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The Flying Machine Boys on Duty; Or, The Clue Above the Clouds

by Frank Walton · English · Gutenberg #50165 · 299,863 chars · public domain (US)

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Title: The Flying Machine Boys on Duty; Or, The Clue Above the Clouds

Author: Frank Walton

Illustrator: J. Watson Davis


        
Release date: October 9, 2015 [eBook #50165]
                Most recently updated: October 22, 2024

Language: English

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[Illustration:

  Descending from his seat, the aviator was greeted by two boys not far
    from his own age.
  _The Flying Machine Boys on Duty._ _Page 4._]

------------------------------------------------------------------------





THE FLYING MACHINE BOYS ON DUTY

Or

The Clue Above the Clouds

by

FRANK WALTON

Author of
“The Flying Machine Boys on Secret Service”
“The Flying Machine Boys in the Wilds”
“The Flying Machine Boys in Mexico”







[Illustration]

A. L. Burt Company
New York.

Copyright 1913
By A. L. Burt Company

THE FLYING MACHINE BOYS ON DUTY

------------------------------------------------------------------------




                        THE FLYING MACHINE BOYS
                                ON DUTY




                               CHAPTER I.

                          ABOVE NEW YORK BAY.


An aviator, swinging northward in a June twilight, found himself
constantly annoyed by the driver of a machine whose only motive in life
seemed to be to get in the way. Turn as he might to right or left, sail
high or low, the obstinate and impertinent pursuer was always at hand to
threaten him.

To the west, lay Bedloe’s island, showing the Statue of Liberty, ruddy
in the sunlight. To the east, Governor’s island presented the
battlements of Fort Columbus and Castle William. To the north, or to the
northeast, to be more exact, lay Battery park, a smear of green at the
lower end of Manhattan island.

For a time people on ferryboats traversing New York bay looked upward in
momentary expectation of a battle in the air. Then the two flying
machines passed north along the line of Broadway, crossed over Bronx
park, and came to the vicinity of Pelham bay, in Westchester county.

Here the aviator who had shown such pugnacity in his dashes and swirls
at the other, and who had been repulsed only by the finest skill and
tact, wheeled straight to the west and was soon lost to sight in the
gathering darkness.

For a moment it seemed that the aviator who had thus far acted only on
the defensive was about to become the aggressor and follow in the wake
of his persecutor. In fact, he was about to swing away in pursuit when
the ringing of a bell at a hangar below attracted his attention. Then,
with a frown showing on a boyish face, he swung to the north a short
distance and volplaned to a level space in front of the hangar.

Descending from his seat, the aviator was greeted, rather anxiously it
seemed, by two boys not far from his own age. Very little was said until
the flying machine had been run into the great shed, and then the three
turned away to a rather elaborate office building which stood in a grove
of trees at the entrance to the grounds.

A chill wind was blowing off Long Island sound, and the boys found a
grate fire burning brightly in a private room at the rear of the
structure. They seated themselves before the leaping flames and looked
expectantly into each other’s faces for a moment before speaking.

Those who have read the opening volume of this series will need little
introduction to James Stuart, Ben Whitcomb and Carl Nichols. Street boys
of sixteen, they had, some months before, met Louis Havens, the famous
millionaire aviator, and accompanied him on a trip to Mexico which had
brought both fame and fortune to every member of the party.

On their return to New York from the “Burning Mountain” the boys had
planned a course in college, but, at the request of Mr. Havens, they had
promised to undertake a daring commission from the New York chief of
police. A short time before their return to the city the night-watchman
of the Buyers’ Bank had been murdered, the monster safe dynamited, and
thousands of dollars in currency and securities taken.

It was believed by the chief of police that the burglars—two of the
craftiest and most desperate criminals on the continent—were in hiding
in the wild and mountainous region south of Monterey bay, on the Pacific
coast.

On the theory that the Flying Machine Boys would be able to visit every
nook and corner of the region where the criminals were supposed to be,
with comparative ease, in their new and up-to-date machines, and, also,
that the appearance of the lads in that section would not be apt to
arouse the suspicions of the hunted men, the chief of police had
proposed the journey to Havens, and he had induced the boys to accept
the almost princely offer made by the official.

On account of the hazardous nature of the proposed trip, and because of
the long distances to be traveled, special attention had been given to
the _Louise_ and the _Bertha_, the two aeroplanes ordered made by the
boys immediately upon their arrival at New York. These machines had been
completed the previous day, and the trip over New York bay made by
Jimmie Stuart that afternoon had been the first tryout for the _Louise_,
a very strong aeroplane, capable of carrying, when necessity required,
two passengers and at least a hundred pounds of camp equipage and
provisions.

“Who’s your friend?” asked Carl Nichols, short, fat, blue of eyes and
pink of skin, as the three boys sat before the open grate fire in the
private room in the office building at Havens’ hangar.

“He’s no friend of mine!” Jimmie Stuart, red-headed and freckled-faced,
declared. “He picked me up down on the Jersey coast and did his best to
get me into a mix-up. I dodged him all the way to Bronx park because,
you see, I was not quite sure of my machine.”

“Did you get a good look at the fellow?” asked Ben Whitcomb,
grave-faced, athletic, and inclined to worry over troubles which had not
yet materialized. “It looked to me as if you might have slapped his
face, he was so near to you when you passed over Battery park.”

“Oh, yes!” Jimmie answered. “I got a view of his face from almost every
angle! He’s a low-browed brute, with ears like wings, and a hunch in his
shoulders which makes you think of one of the muckers at Croton dam.”

“He certainly can run a machine, though!” Carl Nichols declared, “and he
has an aeroplane that can go some, too!”

“But what’s the idea?” asked Ben. “Why should he be chasing you around
in that impudent way?”

“I’ve got a notion,” Jimmie replied, “that he wanted to try out the
_Louise_. He resorted to every trick known to airmen to induce me to
make some kind of an error in handling the machine. He’s an expert
himself, and he evidently wanted to know whether I am capable of
operating a peach of a flying-machine like the _Louise_.”

“I don’t believe it was just idle curiosity that made the fellow stick
to you in that way,” Carl interrupted. “I’ve been thinking that the
purpose of our trip to the Pacific coast may have become known to
friends of Phillips and Mendosa, the men who are believed to have
dynamited the safe of the Buyers’ Bank and murdered the night-watchman.
The crooks may have men on guard here!”

“That seems hardly probable,” Ben suggested. “The police have a pretty
good case against Phillips and Mendosa, and, so far as my knowledge
goes, a crook who stands in the shadow of the electric chair has few
friends willing to interest themselves in his behalf.”

“Yes, but look here,” Jimmie argued, “Phillips and Mendosa lifted
thousands of dollars in currency. So far as the officers know they still
have the entire proceeds of the robbery in their possession. Even
murderers with so many dollars in their possession are not likely to
lack capable friends.”

“I guess that’s right,” Carl put in, “and the two murderers will of
course scatter money like water in order to keep out of the clutches of
the law!”

“Yes,” Ben suggested, “the clues point so directly to Phillips and
Mendosa that they would naturally spend every dollar they stole in order
to keep away from the New York officers.”

While the boys talked, the door to the private office opened softly. Mr.
Havens stood for a moment on the threshold and then stepped up to the
fire. The young man was tall, slender and supple, with a dusky
complexion and black hair and eyes. He was twenty-four years of age, but
looked much younger. The millions he possessed had been inherited from
his father, and instead of spending them along the Great White Way, he
was devoting his entire attention to aviation.

“What’s the argument, boys?” he asked, standing before the grate with a
smile on his face. “Machines working all right?”

“Finely!” replied Jimmie. “I had a fine ride over the bay this
afternoon. The _Louise_ motor runs like a watch!”

“I saw you from Battery park,” Havens answered.

“Then you must have seen the gink chasing me up?” Jimmie asked,
tentatively.

“I noticed that,” Havens replied. “What was the occasion of it?”

“That’s just what we were discussing,” Jimmie said.

“And we had about concluded,” Ben interrupted, “that our plans regarding
the visit to the Pacific coast must have leaked out.”

“That doesn’t seem possible!” exclaimed Havens. “Why,” he went on, “even
the intimates of the chief of police at headquarters know nothing
whatever of the matter. There must be some other explanation of what
took place this afternoon.”

“I have known crooks to have friends among the men higher up!” laughed
Jimmie. “It may be so in this case.”

“There is one sure thing about it,” Havens went on, “and that is that if
any hint regarding your proposed trip in quest of the murderers has by
any chance become known to the friends of the crooks, the exact tactics
shown this afternoon would be likely to be resorted to.”

“Yes,” Ben agreed, “it does seem that the first thing the crooks would
do would be to prevent our departure for the Pacific Coast. A group of
flying machine boys certainly represents a new element in secret service
work! We must watch our machines after this!”

“If the fresh aviator really belongs to the crowd of crooks connected
with the murderers,” Carl broke in, “we’ll hear from him again. He’ll
follow us to the coast! He wouldn’t cease his efforts after chasing the
_Louise_ up New York bay.”

“He will have to chase us up if he continues his surveillance, for he
won’t have long to spy on us here,” Jimmie declared. “We’re to leave for
the Pacific coast day after to-morrow, as I understand it!”

“How about to-night?” asked Havens.

The boys sprang to their feet excitedly.

“To-night!” shouted Carl. “That will be fine!”

“That appears to me to be a good way of dodging trouble,” Ben
acknowledged.

“I’d like to go to-night, all right,” Jimmie broke in, “but I’d like to
form the acquaintance of that impudent aviator before I go!”

“I have an idea that you’ll meet him before you reach Monterey bay!”
Havens replied. “You would know him again?” he asked.

“Of course!” replied the boy. “He’s a low-browed brute with wing ears
and a hunch in his shoulders. I’d know him anywhere.”

“Do you really think he’ll chase us up?” asked Carl hopefully.

“I certainly do!” answered Havens.

“That will be great!” exclaimed Jimmie. “A flying machine race across
the continent surely appeals to me. Are you going along with us, Mr.
Havens?” he asked, then.

“I hope so,” was the reply, “although I’m not quite sure of getting
through with several business deals now under way. However,” he went on,
“you boys can go on with the _Louise_ and the _Bertha_ to-night, and I
can catch you somewhere on the way over with the _Mary Ann_.”

“Not me!” Jimmie laughed. “You can’t catch me with the _Mary Ann_ as
long as I’m on board the _Louise_!”

“We’ll decide that point on the way across!” Havens replied.

“Well,” Ben suggested, “if we’re going to start to-night, we ought to be
getting our camp equipment ready.”

“Aw, never mind the camp equipment!” exclaimed Jimmie. “We don’t want to
carry a load of stuff across the continent. We can carry one light silk
tent, like we had in Mexico, and a few provisions, and buy all the
mountain outfit after we get in Monterey.”

“That listens good to me!” Carl put in. “If Mr. Havens is going to race
us for three thousand miles in the _Mary Ann_, we don’t want to carry
much excess baggage.”

“How soon can you get ready, boys?” asked Havens. “My idea is,” he went
on, “that you ought to get out of the hangar as soon as possible. We may
be over-anxious regarding the matter, but it is my belief that you’ll be
followed unless you get away secretly. Now, you boys all go to bed in
the bunks in the hangar and I’ll attend to the details. When the tent
and provisions are on board, with plenty of gasoline, I’ll let you know.
Then you can get away at once.”

The boys objected to going to bed, declaring that they were too excited
to sleep, but at last, in deference to the wishes of Mr. Havens, they
sought their bunks. An hour later Jimmie awoke to a sense of
suffocation. Ben and Carl were sleeping soundly not far away and the
great shed was very still.

As the boy sat up and sniffed the air a burst of flame showed at the
front, sweeping fast toward the _Louise_ and the _Bertha_.




                              CHAPTER II.

                          A SHOT IN THE NIGHT.


There was a fairly efficient fire department at the Havens’ hangar, and
by the time Jimmie was out of his bunk, rolling his chums out on the
floor, two streams of water were playing upon the flames.

Contrary to the expectation of the incendiaries, there had been several
workmen busy about the office building packing provisions into the
smallest space possible and tying oiled silk tents and clothing for
transportation on the flying machines. Consequently when the fire burst
out at the hangar there was little delay in getting out the firemen.

There were thousands of dollars’ worth of property in and about the
office building and hangar, and Mr. Havens not only maintained an
efficient corps of fire fighters but also kept his possessions there
well insured. The fire was extinguished before any damage had been done
except to one wall of the hangar.

After the danger was entirely over Mr. Havens and the three boys
gathered in the private room of the office building for the purpose of
discussing the situation. It was easy to see that the boys were all
greatly excited, and that Mr. Havens was decidedly angry.

“You see how it is, boys,” the latter said, “you’ll have to fight the
Phillips and Mendosa gang from now until the two murderers are placed in
the electric chair. I fully believe that it was the intention of their
accomplices to not only destroy the aeroplanes but to cause your death.
It is a desperate gang to battle with.”

While the boys talked, laying plans for their guidance while journeying
across the continent, Hilton, one of the night-watchmen, knocked softly
on the door and then looked in with a frightened face.

“What is it?” asked Havens.

“I presume, sir,” the night-watchman answered, “that you heard the shot?
It might have been heard a mile, I think, sir.”

“We heard nothing of the kind,” replied Mr. Havens, rather anxiously.
“Tell us something about it.”

