CAPTURE
“Any of you other men want what’s coming to you?” Gordon snarled as he
stood over his victim, a black automatic in each hand. The men who were
advancing menacingly on him stopped in their tracks and swore furiously.
“Keep your shirts on, all of you,” the leader snapped. “You fellows want
to remember that I am running this picnic and you are here to obey
orders. Gordon, put up those irons or I’ll rake you with the machine
gun.” As he spoke the one man who had remained in the plane rose in the
cock-pit and swung the shiny nose of the weapon on the group.
“He’s such a liar,” one growled.
“I’ve told you the truth,” Gordon answered and his face was dark, but he
slipped the guns in his pockets.
“You can hardly blame the boys for doubting your word.”
“I do blame them, Cardow; I’ve told you the truth.”
“You said that you came here with Alonzo and that trapper. Who else came
with you?” Cardow demanded.
“No one, I tell you. The only reason they brought me was because I could
fly the plane,” Arthur declared hotly.
“Who owns the other plane?” Cardow asked.
“What other plane?”
“Aw, Cardow, listen, this guy is always in the works—he butts in—and
he’s always the one that gets away and some other guys hold the bag,”
one of the men argued.
“Yeh. We come up here and find him, the two guys with him dead as a
canned cod, and he says the platinum ain’t here. What the blazes did he
do with it?”
“That bozo wasn’t talking through his hat when he told you he found it,”
the men put in persistently.
“You shot the trapper—”
“But not Alonzo,” came the sharp interruption.
“No, but he started to fight with the trapper and the fellow knifed him.
You can see by the wound if you’ve got sense enough to tell a gun hole
from a blade,” Gordon shot back; then he turned to Cardow. “I don’t know
what you mean by another plane—”
“Well, there’s one sitting pretty not a mile from here—crate flying,”
the man roared at him.
“Another plane—well, if there is, this is the first I’ve heard about
it,” Gordon declared emphatically.
“Didn’t you see it while you were flying?”
“Don’t be a fool! Do you suppose if I had I should not have found out
about it? I didn’t see it and I didn’t see anyone belonging to it.”
“Maybe it’s one of those police guys that’s been broadcastin’ your
pitcher so handsome, Cardow,” a man suggested with a grin.
“If it is, Jo, you’re as good as in a Peruvian prison for being found
with me,” Cardow reminded him coldly, and the grin disappeared.
“G’wan, if it was a police guy he’d a been here long ago to know ’bout
the fireworks.”
“Sure, Brick’s right,” Jo responded with relief.
All of this Austin heard from his hiding place high above them while his
brain was making a furious effort to plan a means of escape for himself
and his friends. If he could get them, under cover of the growing
darkness, to the machine, they would have a fighting chance of getting
into the air before the bandits could start their own planes and give
chase. Cautiously he leaned further forward, and then he heard one of
the men again arguing against Gordon.
“Listen, Cardow, Gordon here is at the Amy-Ran works. We had those
prutty-jays of the Don’s tied handsome, me en Carp here a watchin’ ’em
fer Gordon, en he shows up late like a dibbytant stidda bein’ on time—”
“Yeh,” Carp interrupted, “he’s holdin’ up the works, and when—”
“You can leave out names, Carp,” Cardow snapped.
“Sure, yeh. Well, when the partner comes along he give Gordon here the
devil and we didn’t git nothin’ outta the hull night’s work—”
“Do you think I set that mountain spouting?” Gordon roared at him.
“No, but I think you ain’t none too unfriendly with that other gang,
see, fer if youda been on time we’d a got something done before it began
to shoot its head off,” Jo snarled.
“Well,” volunteered Carp, “I’m tellin’ you it didn’t shoot its head off,
er nothin’ of the kind. Ain’t that so, Cardow?”
