that there wasn’t enough to carry them more than about sixty
miles.
“Not much unless there was a reserve tank, and I don’t believe there
was,” he answered. “We can find out for sure from Kramer, if he is able
to talk.”
“Only a little.” Then followed a series of quick questions and answers,
and finally Carl disconnected with a sigh of relief. “They discovered
at Crofton that they can’t get the ranches up Cap Rock on the telephone
and some line men are out looking for the trouble. Your father sent a
message through from the Haurea place, sent it to the north station,
and it was relayed back. They wanted to know what had happened to us.”
“I suppose our folks are on their way down,” Jim remarked, and he was
mighty glad.
“Sure thing. The sheriff is going to broadcast about Gordon and have
every plane watched. Too bad it wasn’t earlier in the day, but the
landing field will turn on the search lights. It isn’t a dark night and
if he has to come down for gas he’ll run the risk of getting picked
up.” Carl put the instrument in the spacious pockets and they felt he
had done a good job.
“I didn’t find a blame thing to eat, but I guess we can survive until
someone comes. Say, Summers, I opened a queer hole, come and look at
it,” Jim urged, so he led the way back to the paper-strewn section.
They crawled through the opening and Carl stared in puzzled wonder.
“Great guns, I never saw a place like this before.” He tapped about the
wall, but made no further discovery.
“What do you suppose it is?”
“Tell you what it might be--a hiding place. Before the blow-up, I
looked behind those boards and even went into the second division.
It was just another place for storing potatoes, or something like
that--canned fruit perhaps,” Carl answered.
“What was this metal room used for? Bob’s mother has a closet for
preserves in the cellar at the K-A and she has one on the Cross-Bar,
but they’re just built-in places to keep things at an even heat, or
cool, nothing like this,” Jim explained.
“Sure, I know, my mother has one. Tell you what, this is an old ranch,
was settled by some of the first cowmen when the country was pretty
wild. It might be that the owner had this in case of a raid, a place
big enough to keep his wife and children, something like that--he might
have wanted to keep them safe from Indians--”
“It looks to me as if this is about five or six feet below the surface
of the ground and quite a few people could stay here but not for
long,” Jim remarked.
“It would protect anyone who got in, from being butchered, or in case
the ranch houses were burned,” Carl suggested.
“Perhaps that was it, but I don’t see why all the paper,” Jim argued.
“Neither do I unless they had books, accounts and that sort of thing.
Some of the descendants could have used it as a safe-deposit, but I
haven’t got another guess. Come on and see how Bob and Kramer are.”
They didn’t wait to do more than throw a few pieces of plank over the
openings, and then with new torches they made their way to the bunk
house, which was pitch dark. Jim caught Carl’s arm and instinctively
the two stepped as softly as the hard snow would permit. When they
reached the door, Austin listened, but not a sound came from inside.
He tapped softly, his heart hammering against his ribs, with dread
lest some thing had happened to his Flying Buddy and Kramer. He wished
heartily that they hadn’t lingered so long.
“Knock again,” Carl whispered and Jim did. There was a soft movement
from inside, the bar was lifted carefully, and finally the door moved,
but only wide enough to permit the barrel of a gun to be poked through.
“Hands up or I’ll blow you up--”
“Buddy--Bob--”
“Oh, why the heck did you come sneaking around like a pair of coyotes?
I heard a dozen things since you left. Come on in. Get anything to
eat?” The two entered and the younger boy turned up the wick of a small
lantern. “Gosh, I thought you fellows had been buried.”
“No, but we got word to the sheriff,” Carl explained. “How’s Kramer?”
“Crazy in the head. He’s been muttering and twisting around until I
had to tie him down.” Just then they heard the welcome honk of an
automobile, and two minutes later, Mr. Austin and Don Haurea were at
the door. “When do we eat?” the substitute doctor demanded.
“Right away, my boy. Your mother knew that you would be hungry--”
“God bless her, she knows we always are,” Caldwell grinned, and the
rest of the party laughed heartily.
V
IN THE “LAB.”