“It was just after the fire was extinguished,” Hilton replied. “We were
standing by the door of the little fire-apparatus house when we saw a
man sneaking through the shrubbery to the west of the hangar. He turned
and ran the minute he saw that he was discovered, but we caught him—a
measly little dried up kind of a man, with a face like a monkey.”

“Where is he now?” asked Havens.

“Why, that’s what I came in to tell you about,” Hilton continued,
fumbling with his hat, which he held in front of him with both hands.
“When we caught him, we took him back to the engine-house and began
asking him questions, believing, of course, that it was he who had made
all the trouble.”

“And what did he say?” demanded Havens, excitedly.

For a moment it seemed that the solution of the fire mystery was at
hand. It was probable that the man caught sneaking about the hangar had
either been responsible for the blaze or had witnessed the act of
incendiarism. They all waited anxiously for Hilton’s reply.

“Well, sir,” continued the night-watchman, “we stood him up agin’ the
wall by the engine-house door and tried to frighten him into answering
our questions. He was scared all right!”

“But what did he say?” repeated Havens, impatiently.

“He didn’t say anything,” was the reply, “and I’ll tell you why he
didn’t say anything. He was under the strong light of the electric in
the ceiling of the engine-house. We were all gathered about him, but
none of us stood in front. Before he could say a word in answer to our
questions, a shot came from out of the darkness and he just crumpled
down on the floor. We thought he was dead.”

“Did one of my men shoot him?” asked Havens, angrily.

“No, sir,” replied Hilton. “Your men were all gathered in the
engine-house. The shot came from a point south of the hangar.”

“Is the man dead?”

“That’s what we can’t exactly make out, sir,” the night-watchman
answered. “He lies perfectly still, but sometimes we think we can detect
a flutter of breath at his lips. No, sir, you may be sure that none of
your men shot the fellow.”

“Who did shoot him, then?” demanded Jimmie, excitedly.

“Wait a moment,” said Havens addressing the night-watchman. “Don’t offer
any theories. Tell us the facts in the case, and then go and see that
the man is not permitted to escape.”

“I have told you all I know, sir,” answered Hilton. “It’s just as I tell
you. He was in the strong light near the engine-room door, and a shot
came out of the darkness and he dropped. Your men were all in the
engine-room at the time it happened.”

“That’s all!” Havens said, abruptly. “See that the fellow is given every
attention, and also that he does not escape. Perhaps you would better
summon a surgeon. Use the ’phone in the engine-house.”

Hilton bowed and turned away, grumbling that workmen were always blamed
for everything that took place, whether they were guilty or not. Mr.
Havens and the boys sat watching each other with astonishment showing in
their eyes for at least a minute after the departure of the
night-watchman. Havens was the first to speak.

“What do you make of that, boys?” he asked.

“It seems to me to be a problem easy of solution,” Ben answered. “The
men who planned the destruction of the building and the death of those
sleeping in it employed this man to do their dirty work. He set fire to
the building, but didn’t get away in time. The captured man is
undoubtedly a fellow not to be trusted, so the chief incendiary shot him
in order to close his lips.”

“It strikes me,” Mr. Havens said, with a laugh, “that you ought to make
a pretty good detective. In my opinion, you have grasped the situation
exactly.”

“Oh, Ben is the only original Sherlock Holmes,” laughed Jimmie. “Give
him a piece of rock and a blade of grass and he’ll tell you how the
world was made! He’s got the deduction stunt down to cases!”

“You bet he has!” laughed Carl. “Don’t you remember how he figured out
the Devil’s Pool down in Mexico?”

“I guess you all had a hand in that Devil’s Pool proposition,” laughed
Ben. “But, honest, now,” he continued, “don’t you think the man was shot
in order to prevent his snitching on his friends?”

“He certainly was!” answered Mr. Havens. “And now,” he continued, rising
from his chair and moving toward the door, “it remains for us to
determine whether he is dead. If he is dead, that settles the matter so
far as we’re concerned. If he isn’t, he may be induced by the use of the
third degree to betray his accomplices.”

“Huh!” laughed Jimmie. “I wouldn’t put a sheep-stealing dog through the
third degree! They tried it on me once,” he continued, “when they found
me sleeping in a dry goods box in an alley near where a burglary had
been committed. They kept me without sleep or food for two days and two
nights, though they had all I knew about the case the first minute.”

“You’re right about the cops,” Carl laughed. “When I write a book
descriptive of the criminal classes in the United States, I’m going to
give the police the place of honor in the book. If anybody should ask
you, you just say that the leading criminal class in the United States
revolves around police headquarters.”

Havens smiled at the natural enmity of street boys for the police and
opened the door. As he did so Hilton again made his appearance in the
outer office.

“The surgeon will be here directly,” he reported.

“How’s the patient?” asked Havens.

“Still unconscious,” was the reply, “though he seems to be breathing a
little easier. He’s bleeding pretty badly, though.”

“You remain here and watch the office until we come back,” directed
Havens, and in company with the three boys he turned toward the building
where the fire-fighting apparatus was stored.

When they reached the place they found the figure of an undersized,
wrinkled-faced man of fifty or more lying on the brick floor of the
room. There was a pool of blood in view, and a wound in the head showed
its source.

Half a dozen men were gathered about the still figure, all looking
excited and anxious. Havens bent down and lifted the head from the
floor.

“That wound,” he decided, “is by no means a fatal one. In fact, I can’t
understand why he should lie for such a long time in this condition. The
bullet merely cut the scalp, it seems to me. Any of you people ever see
him before?” he asked in a moment.

The men shook their heads.

“Have you examined his clothing for marks of identification?” asked
Havens, then. “He may have letters or something about him which will
disclose his name and address.”

“No, sir,” one of the men answered. “We never thought of that. At
least,” he went on with a shamefaced grin, “I thought of it just as you
came in but, to tell you the truth, I didn’t care to touch him.”

Jimmie bent down and ran his fingers hastily through the pockets in the
clothing of the unconscious man.

“Not a thing!” he said presently. “Not even a lead pencil or a pocket
knife! The fellow probably left his card case at home,” he added with a
chuckle. “We’ll have to get his number in some other way.”

While they stood talking at the door of the engine-house, a surgeon
residing at a village not far away came hastily into the circle of
light. After speaking most respectfully to the millionaire and nodding
carelessly to the boys, he proceeded to make an examination of the
injured man. Havens and the lads stood by waiting anxiously for his
decision.

If the man was really likely to die from his wound, that would end all
hope of learning from him the names of those associated with him in the
crime. If the fellow would soon recover, then a clue to the whole chain
forged by the friends of the murderers for the destruction of the boys
might be discovered.

“Well?” asked Havens as the surgeon lifted his face in a moment.

Instead of answering directly, the surgeon sniffed the air.

“You’ve had a fire here?” he questioned.

“Never mind the fire now,” said Havens, impatiently. “Give me your
opinion of this man’s condition. Is his wound fatal?”

“It is my duty,” said the surgeon, with assumed dignity, “to report this
case to the police instantly. But,” he continued, with a subservient bow
in the direction of the millionaire, “I’ll give you all the information
I can before sending word to the county authorities.”

“Holy smoke!” shouted Jimmie. “Why don’t you give it, then?”

“Yes, why don’t you give it?” added Carl. “What are you waiting for?”

The surgeon regarded the two boys with a glance cold enough to crack the
lenses in his eye glasses and turned back to the millionaire.

“The man is not fatally injured,” he announced, with a great deal of
added dignity. “In fact, I can’t understand why he lies so long in this
condition. It can be accounted for, however, on the theory that the
bullet in passing along the surface of the skull drove a splinter of
bone into the brain. In that case, no recovery can reasonably be
expected until after a delicate operation has been performed.”

“Well,” Havens decided in a moment, “do you know where there is a
hospital to which the man may be taken immediately?”

“There are plenty in New York city, of course,” suggested the surgeon.

“But,” returned Havens, “I don’t want him taken to New York city, or
even placed in the custody of the officers of Westchester county. My
desire is that you have him placed in a private hospital and make him
your special charge until you receive different instructions. I have
reasons of my own, of course, for taking this course, all of which you
shall know in due time. Will you do it?”

The surgeon replied that he should be most happy to oblige the
millionaire, and in a short time the wounded man was reposing on a cot
in a private room in a private hospital not far from Long Island sound.

“And now, boys,” Mr. Havens said after a short time, “the machines are
packed, it only remains for you to take your seats and beat the friends
of Phillips and Mendosa to the Pacific coast.”




                              CHAPTER III.

                      A MYSTERIOUS DISAPPEARANCE.


“We can beat ’em to the Pacific coast, all right!” Jimmie laughed. “Look
here,” he went on, pointing to the _Louise_, now being run out of the
hangar by the workmen. “There’s a flying machine that’s going to be a
world-beater. I ran fifty miles an hour this afternoon, and didn’t put
on full power, at that! She’s a bird, is _Louise_!”

“It isn’t always the speed that counts in a flying machine,” smiled
Havens. “The perfect flying machine is one that is constructed for
endurance—one which will fly for days and nights without breaking
down—one which can be trusted in the air as you trust a faithful horse
on a country road.”

“Well,” laughed Jimmie, “I think the _Louise_ has had plenty of
endurance tests, that is so far as her separate parts are concerned.
Every piece in her, down to the last screw, has been tested time and
again, and the run yesterday afternoon showed that she worked like a
full-jeweled watch.”

“And what about the _Bertha_,” laughed Havens, turning to Ben.

“Aw, the _Bertha_ isn’t in it with the _Louise_!” shouted Jimmie. “I’ll
race the _Bertha_ to Monterey bay for a thousand dollars,” he added with
a grin. “And I’ll win the money, too.”

“That will never do, boys,” Havens advised. “You’ve got to keep together
and work together all the way across.”

“And now,” asked Ben, as they all turned toward the machines, glistening
now in the brilliant moonlight, “where are we going to land?”

“I’m afraid I haven’t explained the details of the trip as thoroughly as
I should,” answered Havens, “for the reason that I expected to go with
you from the start. However, I’ll be along before you get to the
Mississippi river and post you fully.”

“But suppose anything should happen that you should be delayed,”
suggested Jimmie. “What then?”

“Well,” Havens went on, “south of the bay of Monterey, in Southern
California, close to the Pacific coast, lies the Sierra de Santa Lucia
mountains. On one side the rock runs almost vertically to the ocean,
from three to five thousand feet below. On the other side there is a
slope of oak and pine and sycamore to a great canyon which stretches
between the mountains and the foothills to the line of the Southern
Pacific railroad, sixty or seventy miles away.

“This is said by men whom I have consulted to be the wildest and most
lawless region in all California. There is a government reservation
there, but the forest rangers have hard work keeping fires out of the
forest and cattle off the slopes.

“It is believed that Phillips and Mendosa sought this region immediately
after the burglary in New York. In fact, the chief of police reports
that they are known to have left San Francisco in a steamer bound south
ten days after the commission of the crime.

“Now,” Havens continued, “these men are beyond the reach of telegraphic
or mail service. They can be warned of the approach of officers only by
messenger from Monterey, or by messengers sent through the gulches
across from the Southern Pacific line.

“This situation compels us to beat the aeroplane we saw yesterday
afternoon to the Pacific coast,” Havens explained.

“But,” interposed Jimmie, “the murderers’ friends might telegraph to
Monterey, or to some point on the railroad, and a messenger might be
despatched into the mountains. An arrangement of this sort would
certainly inform the murderers in advance of our coming.”

“But there is the danger of discovery if messages and messengers are
resorted to,” Havens continued. “Besides, it is very doubtful if
accomplices have been stationed at any station in the vicinity of the
mountains. It is more than likely that Phillips and Mendosa entered that
wild region with the intention of cutting themselves off from all human
kind, leaving friends in New York to look out for their interests here.”

“Then,” laughed Jimmie, “let Phillips and Mendosa watch out for a
freckled-faced boy with red hair, for he’s going to cross their life
line the first thing they know!”

“Why don’t you put out a sign and tell fortunes?” asked Carl, with a
grin. “You ought to be able to do that!”

“Ain’t I telling the fortunes of these two murderers now?” demanded
Jimmie. “The clairvoyants tell you to look out for tall, dark complected
men with fierce eyes, if you go to them, and I’m telling these outlaws
to look out for a freckled-faced boy with red hair who’s going to get
their number directly.”

“Now there’s one more thing I want to tell you for your information in
case my departure should be delayed,” Havens went on. “It appears that
this man Mendosa is a sort of a crank in the matter of diamonds. He is
known to possess several stones of considerable value, in addition to
small trinkets set with the precious stones. On the morning following
the robbery and murder, a small diamond and a tiny, triangular piece of
gold were found on the rug in front of the office desk which the
burglars cheekily used during the examination of the securities.

“It is believed by the officers that this stone and this piece of gold
became detached from a ring worn by Mendosa on that night. The stone
looks like one of a cluster, and the triangular piece of gold is
unquestionably part of a claw originally used to keep the diamonds in
the setting. These two constitute the only clues.”

“Are you going to take them with you?” asked Jimmie.

“Certainly,” replied Havens.

“Then you want to hustle along with them,” laughed Carl, “for we’re
going to sail right out of the air and light down on top of the two
murderers! So we’ll need the stone and the triangular piece of gold for
comparison. We’re going to do this up quick!”