“Yes it is, but there is going to be some real fireworks there to-night,
and we’re going to be there—”
“What do you mean it didn’t shoot off—the volcano, I mean?” Gordon
demanded. “I was there—saw it hit the sky—”
“It was a trick of some kind. I flew over the place this morning and
there’s no sign of a volcano, or any sort of eruption. I examined the
place with glasses and I know what I’m talking about. But, there’s one
thing about it and as you are coming back with me you may as well
know—and no funny business—that Amy-Ran cliff, or whatever it is called,
_is_ the place where the treasure is hidden. If it hadn’t been there,
they would not have made such an attempt to be rid of all of you. It is
clear enough that the people were ready for a search of the locality and
used that means of driving them off. I’ve got men today well under
cover, laying a whole string of dynamite that will open it up wide and
we’re going to be on hand when the spark goes off. Understand?”
“No, I don’t,” Gordon answered in a puzzled tone.
“I admit that volcano was a good trick; but it was good for us, too.
Now, we’ll get out of here—”
“But how about the platinum?” Jo put in quickly. “I think this guy knows
where it is.”
“Well, he doesn’t. There’s been some fluke about that map. I know the
fellow Boome found the stuff, all right, so we’ll get men here in the
daytime and find the right location,” Cardow told him.
“Suits me. Say, can we eat?”
“Yes, there’s time, and there are a couple of other things we have to do
before we start. If you make a fire, be careful that it’s hidden from
the sky—”
“Sure.”
“Senor Jim—” Pedro Gonzalas’ coming had been accomplished so quietly
that Austin almost jumped out of his skin at the soft call.
“Here.” In a moment Pedro crawled close, wriggling like a snake around
the rocks, which were now covered with deep shadows.
“Come,” he urged, so Austin prepared to follow. It seemed to the boy
that they went by inches, but presently they had wormed their way back
along the ledge, and there he found Arto and Mrs. Gonzalas. He wondered
a moment how they had succeeded in getting there, but there was no time
to ask questions.
“Step with care,” Arto whispered, and the four started as quickly as
possible into a narrow route that zig-zagged behind some of the tallest
stones, and presently they reached a thick wood, which they entered. The
trees grew tall and close together, but there was little underbrush so
they made excellent progress, and finally when they paused for breath,
they were some distance from the basin and its murderous occupants.
“Have you a pocket compass?” Pedro asked.
“Sure,” Jim replied quickly, for he always carried a small one that he
used when he wasn’t flying. “Want me to set a course to the plane from
here?”
“If you can. You will have to keep out of sight of the riverbed, but it
curves just above where we were hiding, like a horseshoe, so we do not
need to cross. When I camped here, I investigated that much because I
knew it was well to familiarize myself with the locality,” Gonzalas
explained.
“Good you did. Gosh, we were in a tight hole a while ago, but we’re not
out of it yet,” he said softly, and by the aid of a match he studied the
tiny instrument which would help them take a direct course. Recalling
the place where they had landed, he soon calculated which way they
should go.
“Come along,” he smiled.
“I think we can safely use a little light,” Arto suggested. He produced
a small pocket flash, and the four started.
There was so much that Jim had overheard from the platinum hunters that
his brain was in something of a turmoil, and he had two reasons for
being anxious to get away as quickly as possible. Besides getting the
Gonzalas to safety, he wanted to get a warning to Ynilea of the
threatened attack, in case Cardow’s operations had by any chance escaped
the attention of the Laboratory men. However, his immediate job was to
lead his friends to the plane and get them away safely, if that was
possible. Once in the air, they could shoot through the sky and get out
of range of the machine gun, if Cardow gave chase.
Jim reasoned that the gang leader, or lieutenant, probably did not know
either of the Flying Buddies, and the fact that he had not been seen
near the supposed platinum deposit might make him unsuspicious, but the
boy fully expected that when the plane took the air, at least the one
with the machine gun would come up to investigate and make sure who was
in it. The possibility of his not being recognized was mighty slim, but
he hoped to get away too quickly for them to overtake him, in case
Gordon should catch a glimpse of him. The boy dismissed the thought, for
he knew perfectly well that his Texas neighbor would prove a nasty
customer. As they proceeded, he mentally calculated the course he would
take when they got into the air, if they did. He could start directly
away from the gang plane or planes and that would give him a bit of
advantage, but he wished with all his heart that it was the “Lark,”
instead of De Castro’s plane he had with him.