“Humph, now I feel as if I am alive!” Bob had just swallowed the last
bite of a delicious fried-chicken sandwich, and he blinked contentedly
about the room. They were all in the bunkhouse at the Gordon’s. Zargo,
who had accompanied Mr. Austin and Don Haurea, had relieved young
Caldwell of his patient, so the Flying Buddies and Carl Summers could
give their undivided attention to the basket of food the rescuing party
had brought with them. At that moment Kramer moved, opened his eyes and
stared at the dark man bending over him.
“You are doing well, sir,” Zargo said quietly. There was something very
reassuring in the manner of the Box-Z’s overseer, and although the man
from the north had never set eyes on him before, the dozen questions
that popped into his brain on returning to consciousness began to
arrange themselves in an orderly array instead of a confused mass.
“Guess you are a doctor,” he said.
“I know a little,” Zargo admitted.
“I say, Kramer, was there an extra tank of gas in that bus?” Jim asked.
“We have been trying to calculate where it would have to come down.”
“Gas? Oh, no, I left the extra ones at your ranch before we went to
Crofton. Thought I shouldn’t need them,” he replied.
“Then that chap couldn’t get more than about fifty miles?”
“It would depend upon how he flew. He’ll get about sixty or sixty-five;
if he conserves it,” answered Kramer.
“Great, then he would have to come down in Texas. Feel like eating
something? There is a little left but believe me it has taken great
self-restraint on our parts to save anything.”
“He may have a little, then more before we leave,” Zargo decided, so
they arranged a roll of blankets to raise Kramer’s head, and he was
ready to eat.
“I can feed him, Old Man,” Bob offered. “Don Haurea wants to go up the
cliff to where the plane took off. When you come back we’ll go home.
It’s been a nice large night and a good time was had by all.”
“That is an excellent suggestion,” Don Haurea smiled at the
irrepressible young fellow. “We shall leave the officer with you,”
he added and turned to Carl Summers. “You are both armed, I do not
anticipate further attacks, but it is always well to--as the Boy Scouts
say--to be prepared.”
“Yes, sir,” Carl agreed, but he wasn’t especially keen about being left
behind, for although he had caught occasional glimpses of the owner of
the Box-Z this was the first time he had come into close contact with
the man who was something of a mystery to his neighbors, and more so
to the natives of Crofton, so the deputy greatly regretted not being a
member of the investigating party.
“You are a good soldier,” said the tall man, who was, on close
acquaintance, proving so very unformidable.
“Thank you, sir.” Carl was immediately eager to take his part in
upholding the law and guarding the wounded. The rest of the party
got into great coats, wrapped mufflers about their necks, and pulled
fur caps over their ears. The three men had strong flashlights, and
presently they stepped out into the night anxious to explore the
vicinity as quickly as possible. Their first journey was to the scene
of the explosion, which interested Don Haurea very little, and finally
they made their way to the trail where they began the steep climb to
the ledge.
They had to exercise care, for the explosion had loosened huge chunks
of rock and ice and as they proceeded Jim was amazed that the plane had
not been damaged. At last they reached the spot, but as far as the boy
could see there was nothing gained by the trip. However, Don Haurea
made his way close to the steep cliff, which rose almost straight as
a wall with several broken sections. Carefully the man investigated
all of them and a moment after he disappeared into the last one, they
heard him call sharply to his servant, who responded immediately, the
Austins following close on his heels. To their utter astonishment they
saw something huddled in a heap against a rock and as the lights turned
fully upon it, they whistled.
“It--why Dad, it’s Jute--Pigeon Jute. I’d forgotten him.” Zargo was
bending over the Indian, his capable fingers moving swiftly, then he
said something to the Don, and an instant later picked the man up in
his arms.
“He was shot,” Don Haurea explained briefly. “We will get him where it
is warm and see if we can help him.”
“Shall I go ahead with a light?” Jim asked softly.
“It would be a good plan,” the Don answered, so the boy led the
way down the treacherous trail. Zargo might have been carrying an
infant for all the effort it took, and finally they were again in the
bunkhouse. Bob was too amazed for even the mildest of exclamations, but
he jumped in and arranged a bunk.
“We found him near where the plane was,” Mr. Austin explained. Then
they waited silently while Zargo examined the Indian, and after what
seemed hours, he looked up.
“In a moment he will return to consciousness,” he announced, and he
was right. Pigeon Jute opened his dark eyes, looked from one to the
other, then tried to raise himself. Don Haurea spoke to him in his own
language and the Indian’s eyes lighted. After a minute, he spoke a few
sentences, and when he was finished the Don nodded.