“And now, one last word,” the millionaire concluded. “In case I should
not reach you before you gain the Pacific coast, my advice is that you
approach the mountains from the east during the night time. Then you
ought to land on one of the high summits and work out from that point,
using your flying machines only for long distance work.”

“Of course,” laughed Ben, “we can’t go sailing over the mountains with
our machines in broad daylight, whistling for the outlaws to come out of
their hiding-places and be taken back to electric chairs in New York!”

“No, there’ll be quite a lot of mountain climbing,” advised Havens. “And
now,” he continued, “that everything is understood and the provisions
and tents are snugly packed on the flying machines, you would better be
on your way. It is quite possible that the aviator who chased Jimmie up
New York bay yesterday afternoon headed for the west immediately after
leaving this vicinity.”

“In that case, we’ll have to catch him!” Jimmie grinned.

“If we can!” Carl exclaimed.

“Aw, of course we can!” Jimmie returned.

“How fast ought we to travel?” asked Ben of Mr. Havens.

“I think,” returned the millionaire, “that you ought to travel about
fifty miles an hour for sixteen hours a day. That will give you eight
hundred or a thousand miles a day, and also eight hours each night for
sleep. That ought to be enough.”

The boys all insisted that that would be more than enough, and moved
toward their machines.

“Wait a minute!” Ben cried, as he climbed into the seat on the _Bertha_,
“who’s going to ride with me?”

“You’ve got most of the equipage and provisions,” Havens suggested. “You
know,” the millionaire continued, “that we couldn’t trust Jimmie with
the provisions! He’d be stopping in the top of every tall tree to take a
snack, and that would never answer!”

“And you know, too,” Carl put in, “that we never could trust Jimmie
alone in a flying machine! That’s why it’s been planned that I ride with
him.”

“All right, you fellows,” grinned Jimmie, “I’ll show you who makes the
winning in this murder case! Great Scott!” he added with a wrinkling of
the nose, “isn’t this a wonder? Who’d ever think of sending us boys off
into the mountains to do secret service work?”

Havens took out a pencil and began figuring on the back of a letter
taken from a pocket.

“According to this schedule,” he said in a moment, “you boys ought to
reach the bay of Monterey in four or five days. This is Monday. By
Saturday morning, then, you ought to have your machines stowed away in
one of the gorges facing the Pacific ocean. Can you do it?”

“You bet we can do it!” declared Jimmie.

“And when you need provisions,” Havens advised, “get one of the machines
out at night and proceed to Monterey, but don’t take the aeroplanes into
the town; don’t attract any attention if you can avoid it.”

“Where’re you going to meet us?” asked Ben.

“Probably at St. Louis,” was the reply. “At the post-office. Look for me
there when you arrive.”

In a moment the purr of the motors cut the air. The machines ran
swiftly, steadily, down the field and swept upward. Havens stood
watching them for a long time. The planes glistened like silver in the
moonlight, and the song of the motors came to his ears like sweet music.
The millionaire loved a flying machine as track-men love a swift and
beautiful horse. He finally turned away to find a uniformed messenger
boy standing by his side, presenting a yellow envelope.

“What is it, kid?” he asked.

“Message from the hospital,” was the answer.

“Who sent it?” asked the millionaire, taking the envelope into his hands
and tearing off the end.

“The night matron,” was the reply. “She said I had to hump myself.”

“That’s wrong!” laughed Havens. “She shouldn’t expect a messenger boy to
hump himself! In fact,” he went on, whimsically, “the only time a
messenger boy is permitted to make haste is when he is on his way to a
baseball game. That’s right, sonny!” he continued.

The boy grinned and made trenches in the smooth earth of the field with
the toe of a broken shoe.

Havens glanced casually at the message at first, thinking that perhaps
the surgeon might have taken it into his head to report progress in the
case of the man so recently placed in his charge. He knew very well that
the surgeon would manage to prevent the escape of the prisoner should he
regain consciousness, so he had put that phase of the case entirely from
his mind. However, his eyes widened and an exclamation of astonishment
came from his lips as he read the note which had been written by the
night matron, and not by the surgeon at all.

“Mason, the injured man recently sent here on your order,” the note
read, “has most mysteriously disappeared from the hospital. Doctor Bolt,
the surgeon detailed, at your request, to take charge of the case,
decided to watch the man for the night, and so my attendants were
withdrawn. The surgeon must have fallen asleep, for in half an hour’s
time he came running to my door shouting that Mason had escaped. As soon
as possible I visited the room from which the man had disappeared and
found the window sash raised.

“There were many footprints in the soft earth under the window—the
footprints of men in coarse shoes—and a smear of blood on the window
casing disclosed the fact that the injured man had been drawn through
the opening. It is quite evident to me, therefore, that the man was
carried from the room by some one interested in the case, to which
Doctor Bolt only indirectly referred when talking with me. Your presence
at the hospital is earnestly requested.”

The note was signed, as stated, by the night matron. Scarcely had Havens
finished the reading of it when he heard some one stumbling through the
darkness, and the next moment Surgeon Bolt, looking crestfallen and
excited, stood before him, like a schoolboy anticipating censure.

“Well?” asked Havens rather angrily.

“It’s the strangest thing I ever saw!” exclaimed the surgeon. “Mindful
of your interest in the man, I decided not to trust him to the care of
any of the hospital attendants to-night. After doing what I could for
him, I sat down by the side of his bed to read and smoke. My mind was
never clearer or farther from drowsiness than it was at that time.”

“Yes,” Havens said, in a sarcastic tone, “the result seems to indicate
that you were wide awake!”

“I tell you,” almost shouted Bolt, “that I was stupefied by the
injection of chloroform or some other anesthetic into the room!”

“How could that be possible?” demanded Havens.

“I don’t know!” wailed Bolt. “I certainly do not know! The window was
closed when I looked at it last, just before I became unconscious. When
I came to my senses to find the bed empty, a cold wind was blowing on my
face. That is undoubtedly what awakened me. Only for that I might have
slept myself to death!”

While the two talked together a watchman from the office building
approached and informed Havens that a lady was waiting there to see him.

“That, probably,” suggested Bolt, “is the night matron from the
hospital. She was making investigations when I left, and promised to
come here at once on the discovery of anything new in the case.”

Havens hastened to the office building and there, as the surgeon had
predicted, found the night matron waiting for him.

“I can’t understand,” she said addressing the millionaire abruptly,
without waiting for him to speak, “what is going on at the hospital
to-night! Immediately after the departure of Doctor Bolt I sent word for
every person, man or woman, connected with my service to appear in the
reception room. In five minutes’ time I discovered that two men employed
only three days ago were not present.

“After waiting a few moments for their appearance, I sent a messenger to
their rooms. They were not there! Their beds had not been slept in, and
every article of wearing apparel belonging to them had been taken from
their closets.”

“One question,” Doctor Bolt said, addressing the matron. “Was any one on
watch outside the door of the room in which I was so mysteriously put to
sleep?”

“There was no one on watch there,” was the reply.

“Then,” declared Bolt, “the two attendants who have disappeared injected
the anesthetic I have already referred to through the keyhole of the
door. After I became unconscious they entered and removed the prisoner.
It is all the fault of the hospital!”

The night matron turned up her nose at the surgeon.




                              CHAPTER IV.

                        THE DIGNITY OF THE LAW.


The two flying machines, the _Louise_, with Jimmie and Carl on board,
and the _Bertha_, with Ben in charge, flew swiftly over the great city,
lying before them with its lights stretching out like strings of beads,
crossed the North river with its fleets of vessels, and passed on over
New Jersey, heading directly for the west.

At first Jimmie and Carl tried to carry on a conversation, but the
snapping of the motors and the rush of the wind in their faces
effectually prevented anything of the kind. The moon was well down in
the west, yet its light lay over the landscape below in a silvery
radiance.

Now and then as they swept over a city or a cluster of houses far out on
a country road, lights flashed about, and voices were heard calling from
below. Ignoring all invitations to descend and explain their presence
there, the boys swept on steadily until the moon disappeared under the
rim of the sky.

At first there was the light of the stars, but this was soon shut out by
a bank of clouds moving in from the ocean. By this time the boys were
perhaps two hundred miles from New York. They were anxious to be on
their way, yet the country was entirely new to them, and they knew that
a chain of hills extended across the interior farther on, so at last
Ben, who was in the lead, decided to drop down and make inquiries as to
the country to the west.

Of course the boys might have lifted their machines higher into the air
and proceeded on their course regardless of any undulations of the
surface, but they were still comparatively new in the business of
handling machines, and did not care to take high risks in the darkness.

Jimmie followed Ben’s lead, and the two machines groped their way along
a tolerably smooth country road and finally came to a stop only a few
feet from a rough and weather-beaten barn which stood close to the side
of the road.

The clatter of the motors almost immediately brought two husky farmers
into the illumination caused by the aeroplane lamps.

“What you doing here?” one of the men asked.

“Came down to rest our wings,” Jimmie replied, saucily.

“Where you from?” asked the other farmer.

“New York,” answered Jimmie.

“We’re carrying government despatches to Japan,” Carl added, with a
grin. “We’re in the secret service!”

Ben gave the two boys a jab in the back, warning them to be more civil,
and, stepping forward, began asking questions of the farmer regarding
the country to the west. The two men looked at each other suspiciously.

“Is this him?” one of them asked.

The other shook his head.

“Might be, though!” insisted the first speaker.

“No,” replied the other, “this is not the man!”

Ben looked at his chums significantly for a moment. He was thinking that
the farmers might be referring to an aviator who had passed that way not
long before. He was thinking, too, that that aviator might be the
identical one who had started out to beat the _Louise_ and the _Bertha_
to the Pacific coast.

“When did you boys leave New York?” one of the men asked, in a moment.

“About midnight,” was the reply.

“And you’ve come two hundred miles in three hours?” asked the man,
incredulously. “I don’t believe it!”

“Our machines,” Ben answered, very civilly indeed, “are capable of
making the distance in two hours.”

“Well,” the farmer went on, “the other fellow said he left New York
about dark, and he didn’t get here until something like an hour ago. He
lit right about where you are now.”

“Where is he now?” asked Ben.

“Why, he went on just as soon as he tinkered up his machine.”

The boys glanced at each other significantly, and then Ben asked:

“What kind of a looking man was he?”

“He looked like a pickpocket!” burst out the farmer, “with his little
black face, and big ears, and hunched up shoulders. And he was, I
guess,” he continued, “for we heard him sneaking around the barn before
we came out of the house.”

“What did he say for himself?” asked Ben, now satisfied that the man
described was the one who had pursued the _Louise_ on the previous
afternoon.

The two farmers looked at each other a moment and broke into hearty
laughter. The boys regarded them in wonder.

“He said,” one of the men explained, in a moment, “that he was a
messenger of the government, taking despatches to the Pacific coast. If
he didn’t say almost the same thing you said, you may have my head for a
pumpkin.”

“And that,” added the other man, “is what makes us suspect that you
chaps are in cahoots. Mighty funny about you fellows both landing down
here by our barn, and both telling the same story! I’m a constable,” he
went on, “and I’ve a good mind to arrest you all and take you before the
squire as suspicious persons. I really ought to.”

“What are we doing that looks suspicious?” demanded Jimmie.

“You’re wandering about in the night time in them consarned
contraptions!” declared the other. “That looks suspicious!”

Daylight was now showing in the east, and the sun would be up in a
little more than an hour. The boys were positive, from information
received from the farmer, that the aviator who had made his appearance
on New York bay the previous afternoon was only an hour or so in advance
of them. By following on at once they might be able to pass him.

It was their intention now to wheel farther to the south, and so keep
out of the path taken by the other. It was their idea to reach the
coast, if possible, without the man who was winging his way toward the
murderers knowing anything about it.

Of course the fellow would suspect. There was no doubt that he fully
understood that the _Louise_ and the _Bertha_ were to be used in a race
to the Pacific. Had he been entirely ignorant regarding the plans of the
boys, he would never have found it necessary to follow the _Louise_ over
New York bay and Manhattan island for the purpose of ascertaining her
capability as a flier.

“Well,” Jimmie said, after a moment, “We may as well be on our way. We
stopped here because we were afraid of butting into some wrinkle in the
old earth if we proceeded in the darkness.”

“I don’t know about letting you go on!” broke in the constable.

There was greed in the man’s eyes. There was also an assumption of
official severity as he glanced over the three youngsters. The machines
were standing in the middle of a fairly smooth road running directly
east and west.

To the right of the thoroughfare stood the shabby barns referred to
before. To the left ran a ditch which had been cut through a bit of
swamp lying on the other side of the road. As the farmer concluded his
threatening sentence, Jimmie and Carl sprang to the _Louise_ and pressed
the button which set the motors in motion. For a moment the farmers were
too dazed to do more than follow the swiftly departing machine with
their eyes.

When they did recover their understanding of the situation, they both
sprang at Ben in order to prevent his departure. This, doubtless, on the
theory that one boy was better than none. If they couldn’t get three
prisoners, they did not intend to lose the opportunity of taking one.

In carrying out this resolve, the men made a serious mistake in not
seizing the machine. Had they thrown their muscular arms across the
planes at one end it would have been impossible for the machine to have
proceeded down the road in a straight course.

Instead of doing this, they both made an effort to seize Ben. Now Ben
had been in many a rough-and-tumble skirmish on the lower East Side, and
knew how to protect himself against such clumsy assaults. One of the
farmers cut a circle over the shoulder of the boy as he fell from a
hip-lock, and the other went down from as neat a jolt on the jaw, as was
ever delivered in the prize ring.