“I smell cooking—bacon frying,” Mrs. Gonzalas sniffed the air and in a
moment Jim too got a whiff of the appetizing fragrance, for the wind
brought it directly to them.
“That’s a sign they are busy,” he said softly.
“You must be hungry. I have something in my pocket.” She produced a
generous square of chocolate and a sandwich rolled in oiled paper.
“That looks great, but you had better eat it,” he urged her.
“We did eat some in the cave,” she smiled.
“Sure?” he demanded.
“Sure—we each save something for you—and forget to give it,” Pedro told
him contritely. “We are—the un-rich sports.”
“You’re all right,” Jim grinned and accepted the offering, which he ate
as they hurried along. Although they felt somewhat confident that the
men in the basin were occupied for the moment, they took no chances, and
at last, after a wide detour, they saw the great stone a short distance
away from them.
“You, my wife get to the machine. Arto and I will go around and look for
enemies, please.”
“Good stunt,” Jim whispered.
“For danger, we will whistle softly. My wife knows the call.” Pedro put
his hand on Jim’s arm. “To you we owe much, today, senor. Could you get
my wife away—go—do not wait for us,” he pleaded.
“I’ll do my best to get you all away—”
“But if you cannot—do not wait. We have a little boy—he should not lose
his mother, please.”
“All right,” Jim gulped hastily. In a moment the brothers had
disappeared in the shadows, and Austin, gun in one hand, Mrs. Gonzalas’
wrist grasped firmly in the other, proceeded as cautiously as a pair of
panthers. Step by step they went, slowly drawing nearer to the machine
and no warning whistle reached their ears. They had nearly reached it
when Jim paused to listen. He thought he heard a twig break, but only
the sighing of the wind broke the silence of the night. Glancing over
his shoulder he watched, but nothing stirred, then they took another
step.
“Mother of God watch over us,” the woman prayed, scarcely above her
breath and the words gave Jim a new sense of confidence.
“When we get to the fuselage I’ll boost you on. Be as quiet as you can,
and drop into the cock-pit without raising up if you possibly can,” he
whispered, for all of a sudden Jim had a life-sized hunch that Cardow
would have someone watching the plane.
“God guard you,” the woman answered. Like a pair of shadows they
advanced and reached the end of the wing; step by step they took, only a
few inches at a time, until they were beside the body of the plane. Jim
stooped and cupped his hand and Mrs. Gonzalas put her foot into it.
Carefully he raised her as she braced, then she gave a spring and drew
herself upward. Again Jim paused and listened, with gun in hand, then he
leaped up beside the woman, who was sliding into the forward cock-pit.
In a moment he ducked low and switched on the smallest dial light, which
was just sufficient to read the control board.
“Keep down,” he told her quietly, but his heart was beating like a trip
hammer. He made his calculations swiftly, listening the while for the
approach of the brothers, or the warning whistle of danger. He was
mighty thankful that the climate was mild and that the engine would not
require a lot of warming up. He set everything possible while he waited,
then he heard swift steps and glancing to the right, he saw Arto
running. A second later the man sprang on the front of the machine, and
at the same time, there came the warning whistle.
Mechanically Jim gave her the gun and flashed on the lights, which
revealed Pedro, a bit to the left, racing toward them. Then out of the
darkness into the light leaped the ugly forms of Joe and Carp who were
close on their victim. The plane moved forward.
“My husband, they will kill him,” the woman shrieked, but her
brother-in-law had thrown himself flat across the plane, his arms
outstretched as they rolled forward.
