THE LOSS OF THE LOUISE.
“I’d like to see you find a place where you can land,” Carl shouted in
his chum’s ear. “There’s nothing here but ridges and canyons, and rocks
and rivers at the bottom!”
“Oh, we can find a place all right,” Jimmie answered.
It was some time before the boy found a spot which appeared to be in any
way suitable for a landing. This was some distance to the east of the
ridge which shut in the valley. The shelf he selected was rather high
up, and that suited his purpose well, for, as he explained to Carl, they
would have less mountain to climb in order to get a look into the camp.
The aeroplane landed with a bump which nearly threw the boys out of
their seats, and when Jimmie sprang off and looked about he saw that one
of the wheels was actually whirling round and round in the air, having
passed off the rock. Below, five hundred feet down, the murmur of
running water could be heard.
“Gee-whiz!” exclaimed Carl, when the position of the wheel was pointed
out to him. “That was a close call! If the other wheel had run two feet
farther, we’d have been dumped into the canyon.”
“But it didn’t run two feet farther!” Jimmie insisted. “I never saw any
advantage in raising a mess of ifs,” he went on. “If the sun should drop
down some night, the world would drop, too. But it doesn’t, so what’s
the use?”
“What next?” asked Carl.
“You stay here and watch the machine and I’ll sneak over the ridge and
crawl down to the camp. I’m curious to know why those fellows are
showing those colored lights.”
“If you get too close to them, you may find out things that won’t do you
any good.”
“Don’t croak!” advised Jimmie. “I’ll just go down there and see how many
there are in the camp, and what they’re doing, and what they’re saying,
and come right back!”
“I’ve got a picture of your doing that! Now look here,” Carl went on,
“you want to remember that I’m staying here by this machine in zero
weather, or worse, so you don’t want to go poking about until daylight.
My fingers are frozen stiff now!”
“Run up and down and keep warm, little one!” laughed Jimmie.
Before Carl could reply the boy was off, scrambling up the rocky face of
the slope which led to the summit. It was stinging cold, and the boy
needed all the exercise he was getting in order to keep his blood in
circulation. Although not on the main ridge of the Great Divide, the boy
was pretty high up.
Before he came to a position from which the valley to the west might be
seen, Jimmie found that he was wading in snow. There was no moon, but
stars shone down from a clear sky.
When he reached the crest he saw the camp-fire two or three hundred feet
below, built on a shelf of rock which seemed to afford no protection
whatever from the cold winds swirling around the peaks.
“I don’t believe that’s any camp at all!” the boy mused. “It’s just a
signal station, and the operator is probably wrapped up in fur overcoats
a foot thick. I guess about all I can do here,” he went on, “is to see
if there is another fire in sight.”
The western slope of the ridge was much steeper than the one he had
already ascended, so at times the lad approached the hostile camp-fire a
great deal faster than he wanted to. He tried to proceed cautiously,
without making any noise, but now and then when his feet slipped and he
rolled half a dozen paces, to be caught at last by a little crevice or a
narrow shelf, small rocks became dislodged and went thundering down.
“Might just as well take a band,” Jimmie mused disgustedly.
When the boy came to within a few yards of the fire he saw that only one
figure was in sight. As he had predicted he would be, the lone guardian
of the fire was well bundled up in furs. If the motors had attracted his
attention his manner gave no indication of the fact.
“Looks like a wooden Indian,” chuckled Jimmie.
There was no place for the boy to secrete himself in the vicinity of the
fire, so he crouched down on the slope and looked over the landscape
beyond. He could see his own camp-fire quite distinctly, but no other
light was in sight for several moments.
Then what seemed like the blood-red light of an early August moon showed
on a level of rock far off on the west side of the valley.
“They’re burning red fire over there, too,” he mused as the situation
became clearer in his mind.
The boy climbed back up the slope for a few yards and looked again, but
the fire itself was not in sight and only the reflection showed on a
slender surface of rock beyond. While he looked the color changed to
green, which showed indistinctly under the stars.
From his new position Jimmie could see his own camp to better advantage
than from the one lower down. He sat watching it for some moments,
wondering why Ben was moving around the blaze so actively and why Mr.
Havens had left the tent.
There certainly were two figures outlined against the blaze. The lad
studied the puzzle intently for a moment and then started back. He
understood that it would be of no use for him to try to get nearer to
the fire below. The man on watch there would be conscious of his
approach before he was within a hundred feet.
From the ridge the boy looked back to his camp again. There were now
four figures outlined against the blaze, and all appeared to be moving
about as if acting under great excitement.
Jimmie tried his best to discover whether any of the figures were those
of Mr. Havens and Ben, but the distance was too great. He could only see
the figures moving about. As he looked and studied over the proposition
he blamed himself for not bringing his field-glass, but his
self-reproach was, of course, unavailing.
Knowing that he ought to be making his way back to the camp, the boy
still remained gazing downward as if fascinated. He had no reason to
believe that the visitors he saw were at the camp with friendly intent.