While this remarkable contest was in progress, Jimmie was whirling the
machine, he had mounted, into the air. When he saw one of the farmers
land in the ditch he came swiftly about with a jeer of defiance and
thrust an insulting face toward the ground.

“Say, you feller!” he shouted. “That’s Billy Burley, the Bruiser. Don’t
you go to getting into a mix-up with him!”

The man who had tumbled into the soft muck of the trench clambered
slowly out and shook his fist at the freckled, scornful face bent above
him.

“I’ll show you!” he shouted. “I’ll show you!”

By this time Ben had taken possession of the _Bertha_, and the motors
were clattering down the road. In a second almost the flying machine was
in the air, and the boys were off on their journey, leaving the two
farmers chasing down the road after them, shouting and waving pitchforks
desperately in the air.

It was now almost broad daylight, and the boys sent their machines up so
as to attract as little attention as possible from the country below. A
few miles from the scene of their encounter they shot off straight to
the south, resolved to reach the Pacific coast by way of Kansas and
lower California. It seemed to them that the aviator who had preceded
them had purposely lingered in order that they might come up with him.
This looked like trouble.

If it meant anything at all, it meant that if possible they were to be
interfered with on their way across the continent. This prospect was not
at all to their liking. They wanted to the get to the Pacific coast as
soon as possible and begin the quest in the mountains.

Shortly after five o’clock they saw the city of Baltimore stretched out
below them. Deciding that it would be much better to land some distance
from the city and prepare breakfast out in the open country than to
attract universal attention by dropping down in the city, Ben volplaned
down on a macadamized highway some distance out of the town. Jimmie
followed his example at once, and before long a small alcohol stove was
in action, sending the fragrance of bubbling coffee out into the fresh
morning air. Even at that early hour half a dozen loungers gathered
about the machines, gazing with wondering eyes at the youthful aviators.

The boys explained the object of their journey in the first words which
came to their lips, which, it is unnecessary to state, were highly
imaginative, and the loungers stood about watching the boys eat and
drink and asking questions concerning the mechanism of the motors.

After eating and inspecting the machines the boys started away again. At
the time of their departure there was at least half a hundred people
standing around, hands in pockets, mouths half open.

The boys passed over Washington in a short time and glanced down at the
great dome of the capitol and at the towering shaft of the Washington
monument. The machines, however, were going at a swift pace, and the
many points of interest at the capital of the nation soon faded from
view.

About every two hours all through the day and early evening the boys
came to the surface at some convenient point and rested and examined
their machines. The motors were working splendidly, and the lads were
certain that if it should become necessary they could make five hundred
miles without a halt. This was at least encouraging.

When night fell they found themselves not far from St. Louis. They
dropped down in a lonely field about sunset and built a roaring
camp-fire. There was not a house in sight, and the field where the
machines lay was surrounded by a fringe of small trees. Ten or fifteen
miles to the west rolled the Mississippi river and beyond lay the paved
streets of St. Louis, where they were to meet Havens.

The day’s journey had been a most successful one. Jimmie was certain
that at times the _Louise_ had traveled at the rate of a hundred miles
an hour. There had been no accidents of any kind.

“From New York to the Mississippi in one day appears to me to be going
some!” declared Jimmie, “and I never was so tired in my life. We can’t
go on to-night if we are to meet Havens in St. Louis to-morrow, and so
I’m going to get out one of the oiled silk shelter tents and go to bed.”

While the boys planned a long night’s rest the whirr of motors came
dully from the sky off to the north.




                               CHAPTER V.

                           A CHANGE OF SCENE.


“What we ought to do now,” Doctor Bolt declared, as the night matron,
indignant chin in air, turned toward the door of the private room, “is
to notify the officers of Westchester county.”

“I don’t see the necessity for that,” Havens replied. “One may as well
look for a pearl in a train-load of oysters as to look for that fellow
in Westchester county to-night. Depend upon it, the men who sought
employment at the hospital a few days ago were sent here because the
hospital happened to be near my home.”

The night matron shrugged her shoulders and passed a scornful glance at
the surgeon. The surgeon turned angrily away.

“That relieves me of a great responsibility,” she said. “Ordinarily one
becomes responsible for the actions of employes, but when men are sent
into your service by a criminal gang for a criminal purpose,
responsibility ought to end there.”

“I don’t agree with your reasoning at all!” declared the surgeon. “One
should know better than to employ strangers in positions of trust.”

“And when,” continued the night matron, glaring at the surgeon, “a
country doctor takes it upon himself to override the rules of a hospital
and keeps watch beside a patient to the exclusion of the regular
attendants, one certainly should not be held accountable for the safety
of that patient. And that’s all I have to say,” she added.

“Settle the responsibility as you will,” Havens broke in. “I have
nothing to do with that. What I want now is a promise from each of you
that nothing whatever shall be said regarding the matter until private
detectives shall have an opportunity to recapture the escaped prisoner.”

“But why the secrecy?” asked the night matron.

“It is my duty as a surgeon to report the entire matter to the police,”
shouted Bolt. “I shall do so at once.”

Havens argued with the two for a long time, and finally secured a
promise that nothing would be said either of the capture or the escape
for three days. The millionaire’s idea was to get the prisoner into his
own hands if possible. He knew that the fellow would have a hundred
chances of escaping without ever revealing the story of the crime he had
committed that night with the police, where he would have not one if
guarded by private detectives.

He was well satisfied from the incidents of the night that some person
high up in the councils of the police department had leaked in the
matter of the employment of the boys on the murder case. He believed,
too, that the same influence which had been able to secure the carefully
guarded information would be powerful enough to protect the escaped
prisoner in case he should regain consciousness and, on promise of
immunity, threaten to disclose the names of his accomplices in the
incendiary act.

After exacting the promise from the surgeon and the night matron, Havens
ordered every workman about the place to remain on guard until morning
and, calling his chauffeur, departed for New York in a high-powered
touring car. Worn out with the anxiety and exertions of the night, he
fell asleep on the soft cushions of the machine, and awoke only when the
chauffeur shook him gently by the shoulder and announced that they were
at the Grand Central station.

“And I’d like to ask you a question, sir,” the chauffeur said, as Havens
stepped out of the car. “It’s about what took place on the way down.”

“What took place on the way down!” laughed the young millionaire. “It
has all been a blank to me. I must have slept very soundly.”

“Indeed you did, sir,” replied the chauffeur, “and that’s why I didn’t
wake you. You seemed to need the sleep very much, sir.”

“Well, tell me what happened?” Havens said impatiently.

“Why, sir,” the chauffeur went on, “a big car picked us up half a mile
this side of the hangar and followed on down to within three blocks of
this place. When I drove fast, they drove fast; when I slowed up, they
slowed up, too. Very strange, sir.”

“Why didn’t you investigate?” asked Havens angrily.

“You see that marble column at the corner of the building,” declared the
chauffeur, pointing. “Well, I stopped once to ask questions of the
chauffeur in the other car, and that marble column I’m pointing out,
sir, would be just as communicative as that other chauffeur was. He only
grunted when I asked questions and kept right on as before.”

Havens thanked the man for the information and went on about the
business which had brought him to the city. He was busy all day with
lawyers and brokers and real estate managers, and was very tired and
sleepy when night fell. It had been his intention to take an afternoon
train for St. Louis, but his business had not permitted of so sudden a
departure from the city.

He regretted extremely that he had not arranged with the boys to wire
their address in the Missouri city. However, he thought, the boys would
wait at least twenty-four hours at the point selected, and this delay
would enable him to overtake them by train at Denver. He was positive
that he could do so if he could catch the Overland Limited at Chicago.

Eight o’clock found him sound asleep in the stateroom of a Pullman car
due to start for the west in an hour. He was so tired that the noises of
the station; the arrival and departure of trains; the calls of the train
starters; the rattling of the couplings under vestibules, soon died away
into a dull blur, and then he passed into a dreamless sleep.

His last memory was of a powerful light shining through a slender crack
in the drawn blind of a stateroom window. When he awoke again the
slender finger of light had become a deep red glow the size of a pail,
and the perfumed air of the stateroom had, somehow, taken on the close
and unsavory smell of a riverside basement.

Havens made an effort to lift his hands to his head, but found that he
was unable to do so. The great red light was staring viciously into his
smarting eyes so he closed them, turned his head aside, and lay for a
moment in silent thought.

He had no idea as to where he was, or how, or how long ago he had been
transported to that villainous place. He knew that violence had been
used, for there was a trickle of moisture on his forehead which could
not be the result of heat or exertion. There was a smart there, too, and
so the moisture must be blood.

The air was thick and damp, bearing the odor of long confinement in
filthy quarters. Opening his eyes, directly, he saw that the walls were
dark, but not with paint or paper. They were stained with the mold and
unsavory accumulations of many years.

The light which shone in his face came from an electric contrivance
which seemed at that moment to be a long distance off. Finally, after
much study and many smarting examinations, he saw that it was a light
nodding and swaying on a mast, and that it shone through the dirty panes
of a window before entering the gloom where he lay.

It was plain to the millionaire, then, that, in some mysterious manner,
he had been taken from the stateroom and conveyed to one of the
disreputable resorts on the river front. He had no idea as to whether he
was looking out on the East river or the North river. All he knew was
that his hands and feet were tied; that his head ached furiously, and
that his lips and tongue were parched with thirst. In a moment he heard
a door open and then an old woman, toothless and shrunken of shoulders,
stood before him, bearing in her hand a smoking kerosene lamp.

“Well, dearie,” she said with a wicked leer in her watery old eyes.

Havens indicated by motions of his lips and tongue that he needed a
drink of water. The old woman had undoubtedly been prepared for this,
for she drew a flask of spirits from a capacious pocket in her clothing
and held it exultantly before the eyes of the captive.

Havens shook his head.

“It will give you strength,” pleaded the hag. “Strength for what you’ve
got to endure. Better take a drop or two!”

In a moment the young millionaire managed to say that he wanted water,
and the old hag, with the air of one who considered that a weak-minded
man was turning away a blessed boon, restored the bottle to her pocket
and brought water in as filthy a tin cup as Havens had ever set eyes on.

The woman eyed him curiously as she held the cup to his lips.

After draining the cup Havens found strength to ask:

“How did I come here?”

“The boys brought you,” was the reply.

“The boys?” repeated Havens. “What boys?”

“The boys always will be having their sport!” the old woman answered
indefinitely. “Very bad boys, I’m sure.”

“Why?” demanded the millionaire.

“Oh, my, oh, my!” exclaimed the old hag. “You mustn’t ask so many
questions. I’m not here to answer questions.”

“How much do they want?” demanded Havens, coming at once to the point,
as there was no doubt whatever in his mind that he had been abducted
purely as a financial speculation. “How much?”

The old hag shook her head gravely.

“After a few days,” she said, “the boys will listen to talk of money.
Just now,” she went on, “your society is what they desire.”

Then, for the first time since his rude awakening, the events of the
night before flashed across the brain of the millionaire. He remembered
the pursuit of the _Louise_, the act of arson at the hangar, the
shooting of the stranger, and the escape from the hospital. To his mind,
also, came with double force and meaning of the story the chauffeur had
told of the pursuing car. With all these memories in his mind he had
little difficulty in associating his present situation with the efforts
which had been made to prevent the departure of the boys for the Pacific
coast.

“How long do you intend to keep me here?” he asked in a moment.

Again the old woman shook her head.

“I’ll give you ten thousand dollars,” he said, “if you’ll set me down at
the Grand Central station in an hour.”

“Not near enough, dearie,” the old hag replied, a greedy gleam coming
into her watery eyes. “Not near enough, dearie!”

“Twenty thousand!” exclaimed Havens.

The old woman glanced about the apartment cautiously.




                              CHAPTER VI.

                           A SMALL EXPLOSION.


“Now,” suggested Ben as the purr of the motors came softly on the
evening air, “do you suppose Havens has really caught up with us?”

“Impossible!” cried Jimmie, “we’ve stopped a good many times on the
route, but he couldn’t overtake us, for all that, for the reason that he
wouldn’t leave New York before afternoon. According to that we would
have at least ten hours the start of him.”

“That’s right!” Ben agreed. “Perhaps the motors we hear belong to the
flying machine of some sport out for a twilight ride. There are a good
many aeroplanes passing between St. Louis and the east at this time of
the year. We may hear other machines before morning.”

“Suppose,” Carl suggested, with a startled expression in his eyes, “that
the clatter in the sky is caused by the flying machine operated by the
fellow who chased Jimmie up New York bay?”

“Then that would mean trouble,” Jimmie grinned. “But, say!” he went on
in a moment. “I wouldn’t mind meeting that fellow where the going was
good. I’d show him that his machine is a back number.”

The boys searched the sky eagerly for a light which would indicate the
position of the aeroplane. After a long time they saw a faint gleam
almost directly overhead. The airship seemed to be descending.

“I wish we hadn’t built this fire,” Ben suggested.

“Suppose we put it out!” Carl advised.

“No use now,” Ben put in. “The fellow knows exactly where we are.
Besides,” he went on, “if we should attempt to leave our present
location, the clatter of the motors would show him exactly where we
landed.”

“Then all we’ve got to do,” Jimmie explained, “is to remain right here
and watch our machines all night. That’s what I call a downright shame!”

