THE MYSTERIOUS SIGNALS.
When Carl reached the top of the slope lying between the spot where the
_Louise_ had landed and the camp occupied by the hunters, he found
himself confronted by two men who were climbing up from the tents below.
The men addressed him civilly, asking about the aeroplane which had just
passed over the camp, and suggesting that the two boys join them at
dinner. They were well-dressed, pleasant-appearing fellows, evidently
products of city life.
“I don’t think we can accept of your hospitality to-night,” the boy
answered, “because we can’t both leave the machine at the same time. And
besides,” he went on, “it will soon be sundown, and we ought to be
getting back to our friends.”
“Why, we’ll send a man over to watch the machine,” one of the hunters
argued. “Or, better still,” he continued, “you can bring the machine
right into the camp. So far as I’m concerned, I wish your friends were
with you. New faces are always welcome in a mountain camp.”
Seeing how insistent the men were, Carl determined to bring the
interview to a close immediately, and turned back up the westward slope
which he had started to descend.
“Just thought we’d call for a minute,” he said. “If you don’t mind,
we’ll come over early in the day before long and have a good visit.”
The two men who were now joined by a third followed the lad back to the
summit arguing all the way that he ought not to take his departure so
soon. When the _Louise_ came into view they began beckoning and calling
to Jimmie, as the reader already knows, and also shouting to those in
the camp below.
“Tell your friend to come on up!” argued one of the men. “You may as
well cross the ridge at this point as farther up. We’d like to have a
look at your machine. Besides, you really must have a cup of coffee with
us before you go away. We can’t lose our guests so soon.”
During this conversation the men had been beckoning to Jimmie, inviting
him by gestures to bring his machine to camp. Seeing that the men were
not inclined to let him depart at that time, the boy began signaling to
Jimmie to get away in the _Louise_ before the men got to her.
“Here, kid!” shouted the man who had been doing most of the talking,
“don’t do that. He’ll think you want him to go away and leave you here.”
“I want him to get the machine away all right!” Carl answered.
“You’re an obstinate little rascal!” replied the man. “Here, Bob,” he
added, turning to one of the others, “take this kid down to the camp and
keep him there until I return.”
It was at this point that the men came chasing down the slope and Jimmie
got away in the machine. Carl saw the aeroplane gliding over the camp
with a great deal of satisfaction. He had been forced into one of the
tents near the great fire, but could see the airship distinctly through
the opening in front. Directly the man he had talked with on the summit
entered the tent and sat down by the boy’s side.
“My name is Frank Harris,” he said abruptly, “what’s yours?”
“Carl Nichols,” the boy replied, with a grin which brought a smile to
the other’s face. “What do you want to know that for?”
“Where are you from?” was the next question.
“The Big Puddle,” replied Carl.
“Meaning New York?”
“Sure,” answered Carl, “there’s only one big puddle in the world.”
“What became of the flying machine you boys were chasing the other
night?” asked Harris after a moment’s reflection.
“She dropped into a hole in the air and the aviator was killed,” replied
the boy gravely.
Harris sprang to his feet with a muffled oath and paced up and down in
front of the tent for some time without speaking. When he returned to
the boy’s side his face wore an expression blended between suspicion and
dismay. Carl remained silent until the man spoke again.
“Is that right?” Harris asked. “Are you telling me the truth?”
“Sure, I’m telling you the truth!” replied the boy. “The aviator fell
into a hole in the air and didn’t know how to get out of it. We made a
shallow grave and piled about a ton of rock on top of it. If you want to
get the body we’ll show you where it is any time.”
“Do you know,” Harris began rather angrily, “I hardly believe this story
about the man falling into a hole in the air! Are you sure he didn’t
come to his death as the result of a conflict with some member of your
party?”
“You don’t think we murdered him, do you?” demanded Carl.
“Oh, I didn’t say that!” Harris hastened to say. “I only want you to
understand that the matter isn’t yet settled in my mind. What about the
machine which you say was wrecked?”
“So far as I know,” answered the boy, “it still lies where it fell, and
just as it fell, except that we removed some guy wires to strengthen our
own machine. I don’t think the motors can be used again. We used the
canvas of the planes for a winding sheet, and brought away the
gasoline.”
“We’ll get the poor fellow out to-morrow!” Harris promised, “and send
the body east to his friends.”
“You knew him, then?” asked Carl.
Harris hesitated, colored a trifle, and began a busy pacing of the
ground in front of the tent again.
“I reckon he sees that he’s made a mistake in claiming any knowledge of
that fellow!” the boy mused with a quiet chuckle.
“What was it you asked?” inquired Harris, pausing in front of the tent.
“Oh, I remember,” he went on, “you wanted to know if we knew this
aviator who was killed in the race with you.”
“Why, yes,” Carl replied. “You seemed to know where he lived and who his
friends were. I thought perhaps you might know all about him.”
“We know nothing whatever about him!” replied Harris, rather angrily.
“He landed at our camp the day before the accident and visited with us a
long time. He seemed to be a very pleasant and intelligent man. So far
as his friends are concerned, we know nothing about them. When I
remarked that we would forward the body, I did so under the supposition
that papers in his possession would inform us as to his name and
residence.”