He knew that his friends might be in great danger. Still, he sat and
watched the fire like one dazed.
There had been no sound of motors, yet the intruders at the camp had
penetrated the valley since nightfall. Or had they been hiding there at
the time the boys landed? While the boy puzzled over the situation a
mass of rocks left the summit not far to the north and went racing down
the slope, making sufficient noise, as Jimmie believed, to incite a riot
a hundred miles away!
“Now there’s some one sleuthing in that direction,” the boy mused. “Of
course, he was at the camp-fire when he heard the motors and ducked. Now
he’s up there watching me, I presume.”
The lad turned toward the snow-capped summit once more, resolved to get
away to his own camp as soon as possible. When he reached the top the
clatter of motors came to his ears. He looked down in dismay to see the
_Louise_ lifting into the air.
“Now, what’s that fool Carl doing?” he muttered.
The aeroplane left the shelf with a little dip over the precipice and
struck out for the west, passing nearly over the wondering boy’s head.
The acetylene lamp which had been arranged on the forward framework was
burning brightly, and Jimmie could see that both seats were occupied.
The lamp had been turned low just before his departure.
The boy paused at the summit and looked back into the valley. There was
no need now for him to cross to the eastern slope. He had no doubt that
the _Louise_ had been stolen, and that Carl was driving her away under
duress. In order to reach the camp he would be obliged to pass down the
steep slope which led to the bottom of the valley.
Blaming himself for leaving the machine even for a moment, yet by no
means disheartened at the calamity which had overtaken him, the boy
turned his face to the south resolved to pass along the broken summit
until he had passed the vicinity of the camp below and then work his way
diagonally down the slope. As he took his first step downward he heard a
voice softly calling his name.
“Jimmie!” the voice said. “Hello, Jimmie.”
Jimmie stopped and looked back. A figure was approaching him from the
north, crouching down close to the slope of the rocks.
“Carl!” he called. “Is that you?”
“Sure!” was the reply. “I thought you had gone off in the machine.”
“Then you went away and left her, did you?” demanded Jimmie.
“Of course I did. I wanted to see what was going on!”
“Did you see the people who took the machine away?” asked Jimmie.
“I saw two figures—no faces,” was the reply.
“Well,” Jimmie grunted, “we’ve got a nice little walk back to camp!”
“I hope we don’t freeze to death on the way down,” Carl cut in.
The boys walked steadily for a few moments, and then Jimmie stopped and
regarded his companion with a questioning look.
“Are you game?” he finally asked.
“I’m game!” Carl answered. “We’ve lost the machine, and it doesn’t make
any difference what happens now.”
“That’s the way I look at it!” Jimmie returned.
“What do you want to do?”
“Now, look here,” Jimmie explained. “There’s only one person at the fire
from which the signals were sent. He sits there like a wooden Indian,
probably three-fourths asleep. The two men who went away on the _Louise_
probably left the camp about the time we left the machine and went over
the ridge to seize it. Now, suppose we go down there where that fellow
sits alone and hold him up!”
“Hold him up for what?” chuckled Carl, immensely pleased at the idea.
“Information!” answered Jimmie.
“Yes, and I suppose you’d believe anything he told you, wouldn’t you?”
“Indeed, I wouldn’t! But, by going to the camp, we can doubtless learn
something regarding the situation.”
Carl hesitated a moment and then asked:
“Did you see our camp from where you lay?”
Jimmie nodded.
“So you saw the commotion down there, too, did you?” he asked.
“Yes,” answered Carl, “and I’m for getting down there just as quick as
possible. I’m so scared about what I saw around our fire that I’m not
thinking very seriously of the loss of the _Louise_.”
In a moment the boys came out of a slight wrinkle which they had been
traveling and looked down on the camp they had left not long before.
Four figures were still moving in front of the blaze.
“Now, don’t you think we ought to hustle down there?” demanded Carl. “If
we get down there without being discovered and find out that something
is wrong, we can plug every one of those ginks in the back of the head
before they know we’re within a mile of them.”
“That wouldn’t help much,” Jimmie answered. “We might drive those
fellows away, if we were lucky enough to do so, but others might take
their places. I’m stuck on finding out what they want and how they
expect to get it. That’s the thing that will count.”
“Then run along and ask them,” Carl suggested, with an impatience which
was not usual with the boy.
“Honest, now,” Jimmie said in a conciliatory tone, “I believe we can go
down to this hostile camp and hold that fellow up for information. If we
get it, we will know just what to do when we get to our own camp.”
“If we ever get there!”
“Are you going?” asked Jimmie.
“Sure, I’m going!” was the reply. “I’m game to go anywhere you’ll go.
And we can’t get down there too quick, either.”
The boys started down the declivity and then halted abruptly. The
_Louise_ was swinging back to the east, and seemed about to settle down
upon the shelf where the alien camp had been pitched.
“That’s good!” Jimmie chuckled. “If they bring that machine down here, I
can give a good guess as to who will take it away.”