“He says that for some time he has been selling--or delivering long
distance flying pigeons to Arthur Gordon. He was in the north at the
time of the trouble at the Box-Z, so did not hear of it until a few
days ago after he had delivered several carriers to a ranch outside of
Crofton. When he learned of the difficulty he started to find young
Gordon to collect his money. He trailed him to the ranch, but could
not locate him until this morning. When you boys left the dugout Jute
started up the trail. He was behind the cliffs when the place blew up
and was coming back to see if you were hurt when he saw Gordon leap
into the plane. He tried to prevent it, but was shot for his pains.”
“Jute can speak English!” Jim remarked.
“Yes, but not so well as his own tongue, which is less effort while he
is so weak,” Don Haurea replied.
“Whistling Pigs,” exclaimed Bob, “reckon that’s why Gordon did not
favor us with any more lead.”
“Undoubtedly it is,” Don Haurea agreed.
“What was Gordon going to do, or doing with carrier pigeons?” Jim
wanted to know. “Are they kept on that ranch?”
“Merely shipped from there. The man told Jute they had sold the place
and were waiting for the last birds he brought down.”
“Shipped by rail?”
“Truck, and probably that truck will not appear in the neighborhood
again. From the plane, Gordon no doubt dropped a warning, or several of
them, and every trace will be obliterated at once.”
“Tough luck,” Jim muttered.
“How many of the wounded can be moved?” Mr. Austin asked practically.
“Both of them,” was the decision. “I shall take Jute to the Box-Z.”
“Kramer is booked for the K-A,” Jim grinned.
“Boy, you’ll have a vacation as is a vacation,” Bob promised. “You can
do a Caesar; wire your firm that you came, you saw, and you conquered--”
“Were conquered,” Kramer corrected. “I’ve had a grand trimming--”
“Well, don’t broadcast it, why shouldn’t you have some glory!”
They lost no time in getting the two wounded men into the limousines
and although Mr. Austin urged Carl to come to the ranch, the deputy
decided to wait for instructions from the sheriff, so at last they
drove off, leaving the young fellow alone, but this time there was no
anxiety regarding his safety. Seated beside his father, Jim’s eyes
stared ahead and his mind was busy. He felt it was a beastly shame that
the new plane should have been lost before they had had it twenty-four
hours, and although they had made the trip for the mail and newspapers,
the bag was now no-one-knew where and the family was deprived of its
second investment. The boy was feeling too blue over the theft to
discuss the matter so he resolutely tried to put it out of his mind.
He thought of young Gordon, with his limited supply of gas, but he had
absolutely no hope that the outlaw would be captured. In the first
place, it had been hours from the time the machine took off from the
cliff before the sheriff could send the alarm, and by that time Gordon
would have made good his escape. There were dozens of ways by which he
might replenish the fuel supply and go on to the Mexican border, or
almost any place. To be sure, a description of the machine would be
sent forth but that did not help matters much.
Finally the two cars reached the point in the road where the Austins
turned into their own ranch house. As he sped by, Don Haurea waved to
the occupants in the other car. Then Jim wondered how it was the Indian
had been discovered. He recalled the man’s interest in the cliff, his
investigating each crevice, and the finding of Jute. Then another query
popped into his mind.
“I say, Dad, is Jute an American Indian?”
“Yes, full-blooded. What made you ask?”
“Just wondered how Don Haurea knew his language,” Jim answered.
“I have heard that as a boy, the Don was always interested in the
various tribes and made a point of learning all he could about them.
Here we are--and, oh what a shame--” He broke off quickly when he saw
the house lighted from top to bottom and knew that Mrs. Austin had not
gone to bed, although it was nearly morning. Before they drove to the
door, it was thrown open.
“The doctor came from Crofton and is waiting,” Mrs. Austin called, and
a moment later the medical man came to help his patient into the house.
Over the eastern rim of the mountains the first faint streaks of dawn
were breaking before the buddies were ready for bed.
“Kind of rotten about the bus,” Bob said softly.
“All of that,” Jim replied. They turned in to catch up on some of their
lost sleep and it was noon before either of them opened his eyes again.