“I see,” replied Carl with a knowing smile which the other was not slow
in understanding. “How did you people come to know about the race?”
“Why, one of our men was up on the summit when the race began and saw
the aeroplanes flying south. We know nothing further than that!”
“I’m sorry for what took place,” Carl said, “but the man was sailing
over our camp in a suspicious manner, and we thought we’d find out what
he wanted. As a matter of fact, he needn’t have run away when our
machine took after him. There was no need of that.”
The fact was, as the reader well understands, that the dead aviator had
not been circling the boys’ camp at all. The race, as Carl well knew,
had started in the vicinity of the smugglers’ cave where the _Louise_
had taken up the chase. The boy made the above statement half expecting
that Harris would contradict him, and so show some further knowledge of
the race and the man who had been killed.
Harris looked suspiciously at the boy for a moment, half-opening his
lips to speak, but finally decided to remain silent.
“There’s another thing I want to ask you about,” he went on after a
moment. “You have a young Englishman named DuBois in your camp.”
“How did you know that?” asked Carl.
“Why,” was the rather embarrassed reply, “our boys are traveling over
the country in search of game, and we naturally know what’s going on
around us! Besides, we know something about that Englishman. When he
left us, we had a notion that he would go to some nearby camp.”
“If he tells the truth,” Carl replied, “our camp hadn’t been pitched
when he left yours.”
“It is my impression,” Harris answered, “that DuBois reached your camp
on the evening of the day he left ours. Did he have a valuable looking
burro with him when he came to you?”
“He was on foot,” replied Carl, “and we saw nothing of anything like a
burro. He appeared to be completely exhausted with walking.”
“That was a bit of acting on his part! When he left us he took with him
a burro worth at least two hundred dollars. Large sums of money also
disappeared from the tents that same morning. The boys learned to-day
that he was at your camp and they’re going over to get him.”
“Will they take him to prison?” asked Carl wonderingly.
“I’m afraid not!” was the significant reply.
“What then?”
“Justice is mighty slow and terribly uncertain in this country,” Harris
answered. “In fact,” he continued, “there’s only one judge who tries
cases to the liking of the people.”
“You mean Judge Lynch!” suggested Carl.
“That’s his name,” laughed Harris heartlessly.
“You don’t mean to say that they’d lynch DuBois without giving him a
hearing?” demanded the boy.
“I’m afraid they would!” was the reply.
“You don’t approve of such outrages, do you?”
“Certainly not!”
“Then, why don’t you send some one over to the camp to warn DuBois? Or
send an officer who might take him to Field and turn him over to the
law? That would be the right thing to do!”
“I’ve been thinking of doing that!” replied Harris. “I wish your friend
had remained with the machine. Then we could have sent an officer over
to-night.”
“He might have remained if you people hadn’t made such a rush for him!”
laughed Carl. “You frightened him away.”
“You’re a pair of bright boys!” laughed Harris. “I wish I could find a
young fellow just like you to put into my Wall street office. If you
showed the same courage and resourcefulness there that you do in the
mountains, you’d be apt to make the money-kings sit up and take notice
in a few years. Such young men are needed in New York!”
“I don’t think I’d care to enter on a Wall street career,” Carl replied,
not at all deceived by the gilded bait so cunningly extended.
“Think it over,” continued Harris. “You may change your mind after you
leave the mountains. It’s a fine opening for you!”
The lad promised to consider the proposition seriously, and Harris went
away. He returned in a few moments with a bountiful supper, which he
shared with the boy. All through the meal he continued his questions
regarding the race, the Englishman, and the purpose of the boys in
visiting that section of British Columbia.
Carl answered the questions truthfully whenever he could. He understood,
however, that the attitude of the man who seemed to be so friendly was
absolutely hostile. After supper Harris went away and Carl sat in the
door of the tent watching for the return of the flying machine. He
rather expected that Jimmie would return with one of the boys in order
to find out the exact situation.
The tent in which he had been placed faced the south and was directly in
front of the fire. As darkness fell he saw members of the party
gathering about the blaze with tin cans in their hands.
“Now,” he mused, “I wonder what they’re going to do. Looks like they
might about to warm up lobster or canned roast beef for supper.”
When it became quite dark in the valley the boy was amazed at seeing one
of the men pour a powder from one of the cans into a long-handled shovel
and drop it from there into the fire. The blaze flared up as red as a
police danger-signal.
Carl came nearer to the flap of the tent and looked out to the north and
east. Greatly to his astonishment he saw a green flame on the shelf of
rock which cut the mountainside at the foot of the canyon in which lay
the smugglers’ cave.
When the red light in front of his tent died down it was succeeded by a
green flame. A glance at the distant shelf at that instant revealed a
red one. The boy drew back into the tent with a soft chuckle.
“I guess we didn’t dope it out correctly when we figured that the
signals on the shelf were not intended entirely for whiskey smugglers,”
he said. “It seems to me that these hunters who talked about Wall street
and money-kings are pretty thick with the outlaws!”