A series of shots spat from the guns of Carp and Joe, but Pedro leaped,
the plane lunged sidewise, and just before she lifted from the ground,
Arto caught his brother’s hands and held them tight. Then, to Jim’s
horror, Mrs. Gonzalas was over the rim of the cock-pit, her body thrown
against Arto’s to help him hold his precious burden. Up the plane
climbed, and as she soared, Austin got a rope from the equipment box and
looped the end. One hand on the stick, the young Texan shot the lasso
forward and low, then with a deft twist he brought it up, pulled it
tight, and taking an instant to glance over the side, he sighed with
relief when he found that it was really around Pedro’s waist. Jim tied
the other end to one of the braces, then gave his undivided attention to
flying, for the acrobatic stunts and the uneven distribution of the
weight were making the machine climb crazily. In a few minutes he had
her well under control, and a bit later, Mrs. Gonzalas, her face pale
with fright, slid back to her seat. Presently Arto too climbed over the
cock-pit, his lips set, and behind the pilot, he assisted his brother to
safety. In a little while the pair of them were in the rear cock-pit,
and all was well, for the enemy was far behind.
When they had started, Jim had intended to turn away from the direction
of the basin, but he had not been able to accomplish this at once, so he
was beyond the ledge where the gang had hidden before he could set her
course, so now he shot straight ahead. Occasionally he glanced back for
a sight of the machine which would surely take after them, and once, for
an instant, he shut off the motor. They were in the air all right, so
the boy climbed high and quickly, his lights doused; then he did a wide
circle back hoping to get on the tails of his pursuers. As he spiraled
he drove through a thick cloud bank which spread its shelter about them,
but the air got biting cold, and the boy was afraid the woman beside him
would suffer. She wore a man’s suit and a coat, but he wasn’t sure how
warm she was.
“Keep low,” he urged her, so she slid forward in the seat. Then he
remembered that the De Castros always carried extra coats under the
pilot’s seat, so he fished them out, and proceeded to wrap her up
warmly, just as he and Bob wrapped Mrs. Austin when she joined them in
an air joy-ride.
“That is good,” she smiled, and presently her lips looked less blue and
he knew that she was more comfortable. He tipped the plane’s nose again
and shot up, then he leveled off, set his course, and calculating that
the machines that were chasing him would be lower and ahead of him, he
strained to see through the darkness. It wasn’t a moonlit night, but
there were stars that helped some as they soared close to the ceiling.
Half an hour passed, then Jim was beginning to feel confident that they
had successfully eluded Cardow and his gang, but he did not turn on a
light lest someone pick them up.
“Know anything about the towns around here?” he asked his companion.
“No,” she answered. He had planned that he would come down in one of the
small settlements and send messages to the De Castros that he and the
plane were quite safe, and he thought it would be better to get Mrs.
Gonzalas to the ground as soon as possible. She certainly was a plucky
little woman. They were a mighty decent family, Jim thought, and again
he wished he was at the controls of the “Lark” whose speed was so much
greater.
“Is your home in Cuzco?” he asked.
“Yes, not far outside. A small place,” she told him.
“Reckon I’d better get you there,” Jim remarked. “Ever fly before?”
“Never until today.”
“Like it?”
“It is beautiful—so beautiful,” she answered. “If the platinum had been
there, a plane we should have had. Arto, in the war he fly, but he is
injured. No more is he a good pilot, but he is mechanic for the
transportation company, and sometimes he relief.”
This surprised Jim, for he thought that neither of the brothers was an
air man, and then he realized that the scheme to get him to carry them
was more like something a flyer would concoct than a layman. He grinned
to himself as he thought of the simplicity of the plan, and then he
sobered. It had brought him into a dickens of a mess, to be sure, but he
thought that he was mighty lucky it was the Gonzalas who had come after
him. Any member of the gang might have sprung the same story and he
would have been taken in just as quickly.
“Reckon I’m not such a Jumbo of intellect,” he remarked to himself.
“Oh,” the woman clutched his hand, “look!” At that moment the plane was
bathed in a flood-light from another machine shooting directly above
them. “God have mercy!”