“We don’t have to all watch at the same time,” Ben advised. “You boys go
to sleep after we get our supper and I’ll stick around until midnight.
Then one of you can go on guard until four in the morning and the other
watch until we get ready to leave.”

“That’s about the way we’ll have to do it,” Jimmie responded, “only,” he
went on, “if the fellow makes his appearance at the camp and tries any
funny business, the one on watch must wake the rest of us.”

This being agreed to, the boys ate a hearty supper and Jimmie and Carl
crawled into a hastily set up shelter-tent and were soon sound asleep.
Ben did not remain by the camp-fire after that. Instead, he took a
position beyond the circle of light, from which the machines were in
full view, and watched and listened for the appearance of the mysterious
aviator.

Directly the whirr of the motors came louder, and the boy saw the bulk
of an aeroplane outlined against the field of stars above.

It was quite evident that the stranger was seeking a place to land, and
Ben, resolving to take the initiative, hastened out into the field
swinging an electric searchlight.

“Now,” he thought, “we’ll see if this fellow wants to meet us face to
face, or whether he wants to sneak about in the darkness in order to
work mischief to our machines.”

After the boy had waved his searchlight for a moment a shout came from
above, and a machine every bit as large and as finely finished as the
_Louise_ came volplaning down to the field.

The rubber-tired wheels had scarcely ceased revolving in the soft earth
when Ben stood by the side of the machine, from which a man of about
thirty years—a tall, slender man, with very blue eyes and a very blond
head—was alighting.

“Hello, son!” the man exclaimed, as he came up to where the boy was
standing, “are you out on a trip for your health, too?”

“That’s about the size of it,” answered Ben.

“Where from?” was the next question asked.

“New York city,” was the reply.

“Good old town!” exclaimed the stranger, walking toward the fire as if
inclined to make himself quite at home.

“You bet it is!” answered Ben, following along close by his side and
watching his every move with suspicion.

The boy regretted now that he had not awakened his chums before giving
the signal to the stranger. There was no knowing what the man might
attempt to do. Ben did not fear physical violence for he considered
himself more than a match for the intruder. But he knew that a stick of
dynamite or some other destructive explosive tossed into the mechanism
of the machines would render them absolutely useless.

For this reason he watched the visitor closely, never taking his eyes
from the rather large and ham-like hands which swung pendulously at his
sides. The stranger did not appear to notice the attention he was
receiving.

“What I came down for,” he said as he approached the camp-fire and stood
warming his hands before the blaze, “was to ask questions.”

He smiled brightly as he spoke and gave a searching glance at the
shelter-tent where Jimmie and Carl were sleeping.

“It’s easy enough to ask questions,” suggested Ben.

“Easier than to get them answered,” responded the other. “I found that
out this afternoon.”

Ben eyed the stranger in wonder but asked no questions.

“About the middle of the afternoon,” the man went on, “I came upon a
machine lying in a little dell back in Indiana. I shot down with
something like the nerve I exercised in visiting you, and began talking
with the aviator. He certainly was about the most insignificant looking
specimen of humanity I ever saw.”

“Wait a minute,” smiled Ben. “He had a small, weazened face, large,
wing-like ears, and hunchy shoulders—shoulders which give one the
impression that he has spent the most of his life at the end of a
mucker’s shovel in the subway. Is that a good description?”

“A better one than I could have given!” answered the stranger. “You must
have seen him somewhere. I hope your experience with him was not so
unfortunate as mine.”

“He made you trouble, did he?” asked Ben.

“He stole a pocketful of spark plugs,” was the reply.

“Yet you seem to be traveling all right,” suggested the boy.

“Oh, he didn’t get all I had,” was the answer. “I volplaned down to him,
and he invited me to partake of a lunch he was serving himself on the
grass. Just for form’s sake, I sat down with him. Then he began asking
questions. He wanted to know where I came from, if I had seen any other
machines in the air that afternoon, and if I had heard anything of two
aeroplanes starting out on a journey across continent to the Pacific
coast. After a time his questions became personal.”

“And you answered them, I suppose!” laughed the boy.

“No, I didn’t,” returned the stranger. “I closed up like a clam in a
short time, and then he arose and, without my permission, began
examining my machine. To make a long story short, he got the spark plugs
out of a box under the seat without my knowing it. I never discovered
the loss until I was some distance away.”

“You left him there in the dell you speak of?” asked Ben.

“Yes, I left him there in a little hollow between two hills.”

“Why didn’t you go back after you had discovered your loss?” asked Ben,
suspiciously. “You might have caught him if you had gone back.”

The firelight was uncertain, and the visitor’s face was turned half
away, but Ben was almost certain that he saw the red blood mounting to
his temples. The man also seemed embarrassed by the question.

“I did go back,” he answered after a moment’s hesitation, “but the
fellow had disappeared. I thought this might be his fire.”

There was a short silence, during which Ben poked aimlessly at the
burning brands and the stranger looked critically around the camp. In a
moment, with a complimentary remark regarding the _Louise_ and the
_Bertha_, the intruder arose from the ground where he had been sitting
and walked carelessly toward the machines. Ben followed him, watching
every movement as if his life depended upon the scrutiny.

The two machines stood quite close together, and as the stranger
approached them Ben stepped a pace in advance and whirled about. The
stranger started back with an exclamation of surprise.

“We don’t permit strangers to inspect our aeroplanes,” Ben said.

“Pardon me,” the other smiled, “I really didn’t mean any harm. It is
quite natural that one should desire to inspect a beautiful machine.”

The stranger kept pushing on, and at last brought his thin body into
contact with the boy’s sturdy one. There was no doubt in the mind of the
boy now that the fellow was there for mischief. He struck out swiftly
from the shoulder, but the intruder dodged the blow neatly and, taking a
package from the right-hand pocket of his coat, hurled it toward the
aeroplanes. Ben’s clenched fist caught the other’s arm as the throw was
released, and the missile, whatever it was, went wide of the mark.

Ben saw the glitter of a shining surface in the firelight, and the next
instant an explosion which seemed to shake the earth sounded in his
ears. Without waiting to see the effect of the explosion, the stranger
faced about and ran at full speed toward the spot where he had left his
aeroplane.

Ben followed him a few paces and then, deciding that it would be unsafe
to leave the machines, turned back toward the camp-fire to see Jimmie
and Carl come tumbling out of the shelter tent, rubbing their sleepy
eyes. What Ben feared was that a second person had landed from the
stranger’s machine before it had shown above the camp-fire.

“What’s coming off here?” demanded Jimmie.

“Gee!” exclaimed Carl, “I thought that was the crack of doom!”

“Get down to the machines, quick, you boys!” Ben cried out. “There may
be some one trying to work them an injury.”

The two boys darted away, stopping only to secure electric flashlights,
and were soon seen examining the aeroplanes. Ben waited a moment for
some indications that the boys had met with a lurking enemy, and then
started away in pursuit of the treacherous aviator.

He was not in time, however, to stop the fellow before his machine
launched into the air. As his aeroplane rose, Ben saw that he swung his
face for an instant toward the camp. For only a moment the light of the
fire shone on the face so turned back. Ben thought he had never seen a
more villainous expression on any human countenance.

The boy returned to the machines and joined his chums with an angry
scowl on his face. He was angry at himself for having for a minute
regarded the stranger in a friendly spirit.

“Where’s the artillery?” asked Jimmie, flashing his light about the
aeroplanes. “I thought I heard cannonading.”

As briefly as possible, Ben explained what had taken place, and the
three walked over to the spot where the missile had struck and exploded.
There was a great hole in the ground, and tiny fragments of a tin can
lay scattered about, lying at some distance from the hole.

“Nitroglycerine!” exclaimed Ben, picking up one of the fragments.

“That only goes to show,” Jimmie answered, wrinkling his freckled nose,
“that this trip of ours is not at all like a Sunday School picnic. I
wish we had caught him before he mounted his machine,” he went on. “I’d
like to fill him so full of holes that he could go away and play that he
was a Swiss cheese.”

There was very little sleep in the camp that night. The boys were away
at daylight, and a couple of hours later saw the machines snugly tucked
away in a hangar not far from the aviation field near Forest Park.

They waited about the post-office, taking turns watching at the general
delivery window, until nearly noon but, as the reader well understands,
Havens did not make his appearance. Their vigil during the afternoon
produced no better results. Toward evening they tried to reach Havens by
wire in New York, but their dispatches met with no response for a long
time. At last a message came from the millionaire’s private office at
the hangar in Westchester county.

It was very brief, and gave only the information that Havens had taken a
stateroom for St. Louis the previous evening, and that he had
mysteriously disappeared before the train had left the city.

“That’s a knock-out!” exclaimed Jimmie.

“And now,” asked Ben with a puzzled look, “shall we go back to New York
and help find Havens, or shall we cross the continent in quest of the
burglars?”




                              CHAPTER VII.

                            THE SIGNAL FIRE.


“I’ll tell you what it is,” Jimmie said, as the boys sat in a little
restaurant on Fourth street, discussing the situation, “if we turn back
to New York now, we’ll be off the beat. Havens told us to go out to
Monterey, didn’t he?”

“He certainly did!” answered Carl.

“Well then,” continued Jimmie, “we ought to go on to Monterey. Look
here, kids,” he went on, “we don’t know what took place in New York
after we left. We don’t know that Havens didn’t disappear from that
stateroom for the sole purpose of getting out of the way of the fellows
who tried to burn his hangar. What do you think of that idea?”

“It appears to me to be a sound one,” Ben responded. “Mr. Havens may
have met with members of the gang we are fighting. In that case it would
be nothing strange if he managed a mysterious disappearance for his own
protection. Would it, now?”

And so, after canvassing the subject thoroughly, the boys decided to go
on to the Pacific coast. It was decided, too, that they should leave
that very night and travel at an altitude which would render collisions
with uplifting summits impossible. They were on their way in an hour
from the time the decision was reached.

The boys speak to-day with reverence when referring to that all-night
ride. At first the clouds hung low, and they seemed sailing through
great fields of mist with neither top nor bottom. Then a brisk wind
scattered the moisture in the air, and they sailed for a time under the
stars. Later, there was a moon, and under its light they sailed lower,
watching with excited interest the lights in the towns they passed, the
shimmer on the water they crossed, and the incomparable light reflecting
on the smooth green leaves of the forests they shot by.

At daylight they came down on an eminence from which the landscape for
miles around could be seen. Below the slope of the hill lay a verdant
valley in which nestled a small settlement. At the summit where the
machines lay there were great wide stretches indicating the action of
waves at some far-distant, prehistoric time.

The boys were well-nigh exhausted with their long ride. As is well
known, the endurance record is not much longer than the time the boys
had spent in the air. Besides being cramped in limb and heavy from lack
of sleep, the boys shivered because of the altitude at which they had
traveled.

When the sun rose it shone with generous warmth upon the ridge where the
boys lay, and they basked in its light with many expressions of joy.

“Here’s the place where we sleep!” exclaimed Carl. “We can watch the sky
and the surface of the earth for miles around,” he added, “and can
finish any ordinary sized nap in peace.”

“I’ll watch,” promised Ben.

“You’ll not!” exclaimed Jimmie. “You watched night before last.”

“And came near getting the machines blown up, too,” Ben commented.

It was finally arranged that Jimmie and Carl should remain awake for a
couple of hours each, after which a hasty breakfast was prepared and the
boys settled down for a long rest. Ben and Jimmie were soon asleep, and
Carl, sitting on the ground near the _Louise_ was feeling like going to
bed himself when a small red head was poked over the edge of the summit
and a shrill voice cried out:

“Hello, Mister!”

“Hello, yourself!” answered Carl.

The boy, a mite of a fellow not more than ten years of age, fully as
freckled-faced and as red-headed as Jimmie, now approached the
aeroplanes cautiously, his wide mouth breaking into a grin as he
advanced.

“Them your machines?” he asked, pointing with a dirty finger.

“Sure they are!” answered Carl. “Ever see one before?”

The boy shook his head while his eyes sparkled with excitement.

“Give me a ride!” he demanded.

“Not yet,” replied Carl with a laugh. “We’re going to remain here for
some little time.”

“If I stay, can I go with you?” the boy asked.

“I should say not!” replied Carl. “What would your folks say if we
should take you away in a flying machine?”

“I ain’t got no folks!” was the reply.

“Where do you live?”

The boy pointed down toward the little settlement in the valley.

“Do your parents live there, too?” asked Carl.

“I done told you I ain’t got no folks!” insisted the youngster.

“Well, where do you sleep and get your eatings, then?” demanded Carl.

“Sleep in barns!” was the reply. “And don’t get many eatings. That’s
what makes me so little and thin!”

“Do they sell gasoline down there?” asked Carl.

“Yessir!” was the short reply.

“Well, I’ll tell you what I’ll do,” Carl proposed. “If you’ll go back to
the store where they sell it, and get the boss to bring us a sixty
gallon barrel, I’ll give you a dollar.”

“Quit your kiddin’!” exclaimed the boy.

“Sure, I’ll give you a dollar,” promised Carl, “and I’ll give it to you
in advance. Can they get up on this hog’s-back with a wagon?” he added.

“They sure can,” was the reply. “There’s a road that climbs the hill out
of the valley, and I guess they can gee-haw their old delivery wagon
along the ridge, all right.”

“Well, go on, now,” Carl exclaimed. “Go on and order the gasoline.”

“Where’s the dollar?” demanded the youngster.