The pair joined the family for a “brunch,” which was the name Bob gave
to a combination breakfast and lunch. As they lingered over the meal,
the telephone rang and Jim went to answer.
“Yes, this is the K-A.” There was a slight pause, then, “yes, wait,”
“Oh, Galloping Snails, that’s great, Sheriff! Will you hold the wire a
moment please? I say, Dad they found the plane--”
“They did, that is splendid--”
“Did they get Gordon?” Bob demanded.
“No, not a trace of him. Dad, they have got the plane near an aviation
field. It’s smashed up some, but not bad, just a few little things--”
“Can they fix it?” Mr. Austin asked.
“Yes, easily, so she’ll be all hunkie-dorie.”
“Ask them to do it, and if they have a pilot, have him fetch it home as
soon as it is ready. We are certainly fortunate.”
“All right, Sheriff. Thanks a lot for calling us.” Jim hung up the
receiver, and everyone was eager to hear the details.
“I suppose Gordon came down in the night and sneaked off,” Bob
suggested.
“They haven’t any idea of what happened to him. One of the airmen saw
the plane roaring along and he rode beside her just for companionship.
When he looked for the pilot, Gordon, the cock-pit was empty. The
fellow thought he was seeing things. Then in a couple of minutes our
engine conked, stopped, and began to go down, but she spun around in
grand style, going forward, and finally she dropped in a nice smooth
section of the plain. The mail-man followed, but she was absolutely
empty when he investigated. There was a bag of things on the floor,
everything seemed just as it should be, but there wasn’t a trace of
the fellow who started off in her,” Jim explained.
“Isn’t that rather amazing?” Mrs. Austin inquired.
“It surely is, Mom. I say, Buddie, was the parachute there?”
“Two; one on the front seat and one on the back.”
“The third one was gone. Gosh, Gordon must have hopped overboard when
he saw he couldn’t get very far. Did his exit before anyone could start
a search for him. She’s one grand little bus--intelligent animal, to
make her own landing all by her lonesome. That ought to make Kramer
feel pretty cocky--some talking point for his advertising department.”
“Better run up and tell him. He was feeling badly last night over the
loss, and now that the machine will--”
“Be coming home to roost,” Bob grinned. “I’ll break the good news to
him gently.” He raced upstairs to tell the salesman, who was delighted
and no end set up over the achievement of the machine. While they were
discussing the matter, the Box-Z limousine drove up, and Jim went to
admit the caller. He discovered that it was Zargo.
“I had to be in this direction and Don Haurea asked me to stop and see
if you wish to return with me.”
“Thanks a lot. I’ll be ready in a jiffy. How is Jute?”
“Doing very well, thank you. And Mr. Kramer--”
“Top of the world,” Jim replied.
“That is good news.” The boy hurried into the house.
“Oh, Bob, going to the Don’s this afternoon? Zargo is outside!”
“Guess not, Old Timer. I’ll linger around and keep Kramer from getting
rusty, but you ooze along.” Ten minutes later, Jim was in the big car,
which was a particularly powerful, smooth-running machine, and now it
ate up the miles as it rushed over the road that wound along the edge
of Cap Rock.
“Dad told me that when he was a boy this was the stage-coach road. The
drivers used to go lickity-split--mostly split--and when the passengers
got out most of them would be black and blue from the bumps,” Jim
remarked.
“Those days are not so far distant,” Zargo replied. “Your father’s
generation has seen many changes.”
“Yes, sir, from covered wagons to airplanes. Besides that there have
been the cables, radio, submarines, automobiles and television. When
you come to think of it they have had to do some mental jumping
to grasp it all. The inventors and discoverers in these days are
everlastingly lucky they were not born earlier, during the time when
the mob pitch-forked everything that was different and called any kind
of progress heresy. Great guns, I never can understand why those old
ducks were so opposed to people using their own brains. What a lot of
good men and women they cooked when half the world had to believe what
a couple of fellows dictated. Zargo, do you believe there is a hell?”
“What is your definition of hell?” the man asked.
“That’s a hot one. A bad place where bad people go when they are dead.
Where they have to atone for their sins,” Jim answered.
“And what would you classify as sin?”