Carl tossed him a silver dollar with a laugh, and saw the boy’s bare
feet twinkle as he disappeared down the slope. As a matter of fact, he
had little hope of ever seeing the boy again, or of having the message
delivered. Still, the little fellow looked so ragged, and forlorn, and
hungry, that he would have given him the dollar if he had known that the
boy would neither deliver the message nor return.

In an hour or so, however, the boy poked his red head over the summit
again and came bounding up to where Carl sat.

“It’s coming!” he cried. “The wagon left the store at the same time I
did, and I beat ’em to it! Say,” he added with a chuckle, “the driver
made an awful row about coming along this ridge, and I told him you’d be
apt to give him a dollar extra. Goin’ to do it?”

“Of course!” laughed Carl. “Anything you say goes. For the time being,
you are the purchasing agent for this outfit.”

When at last the delivery wagon with the barrel of gasoline came bumping
along the surface of the hill, the driver leading the horse, the boy
began a knowing inspection of the flying machines, as if determined to
give the delivery boy the impression that he had already become a member
in good standing of the party. This was very amusing to Carl.

The driver unloaded the barrel of gasoline, received his pay and his tip
and then stood with his hands on his hips surveying the two aeroplanes
critically.

“There’s one of them things lying busted on the other side of town,” he
said directly.

“Some one have an accident?” asked Carl.

“I dunno,” was the reply. “Sol Stevens drove in to sell his hogs, a
little while ago, and he said he saw one o’ them busted airships lyin’
busted by the road out near the Run.”

“How far is that from here?” asked Carl.

The delivery boy looked over the landscape, as if estimating distances,
and at the same time establishing his own importance, and answered that
it was not far from ten miles.

Ben and Jimmie, awakened by the rattle of the rickety wagon wheels, now
came out of the shelter tent and joined in the conversation. They looked
curiously at the boy for a moment, and then turned their attention to
the driver, listening intently to his repetition of the brief story of
the wrecked aeroplane.

“Well,” the driver said presently, beckoning to the boy, “we may as well
be going, Kit.”

“I’m going with the machines!” answered the boy.

Ben and Jimmie looked from Kit to Carl but said nothing.

“Ain’t I going with the machines?” demanded the youngster of Carl.

“What would your folks say?” demanded Ben.

“Huh!” said the delivery boy. “He hain’t got no folks. He just sleeps
around and gets his meals wherever he can.”

“I sent him after the gasoline,” Carl explained, “and paid him in
advance. He came back all right.”

“Did you think I wouldn’t come back?” asked Kit, indignantly.

Before the question was answered, Jimmie pulled Ben lustily by the
sleeve. Carl saw what was in the boy’s mind and remained silent.

“Come on, let’s take him!” Jimmie urged. “He’s all right.”

“I’m willing,” replied Ben. “In fact, I’m getting tired of riding alone
in the _Bertha_. The little fellow will be good company.”

The delivery boy departed quickly, and Kit at once began making himself
useful, assisting Jimmie in the preparation of dinner.

“Don’t you ever think I can’t cook!” Kit exclaimed, as he sat by the
fire watching the skillet of ham and eggs. “Don’t you think I don’t know
how to get up a square meal. I’ve helped cook lunches many a time.”

“Perhaps we’d better make you chef of the expedition!” laughed Ben.

There seemed to be something on the boy’s mind as he gave his attention
to potatoes roasting in the hot ashes, and after a time he turned to
Carl with a puzzled face. His brows were puckered as he asked:

“Why didn’t you ask the delivery boy about that smashed machine?”

“I did ask him about it,” replied Carl. “You heard me.”

“Well you didn’t ask him about the man that got smashed up in it,”
continued Kit. “The man who got smashed up in it,” the boy went on, “hid
in Robinson’s barn, where I slept last night, and lay groaning and
whining with a broken arm so that he kept me awake. This morning, when
he saw me, he gave me a dollar to get a doctor there without telling
anybody, and I went and got Doctor Sloan. I promised not to say a word
about it, but you boys have been mighty good to me, and I think you
ought to know.”

“What kind of a looking fellow is he?” asked Carl.

“A monkey-looking fellow, with hunched shoulders and ears like cabbage
leaves,” replied the boy. “He don’t look good to me.”

The boys heard the description of the wrecked aviator with undisguised
pleasure. At least one of their pursuers had been put out of the
running, for the time being. This, they thought, increased their chances
of reaching the Pacific coast in advance of any friends of the outlaws.

“Where did the man go after Doctor Sloan set his arm?” asked Ben.

“He said he was going to the nearest railway station and return to
Denver,” was the reply.

“Machine quite busted up?” asked Jimmie.

“That’s what he told the doctor,” replied Kit. “He swore awfully while
he was talking about it. And look here,” the boy went on, “after he left
I picked up a letter which fell from a pocket of his coat when he took
it off to have his arm set.”

The boy presented a yellow envelope, sealed but not stamped, as he
spoke. Ben took the letter and, without any compunctions of conscience
whatever, opened it. It contained a sheet of paper, blank with the
exception of four words. Ben studied the writing for a moment and passed
the sheet to Jimmie. The boy in turn handed it to Carl.

“At Two Sisters canyon!” Carl read.

“Now what does that mean?” asked Jimmie.

“Why, you boy,” Carl explained, “it means that this busted aviator was
headed for a canyon in the mountains known as the Two Sisters. Do you
get that? What else would he have this letter for?”

“That’s the first bit of luck we’ve struck since we started out on this
journey!” declared Ben. “I guess, Kit,” he went on, “that you must be a
mascot. What do you know about that?”

“Oh, I’m a mascot all right!” grinned the youngster.

When the boys started away to the west again Kit occupied a seat on the
_Bertha_. Satisfied that they had distanced at least one of their
pursuers, and encouraged by the thought that their way might now be
clear, the boys made few stops of any length on their way to the
Pacific.

Three days later Sierra de Santa Lucia loomed up before them. It was
then twilight, and against the darkness rose the flames of a signal
fire!




                             CHAPTER VIII.

                           THE LOSS OF A BOY!


“They seem to be celebrating our arrival,” Ben said, looking down on the
signal fire with a grin, “only I don’t hear any bands,” he continued, as
the flames streamed up and cast a red light over the waters of the
Pacific ocean.

“That’s about the strangest proposition I ever came across,” Carl said,
looking down on the dark canyons, laying like black lines in a drawing,
on the landscape below. “I’d like to know what it means.”

“Don’t you ever think,” Jimmie went on, “that Phillips and Mendoza have
anything to do with that fire! That beacon light was put there for some
purpose by an entirely different set of outlaws.”

“But why ‘outlaws’?” asked Carl. “The people we see about the fire may
be fishermen, and there are lime quarries and kilns somewhere in this
section, and these men may be signaling to schooners.”

Below the aeroplanes lay a great peak extending four thousand feet above
the level of the sea. To the west the Pacific beat fiercely against its
side. To the south the Sierra raised its lofty crags, apparently,
straight out of the ocean. To the north a succession of summits lifted
above the range. Off to the east lay a faint trail connecting, by
devious turns and twists through the mountain wilderness, with the
Southern Pacific railroad.

The beacon fire rose straight from a headland which jutted for some
distance out into the ocean. The beat of the waves against the breakers
at the foot of the headland came dimly up to the boys like the stir and
rustle of a crowded street.

There had been a fog, but it was lifting now, and here and there traces
of green might be seen wherever the flames revealed the surface of the
ground. After a time Ben turned back with the _Bertha_ and signaled to
the others to help in the search for a safe landing-place.

This was by no means an easy task, as it was deep twilight now on the
lower stretches of the mountain, and most of the canyons seemed mere
yawning pits whose open mouths gaped eagerly for the prey in the air.

The boys turned to north and south in their machines and, sailing low,
scrutinized the dim country in the hope of discovering some level spot
where the flying machines could be brought to the ground with safety.

At last, perhaps two miles to the south of the headland, where the
beacon light still sent its red flames into the air, Ben came upon a
canyon or gully which had evidently once been the bed of a rushing
mountain torrent. The wash of water from the steep surfaces, however,
had, in distant years, filled the narrow slit between the summits with
fine white sand.

It was by no means a large place, but was quite sufficient for the
purpose. Ben felt his way carefully down, dropping into what seemed to
him to be a fathomless pit between peaks until the white, hard floor
below came faintly into view. After examining the place as thoroughly as
possible with an electric searchlight, he volplaned down, much to Kit’s
amazement, and soon had the satisfaction of feeling the rubber-tired
wheels beneath the machine running evenly over a smooth surface.

It had been a great risk, however, this dropping down into the darkness
between two mountain peaks, and Ben was not certain, even after landing,
that he had done the correct thing. His light showed a level surface for
only a short distance. The opening of the canyon faced the Pacific. To
left and right were almost perpendicular walls. To the east a great crag
was worn far under a shelving side by the action of the waves which at
some distant time must have forced their way through the split in the
mountains.

One thing which troubled the boy not a little was the question as to
whether the space into which he had brought his flying machine was
sufficient in size for both the _Bertha_ and the _Louise_. They might be
packed into the canyon, without doubt, but there was always the matter
of room for the flight outward. Still, the place was ideal in that it
appeared to be secure from observation from any position except the open
sea.

The mountain summits to the north and south seemed entirely
inaccessible, while the crag to the east, under which the cave-like
excavation showed, looked more like the sharp blade of an upturned knife
at the top than a surface capable of being ascended.

Ben waved his light back and forth, indicating to Jimmie and Carl that
they should approach the canyon cautiously and from the east. He held an
eye of flame to the summit of the crag to show that the drop must not
come too suddenly in that direction.

His idea, of course, was to bring the _Louise_ in so that her outward
flight would be toward the sea. His own machine had come in from the
west, and he knew that it would have to be lifted and wheeled about
before she could be sent into the air.

Besides offering a comparatively safe hiding-place for the machines, the
canyon also seemed to offer protection from the weather for the boys.
Ben did not fully investigate the excavations under the crag at that
time, but he knew that the soft lime-rock had been washed away to a
considerable extent, and that the face of the cliff was honeycombed with
small caves.

Jimmie circled about the canyon for a moment, caught sight of the crag
under the flashlight, and passed its sharp edge with only a foot to
spare. In a moment more, directed by the light in Ben’s hand, he drove
the _Louise_ along the hard floor until she stood at rest by the side of
the _Bertha_.

Jimmie and Carl hastened to make themselves acquainted with the
situation in the canyon by means of their electric searchlights. They
ran here and there glancing up at the almost vertical walls to the north
and south and throwing long fingers of light into the depressions in the
crag. By this time Kit was asleep on the sand!

“Looks like one of the East-Side apartment houses,” grinned Jimmie,
flashing his light upward. “See, there’s a row of windows, and there’s
something that looks like a fire-escape!”

“Your row of windows,” laughed Ben, “consists of holes where lime-rocks
have been worn away by the action of the water, and your fire-escape is
only a long seam in the granite, with frequent cross sections.”

“Aw, what’s the use of busting up illusions,” asked Jimmie. “I was
having a pleasant dream of the East Side. And the East Side made me
think of the little old restaurant on Fourteenth street, near Tammany
Hall. And the thought of the restaurant reminded me that I hadn’t had
anything to eat since noon. Why didn’t you let me dream?”

“Any old time, it takes Tammany Hall, and Fourteenth street, and a
fire-escape on a rock, to make Jimmie remember that he’s hungry!”
laughed Carl.

“Well, if you’re hungry,” Ben suggested, “why don’t you go on and get
supper? You’re the cook to-day, anyway.”

“Is it safe to build a fire?” asked Carl.

Ben shook his head and pointed to the walls on either side.

“The flame might not be seen,” he said, “but the reflection might, so I
presume we’d better do our cooking on the alcohol stove.”

“Jerusalem!” exclaimed Jimmie. “I don’t want any cafeteria, Y. M. C. A.,
luncheon to-night. I want to get out about a dozen cans of beans, and
tinned roast beef, and four or five pounds of ham, and a couple dozen
eggs, and have a square meal. We’ve been sailing over the country for
five or six days now eating wind sandwiches and drinking brook water.”

“Perhaps,” Carl observed pointing to the openings to the east, “we can
find a place in there where a fire may safely be built.”

“Where’s your wood?” asked Ben.

“There’s always driftwood in a place like this,” Jimmie asserted.
“There’s always trees falling down from the timber line and rotting in
the canyons. I’ll find wood, all right, if we can find a place where
it’s safe to build a fire,” he added with a chuckle of delight at the
thought of a large meal. “What I need right now is plenty of
sustenance!”

“Go to it!” laughed Ben. “Mr. Havens advised us to camp out in some spot
about like this, and make excursions over the mountains in search of
Phillips and Mendosa, so I don’t see why we’ll have to move our camp at
all. Therefore, a neat little kitchen won’t come amiss.”

Jimmie started for the cliff with a chuckle. For some minutes his
flashlight was seen dodging in and out of the water-worn caverns, and
then it disappeared entirely. Carl, who was gathering driftwood, paused
at Ben’s side and pointed toward the spot where Jimmie’s light had last
been seen. His face was a trifle anxious as he said:

“You don’t suppose he’s gone and got into trouble, do you?”

“My guess is that he has found a deep cavern,” said Ben.

“I hope so,” Carl answered. “Say!” the boy went on, in a moment, “your
speaking of Mr. Havens just now reminded me of the fact that he hasn’t
communicated with us in any way since we started. I’m getting worried
about that man! He might have overtaken us by fast train if he had seen
fit to do so, but he didn’t.”

“I don’t see how he could have communicated with us in any way,” replied
Ben. “We have never left an address, and always his people at the hangar
declared in answer to our messages that he had not been heard from since
the night he had so mysteriously left the stateroom of the Pullman car.
They’re getting anxious about him in New York.”

“There’s one thing,” Carl went on, “and that is that the only clue which
connects Mendosa and Phillips with the burglary of the Buyers’ Bank, and
with the murder of the night-watchman, is in the possession of Mr.
Havens. We can’t do very much until Havens comes.”

“We can locate the men, can’t we?” asked Ben. “So far as the clue is
concerned, that will be needed only at the trial. What the New York
chief of police wants is for us to locate the murderers and turn our
information over to the California officers.”

“Anyway,” Carl insisted, “Mr. Havens was carrying a stone and a gold
claw broken from a ring believed to have been worn by Mendosa on the
night of the murder. The outlaws would go a long ways in order to secure
possession of those articles. I’m getting frightened over Havens’
absence.”

“Suppose Mendosa should destroy the ring?” asked Ben. “That would render
the clue valueless, wouldn’t it?”

“Indeed it wouldn’t!” answered Carl. “Mendosa is well-known to the
police, and that ring was as well known to New York detectives as was
the man’s face. I understand, too, that there are witnesses who saw
Mendosa on the day following the burglary who noticed that one stone had
disappeared from the ring, and that a claw had been broken off.
Besides,” continued Carl, “Mendosa wouldn’t destroy that ring, or sell
it, or give it away. He would lay it aside in some secure place until he
could have the damage repaired. Mendosa is said to be foolish in the
head like a fox!”

“You’re some detective, I reckon!” laughed Ben. “What you ought to do is
to connect with some newspaper reporter and write stories for the
magazines. Perhaps you could get one printed!”

“All right,” grinned Carl, “you can’t figure it out any other way. If
the right steps are taken, and the stone and the claw are not stolen
from Havens by agents of the outlaws, that ring will eventually convict
the murderers of the night-watchman!”

The boys talked for some moments, sitting on the hard, white sand at the
side of the machines. They had collected quite a quantity of dry
driftwood, and were now waiting for Jimmie to return from his excursion
in search of a safe and convenient cook-room.

“Look here, Ben,” Carl said in a moment, “we don’t want to go away and
leave the machines, not even for a minute, not even if we are in a
lonely spot, but some one ought to go and look for Jimmie. You know
there’s a lot of places a boy might fall into in these mountain
caverns!”

“All right,” Ben said, rising from the ground, “I’ll go and wake Kit. He
was so sleepy when I brought the _Bertha_ down that I lifted him out of
the seat and laid him away against a wall! I don’t think he ever knew
when I took him off the machine. I’ll give him a searchlight and send
him to look after Jimmie.”

“Where did you put him?” asked Carl, “I’ll go and wake him up.”

“On a bed of nice hard, white sand close to the south wall,” replied
Ben. “There’s an old coat which I had to wrap around my shoulders in the
higher altitudes under his head. Bring that along, too; we’ll need it
later.”

Carl went away whistling with his hands in his pockets, taking great
breaths of fresh mountain air into his lungs, and believing that he was
about the happiest boy on the face of the earth. It was all so different
from the crowded streets of New York! In a moment Ben heard him calling.

“You must have mislaid him!” the boy said. “Here’s the coat, but the kid
isn’t here! It looks like there’d been a scrap here on the sand. Perhaps
a mountain lion carried him off.”

Ben sprang to his feet and rushed out to Carl.




                              CHAPTER IX.

                          JUST A CLEVER GAME.


When the old hag glanced cautiously about the disreputable apartment,
Havens began to hope that the bribe of twenty thousand dollars which he
had offered her might secure his release. It seemed to him that the old
woman was strongly tempted to accept the money.

“You can do it easy enough,” the young millionaire said, as the woman
helped herself to a drink of liquor and restored the bottle to a pocket.
“You can get me out of here without danger to yourself, and then you can
disappear with the money. No one will ever know.”

Havens had been born and reared in New York. Well he knew the law of
club and fang which governed the underworld on the East Side. He knew
that death follows betrayal as surely as night follows day. He
understood that the old woman was taking long chances in even
considering his release.

“It ain’t enough!” the hag declared in a moment, her vicious eyes
showing both greed and terror. “It ain’t enough for a poor old woman
like me. I’d have to leave New York forever!”

“I don’t doubt it!” Havens replied. “Still,” he went on, “judging from
appearances, your life here hasn’t been one to be much mourned. You
haven’t had many of the comforts of life,” he continued, “and possibly
none of its pleasures.”

“I’m an old, old woman to leave the East Side,” wailed the hag.
“Besides,” she went on, “how do I know that you would play fair with me?
Once out of this place, you’d be likely to hand me over to the police
instead of handing the money over to me! I don’t think I can trust you!”

“Tell me this,” asked Havens, “by whose orders was I brought here?”

The old woman hesitated and then shook her head.

“Tim brought you here,” she said in a moment, “and that’s all I know
about it. He told me to keep you safe and sound.”

“Who’s Tim?” asked Havens.

“One of the boys,” was the indefinite reply.

“What else did he say?” asked Havens.

“Not much!” was the sullen reply. “Nothing at all!”

The hag was becoming more reticent now. She appealed for consolation to
her bottle at regular intervals, and finally drew out a black old clay
pipe, filled it by poking a scrawny finger into the bowl, and sat down
on the edge of the bunk upon which Havens lay to send the rank fumes of
villainous, adulterated tobacco into the already nauseating air of the
room.

“How long are they going to keep me?” asked the millionaire.

The hag mumbled over her pipe stem and shook her head silently.

“Now let me give you my last offer,” Havens went on. “If you’ll get me
out of this place without any further inconvenience to myself, I’ll go
directly to a bank and get you twenty-five thousand dollars! You may go
with me if you like, after making yourself presentable.”

The old woman hesitated, mumbling over her bottle and her pipe for what
seemed to Havens to be a long time. Once or twice he was on the point of
asking her if his abduction had been brought about by friends of
Phillips and Mendosa.

However, he was uncertain as to the wisdom of this, for he was in doubt
as to whether the old woman knew anything concerning the interest which
had brought him into his present unpleasant situation, so he remained
silent on that point.

He knew very well that if the old woman did not already know that she
was serving the interests of the murderers in keeping him there, her
terror of punishment for any assistance she might give him would be
increased tenfold. For years the Phillips and Mendosa gang had ruled the
East Side, not exactly with a rod of iron, but with revolvers and
bung-starters. He knew that the very mention of the gang would bring
additional horror to the old woman’s mind.

“I believe,” the old woman said, in a moment, “that you really would do
it, dearie. I really believe you would!”

“I surely would!” replied Havens. “I have many business interests at
stake, and might lose much more than twenty-five thousand dollars by
remaining in this place, to say nothing of the objectionable features of
the apartment. I’ll play fair with you, mother.”

At the word “mother” the old woman turned her rheumy eyes toward the
captive and let them rest upon his face in earnest amazement.

“That’s what I’m called here,” she said in a moment, “they all call me
‘mother’ in this place. How did you know?”

“You seemed to me to deserve the title,” answered Havens.

No more was said for some moments, then the old woman arose and went to
the window, through which the red light still shone from the vessel’s
mast, and looked out. She shook her head vigorously as she turned back.

“Can you swim?” she said.

“I certainly can,” answered Havens.

“And climb up the side of a vessel on a rope?”

“That is an old trick of mine.”

“And you can strike a hard blow?” she then asked.

“I am noted among my friends as having the punch,” answered Havens with
a slight smile.

“Then,” said the old woman, “I want you to saw the cords from your
wrists over a nail in the wall until they come apart. Then I want you to
strike me a knock-out blow on the head, cut the cords on your ankles,
make your way through this window, and cross the street to the pier.
Then you must drop into the water, softly so as not to attract the
attention of the police, and climb a rope leading to the deck of the
vessel showing the red light. Do you understand all this?”

“Perfectly!” replied Havens.

“And after you are aboard the vessel,” the old woman went on, “you must
pretend to have fallen into the water by mistake. You are never to
mention being in this apartment at all. When they put you ashore, go on
about your business until you receive a note from me. Then we can settle
the matter of the money. It will be signed ‘Mother DeMott’.”

“That’s all very well,” Havens remarked, sawing away at the cords on his
wrists, “but I can’t give the blow you ask for, mother.”

“If you don’t,” the old woman insisted, “I shall be murdered before
morning!”

“I’ll compromise by tying you up,” Havens said. “I’ll tie you good and
tight, and put a handkerchief over your mouth, and they will never
suspect.”

The young millionaire thought he detected a queer smile on the face of
the old lady as he tied the cords with which he had been bound about her
withered old wrists and ankles!

The window was not barred or protected in any way, so the sash was
easily lifted. It opened to a paved street, the bottom of the sash
running on a level with the stones, for the apartment in which he had
been confined was a half basement. It was perhaps two o’clock in the
morning, and only the skulkers of the night were abroad.

Here and there men slouched by with their chins low down on their
breasts and their greasy hats hiding furtive eyes. Now and then a
policeman, swinging a heavy night-stick, passed along the street,
mumbling imprecations at the waifs who refused to go to bed for the very
good reason that they had no beds to go to!

Havens passed out of the window unobserved. He saw a man standing at the
entrance to a sailor’s boarding house, next door, and there were several
moving about at the head of the pier. However, no one seemed to pay any
attention to him as he crossed the street and sat down on the pier with
his legs hanging over the side.

While he waited for those nearest to him to go about their business, if
they had any to go to, the man standing in the boarding-house door, lit
a cigar and waved the still flaming match up and down in the quiet air,
as if for the purpose of extinguishing the flame.

At that time Havens thought nothing at all of the incident, but later on
he remembered with self-reproach that he ought to have been warned by
it.

Presently he dropped into the chill waters of the river and struck out
for the boat, not very far away, which displayed the red light from the
mast. Not one rope, but a dozen hung from the chains at the prow, and
the millionaire had little difficulty in making his way to the deck.

For a moment he saw no one about the vessel, then a bushy head was
lifted above a hatchway and a pair of surly eyes turned toward the
intruder. Havens stepped forward and spoke.

“Good-evening,” he said in his best society manner.

The head was followed out of the hatchway by a short, broad, hulking
figure. The face of the man was short and broad like his body. The jaw,
which was set like that of a bulldog, was outlined against a rim of red
whiskers growing down on his neck.

“What do you want?” the fellow demanded in an angry tone.

“Why,” Havens replied, “I was mooning about the pier and fell into the
river. I shall want to be set ashore presently.”

“You’ll go ashore the way you came on board!”

The man flashed ugly eyes at the millionaire. Havens felt the necessity
at that time of propitiating the man, for the reason that he wanted to
remain hidden on board the vessel until daylight. He believed that a
search all through that section would be made for him as soon as his
escape had been discovered. He knew, too, that the attempt to pass
through that section of the city in the middle of the night would be
dangerous to any person having the appearance of wealth.

“Well,” Havens said, presently, “I’d like a drink of water, if you have
such a thing on board, and I’m willing to pay liberally for your
trouble.”

“Water cold, eh?” snarled the other.

“Decidedly,” answered Havens with a slight shiver.

The man, who appeared to be master of the vessel, which was a small
coast-wise trading schooner, walked to the rail and looked out over the
street Havens had so recently crossed.

While standing there he took a foul old briar pipe from his pocket,
filled it with cut plug tobacco, and touched a match to the ill-smelling
heap. Havens noticed that as he did so he shook the match viciously in
the air, as if trying to extinguish the flame.

Again the millionaire was entirely deceived by the apparently innocent
action. Feeling comparatively at peace with himself, he stood waiting
for the captain’s decision.

Presently the squat of a man returned to where the millionaire was
standing and pointed toward the hatchway.

“I wouldn’t send a cat ashore if he was wet and thirsty,” commented the
captain. “If you’ll step down the hatchway, I’ll give you something to
offset the chill of the water.”

Havens followed the pointing finger, and soon stood in a small cabin
which lay completely under the one deck of the schooner. It was a large
room, evidently long used for the storage of such goods as the vessel
carried, but one corner was partitioned off by a screen, and here a
faded and worn rug, a broken couch, a table, and a couple of chairs
proclaimed the home of the master of the craft. Havens took one of the
chairs and waited for his host to speak. A clock on the wall showed the
hour of half-past two.

Directly the captain opened a cupboard and brought forth a bottle of
spirits and two glasses.

“Help yourself!” he said to Havens.

Now Havens had not the slightest notion of taking a drink of liquor. He
was a total abstainer, and even had he been in the habit of using
intoxicating liquors, he would never have indulged under such
circumstances. His watch and money had been taken from him before he had
regained consciousness, but his general appearance was that of a man who
would be apt to pay roundly for his release in case he was temporarily
removed from the society of his friends.

However, he poured out a small portion of whiskey and waited for an
opportunity to toss it away. The captain of the schooner eyed him
maliciously, his undershot jaw set like that of a bulldog.

“So you don’t drink, eh?” the captain said, with a snarl.

“You may be mistaken!” answered Havens.

“Sometimes I do.”