“You sure are not going to commit yourself,” the boy chuckled. “Well,
I don’t believe God punishes people for their ignorance, but if he
does, there’s an army--an everlasting big one--of people who have
been powerful enough. I mean held high positions, inflicted torture
and suffering on their fellow men, who tried to show the world how
everybody could know more--like Galileo, and a lot of fellows. I’d call
destroying men like that a sin.”
“You would turn a great many--say standard saints, into sinners.”
“Sure, why not? If they were incapable of rightly classifying their
fellows, they just naturally over-estimated their own importance.”
“I should say you have given the matter a good deal of thought.”
“Well, I have some,” the boy flushed. “You know, when you are flying,
way up in the sky--through the heavens, no matter what they were doing,
it does set a chap’s thinking machine to working. Gosh, I’ll be glad
when we get our new plane fixed. When they fetch it home, Bob and I are
going to take it to bed with us so nothing can happen to it--wow, here
we are.”
The car went purring along the drive under the snow laden willows whose
long branches rustled and murmured as the breeze stirred them. It
stopped before the door, which was promptly opened by the man servant,
and a minute later, Don Haurea was welcoming his pupil, who lost no
time in divesting himself of outer garments.
“Your step-brother, I take it, is engaged in entertaining Mr. Kramer.”
“Yes, sir. He’s still got some things he wants to read, and I guess he
thought if he stayed at home, it would be a little easier on Mom, and
Bob sort of likes to take care of sick things. It tickles him pink if
he can doctor a chicken, especially if it gets well,” Jim laughed, then
added earnestly, “Bob’s a great buddie.”
“He certainly is,” the man agreed promptly.
“I say, Don Haurea, did you know that Pigeon Jute was up there in those
rocks? I’ve been wondering all night.”
“Suppose we go to the laboratory and see. It is nearing the hour when I
have a few minutes with my son--”
“That’s so, I’d like to say hello to Yncicea, haven’t done it for a
week. Does he celebrate Christmas, I mean the way we do?”
“With the rest of the world he enjoys a holiday,” the man nodded.
“I’m glad, because a year without a Christmas would be sort of--well
lonesome.”
The two went leisurely into the long, cheery living room, to the panel
in the wall which was now a familiar object to Jim, but he recalled
that first day the Don had opened the way to the little elevator, which
had been installed during the days of the present owner’s grandfather.
Without waiting, the boy pressed the tiny knot, and as he did so, his
mind leaped back to the summer day when the Gordons and Burnam had led
a crazy mob to the ranch, and an airplane machine gunner viciously
fired his deadly rounds into the house in an attempt to destroy its
occupants. The whole scheme had failed because Jim had managed, despite
wounds, to press his bleeding hands against a small button on one of
the pillars on the veranda, releasing an invisible wall of electricity
which caught the invaders. Today the door slid smoothly, the pair
stepped inside and immediately began to descend to the beautifully
built under-ground work and experimental laboratories. Presently they
were in the long tiled hall, the boy went at once to his own closet
where he changed to the close-fitting white suit and soft sandals.
“This sure is a comfortable outfit,” he grinned. The Don was ready too,
so they hurried along to the turn, and finally they were admitted to
the outer room, which was exactly as it was on the boy’s first visit,
only now the attendant smiled his recognition, and they passed inside.
Here was a large class of scientific men; as before, some of them
glanced up from what they were doing, while others were too absorbed
to note the late arrivals. Austin nodded or spoke a soft greeting
as he passed on into the Don’s own department, and soon they seated
themselves on a long bench before a sort of desk with a high frame at
the back. Eagerly the young fellow looked up at the man, who nodded,
and then Jim’s fingers moved expertly across the dial until at last he
sat back and waited.
Over the screen in front of him passed a slight movement which might
have been water, but Austin knew that it was a film composition
rolling past and in a moment he made out blurred objects which
gradually shaped themselves into a back-ground of blue sky, with a
rushing stream in the foreground. Shrubs and trees stood out in stately
order, then a winding path which led over moss-grown rocks to a wide
terrace above. Then something moved and Jim could not contain himself a
moment longer as the boy he had first seen in Vermont, stepped out from
the garden.
“Yncicea,” he called.
“Jim, Old Scout,” came the laughing response. “In Texas you are to have
a white Christmas.”
“We surely are,” Jim laughed. “Bob’s mother is crazy about it, says
it’s exactly like when she was a girl in Vermont--you know--”