“Mistaken, yourself!” shouted the captain. “You thought you’d bribed
Mother DeMott, didn’t you? You thought you’d be dropping off the _Nancy_
in the morning and turning us all over to the police, didn’t you?”

Havens eyed the man for a moment, too dazed to speak.

“In the morning,” the captain sneered, “we set sail for South America
with one very prominent passenger on board.”




                               CHAPTER X.

                           A QUEER DISCOVERY.


When Ben reached the place where he had left Kit asleep, Carl stood with
a searchlight in his hand, examining footprints on the ground.

“He wandered away, of course!” Carl said.

“He must have done so,” was the puzzled reply.

“Because,” Carl went on, “there was no one here to lug him off.”

“That’s the supposition!” replied Ben anxiously.

“But why should the little customer sneak off without saying a word to
us?” demanded Carl. “That isn’t at all like him!”

“Perhaps he saw Jimmie’s light in the cavern and went in there,”
suggested Ben. “He’s an inquisitive little chap.”

The boys went to the western extremity of the canyon and looked down an
almost perpendicular wall, nearly a thousand feet in height, to the
surging waters of the Pacific ocean. They looked up the vertical walls
to the summits outlined against the stars. They threw their lights over
the crags at the head of the canyon.

“He’s still in here somewhere!” Ben asserted. “I don’t believe any one
could get out without using a flying machine!”

“Of course, he’s here!” Carl answered.

The boys walked closer to the face of the crag and turned their lights
on the broken walls.

“It would be just like him to follow Jimmie in there,” Carl observed.

“Sure it would!” replied Ben.

“But what gets me,” Carl went on, “is that he went away without asking
for anything to eat! The kid is second only to Jimmie in the capacity of
his stomach. He’s always hungry, especially after a short sleep.”

“It is a wonder he didn’t demand a square meal, as Jimmie calls it,
before wandering away,” Ben admitted.

“Here’s an opening which seems to be the only one Jimmie could enter far
enough to shut the light of his electric from the canyon,” Carl said, in
a moment. “If you’ll go back to the machines, I’ll go on in and get
Jimmie. I may find Kit with him, you know.”

“I don’t think there’s any doubt of it,” Ben answered hopefully, at the
same moment knowing very well that there might be a good deal of doubt
about finding the boy in the cavern.

To tell the truth, Ben at that time felt a premonition of approaching
evil which he could by no means resist. It seemed to him impossible that
Kit could have wandered out of the canyon.

The only solution of the mystery which came to his mind lay in the
recognition of the fact that the canyon had been occupied by some
one—perhaps by the murderers themselves—at the moment of his entrance.

He disliked very much to give way to this reasoning, but saw no way out
of it. The disappearance of both Jimmie and Kit led him to believe that
whoever had occupied the canyon at the time of his arrival—if any one
had—had represented a hostile interest.

“Suppose,” he proposed to Carl, “that you hurry to the machines while I
go into the cavern. Or you might, if you see fit, pass in a short
distance with me and stand where you can watch the machines, and at the
same time follow my course into the underground passage.”

“That’s the idea!” cried Carl.

Ten feet in the passage turned abruptly to the north and there the boys
drew up. Ben pointed straight ahead.

“There’s a light!” he said.

Carl glanced eagerly in the direction indicated but saw nothing.

“A ghost light!” he laughed.

“No, but there is an illumination!” insisted Ben.

“Point it out, then,” chuckled Carl. “It is as dark in there as a stack
of black cats!”

Ben looked amazed for an instant and then started forward.

“I did see a light!” he insisted.

Carl laughed and stood at the angle of the passage where he could see
the machines, lighted by one small acetylene lamp, and also follow the
progress of his chum into the interior.

“Perhaps you did see a light,” he called after the boy, “but if you did
it got out of sight handily.”

Directly Ben turned in the passage and waved his light to attract Carl’s
attention.

“There’s another turn here,” he said.

“Shall I come on in?” asked Carl.

“Watch the machines!” was the answer that came back.

Still standing where he could see any light or hear any noise proceeding
from the cavern, Carl kept his eyes fixed on the machines, rather dimly
outlined by the rays of the single lamp.

He had remained in this position only a short time when a cry of alarm
came from the passage down which Ben had proceeded.

Swinging his light and answering the call by a shrill whistle, the boy
rushed forward.

At the turning point he saw Ben, Jimmie and Kit standing huddled about a
figure lying on the stone floor of the cavern.

Seeing his light, they beckoned him to approach.

“You see,” Jimmie said with a chuckle as Carl came up, “that we can’t
visit any part of the world, in the air or underground, that doesn’t
yield an adventure. Look what I found here!”

“What is it?” asked Carl, bending forward.

“Chinaman!” was the short answer.

The boys stood looking into each other’s faces with wondering glances
for a moment, and then Ben bent closer over the figure lying on the
stone floor.

“He’s still alive!” he said, in a moment.

“And tied up like a chicken!” Jimmie added, pointing to the cords which
bound the Chinaman’s wrists and ankles.

“Any old time we don’t go and find some one tied up!” Carl laughed.

“Where did you find him, Jimmie?” asked Carl.

“Wait a moment, boys!” Ben advised. “We’d better get back to the
machines before listening to any long stories.”

“And I was just thinking,” Jimmie cut in, “that I haven’t had any
supper! I’m just about starved to death!”

“Perhaps that’s what’s the matter with the Chinaman,” observed Carl.

“Anyway, we’d better carry him out to the machines and see how he acts
when presented with a square meal,” advised Ben.

“That’s all right!” Jimmie declared. “It’s all right to rescue the
perishing, and all that, but if some forest ranger should come along
here and find us mixed up with a Chinaman, we’d all be pinched!”

“Do they smuggle on this coast?” asked Carl.

“Of course they do!” replied Jimmie scornfully.

“Smuggle what?”

“Chinks and opium!”

“Then I see myself owning the Night and Day bank when I get back to New
York!” Carl exclaimed. “There’s a government reward for the capture of
men who run in Chinks and smuggle opium!”

“Well, we may as well be getting back to the machines,” urged Ben. “I’ll
run on ahead and see if they’re all right, and you boys may bring the
Chinaman along if you think best.”

“We’ll bring him along all right!” Jimmie answered. “We can’t leave him
lying here unconscious.”

Ben found that the machines had not been molested, and in a short time
his chums returned carrying the light form of the Chinaman with them.

The Celestial had regained consciousness and sat gazing about with
inquisitive eyes as soon as placed on the ground.

“Who trussed you up?” asked Jimmie.

The Chinaman shook his head until his queue rattled about like a rope’s
end in the wind.

“He can’t talk United States,” Carl explained.

“What are we going to do with him?” asked Jimmie.

“Keep him to do our laundry work!” chuckled Kit.

“What do you know about laundry work?” asked Ben turning to the boy.

“I used to work in the laundry,” returned Kit. “I had to do all the hard
work and the big fat girls got all the money.”

“Are you going to build a fire in that Devil’s Kitchen we discovered?”
asked Ben of Jimmie, as the boy began bringing out provisions.

“I should say not!”

“Then we can’t have any square meals!” Carl exclaimed.

“What did you see in there?” asked Ben.

“When I first went in,” Jimmie explained, “I got a whiff which made me
think of Pell street, in little old New York. It was opium, all right,
and I began to understand what I’d stumbled into.”

“Could you see a light?” asked Ben.

“No light! There was only the smell and a jabber which sounded to me
like the chin-chin in the back room of a laundry on Doyers street.”

“Then there are more Chinamen in there?” exclaimed Ben.

“There were more in there!” replied Jimmie.

“Where did they go?” asked Carl.

Kit sat back against Ben’s leg and let out a roar of laughter which for
a moment prevented the question being answered.

“Ask Kit!” Jimmie suggested.

“If you leave it to me,” Kit went on, still half choking with laughter,
“they slid into the ragged little slashes between the rocks! One minute
they were scampering along in their soft slippers, and the next they
were out of sight just like they had gone up in smoke.”

“I guess we’ve struck it!” Jimmie said in a moment.

“Don’t we always strike it?” asked Carl.

“You bet we do!” returned Jimmie. “But we never struck a nest of Chinks
before! What do you suppose they’re doing here, anyway?”

“Waiting to get into Frisco,” answered Ben. “They pay from four to eight
hundred dollars apiece for being smuggled into the country.”

Jimmie sprang to his feet, almost overturning a can of tomatoes from
which he had been feeding.

“But how did they get here?” insisted Carl.

“I know!” cried Jimmie all excitement. “I know all about it?”

“Wise little boy!” laughed Ben.

“Now you just hold on!” Jimmie continued. “You just wait until I unload
a little of Solomon’s wisdom on you boys.”

“Go ahead,” grinned Ben.

“You remember the light we saw when we came to the coast line?” Jimmie
demanded.

“Of course,” answered Carl.

“Well,” Jimmie went on, “that beacon was put there for the purpose of
directing some schooner loaded with Chinks to this place. Now what do
you think of us stumbling right into a mess like that?”

“I guess that’s right,” mused Ben. “The fire was built on a headland to
direct smugglers in. Now, I wonder why we didn’t think of that before
and get farther away?”

“But we are at least two miles away from the headland!” suggested Carl.

“Of course,” Ben returned, “for there is no cove where a vessel might
cast anchor along this rocky wall. The Chinks are undoubtedly unloaded
near the headland where we saw the fire and brought here to be kept
until they can be set into the country.”

“That’s all right!” exclaimed Jimmie. “That’s all right, so far as it
goes, but what about our finding this fellow all tied up?”

“That’s a thing no fellow can find out!” grinned Carl.

“When I followed Jimmie into the cave,” Kit replied, “there wasn’t no
Chinaman lying where this fellow was found.”

“We can’t solve the mystery if we talk here all night,” Ben observed,
directly, “so we’d better get our suppers and make up our minds what
we’re going to do through the night.”

“I want to sleep!” cried Jimmie and this sentiment was echoed by all the
others.

“This is a nice, quiet place to sleep,” Ben said, in a sarcastic tone,
“especially,” he added, “as there’s another beacon fire burning not far
south of us. If you look closely, you’ll see its reflection lighting up
the north wall of the canyon!”




                              CHAPTER XI.

                           A DANGEROUS GAME.


“I’ll tell you my idea of the situation in about one minute!” Jimmie
broke in. “If you follow my advice, you’ll get into the aeroplanes and
get away from this old smuggler’s den. I want to get somewhere where I
can lay down and sleep, and get up and eat, and go back and sleep, and
get up and eat again, without being interrupted!”

“Does the young man express the sentiments of the meeting?” asked Carl
with a laugh.

“He expresses mine!” answered Kit.

“And mine, too,” replied Ben, “only——”

“Only, what?” demanded Jimmie.

“Only it strikes me,” Ben continued, “that we’ve stumbled on a streak of
luck.”

“I don’t see how!” Jimmie argued.

“Look here,” explained Ben, “if Phillips and Mendoza are in this
vicinity they are familiar with the stir of outlaw life about this
place. It is quite probable that they know exactly what is going on, and
it is also quite probable that they have not made their presence here
known to the smugglers.”

“Do you get the idea?” asked Carl turning to Jimmie. “I’ll tell you
right now that I don’t.”

“So, you see,” Ben went on with a tolerant smile, “the outlaws will
credit any rumpus that takes place here to the smugglers.”

“That’s all right, so far as we’re concerned,” replied Jimmie, “but what
will the smugglers say to our nesting down here and cuddling up to
them?”

“I can answer that question!” Carl cut in. “The first time we leave camp
they’ll smash our machines and consume our provisions!”

“I’m not so sure about that,” Ben mused. “I have an idea that they’ll
just naturally get their imported Chinamen out of the way and abandon
the camp!”

“That beacon fire to the south may be shouting a warning to the skies
right now!” Jimmie exclaimed. “They may be sending a mob up here, right
now, to steal our machines and give us decent burial.”

“I wish Mr. Havens could drop out of the sky just about now!” suggested
Carl. “Perhaps he could tell us what we ought to do.”

“I think I know what we ought to do now,” Ben interrupted. “We ought to
go down to the end of the canyon and see if there are any steamers
gathering about that beacon light. We wouldn’t exactly like to have a
mob of cutthroats rushing in here with another cargo of Chinks.”

“That’s a fact!” Carl agreed. “We ought to be finding out what that
beacon means!”

The boys walked down to the end of the canyon and looked almost straight
below into the tumbling surf of the Pacific ocean. The second beacon was
on a headland a little more than a quarter of a mile to the south.

Its flames leaped high in the comparatively still air, and a wide area
of mountain and sea was disclosed. Standing out a short distance,
pitching heavily in the swell of the ocean, lay two coast steamers of
fair size.

“There they are!” Carl exclaimed. “Just watch, and you’ll see boats
loaded with Chinks making their way to some cove in the coast not far
distant.”

“Well, what are we going to do?” asked Ben.

“We just can’t stay here!” shouted Carl.

“Of course not!” Jimmie added.

“What about it, Kit?” Ben asked, turning to the boy with a laugh.

“I don’t care where you take me, so long as there’s something to eat
there!” the lad answered.

After a long consultation, it was decided to take the machines out of
the canyon that night. The boys knew that in time the unlawful acts of
the smugglers would bring them to punishment. Their arrest might take
place within one day, or within one year, but, whenever it was, the lads
decided that they could not afford to be in any way implicated by
knowledge of the smuggling, or by being in a position to be suspected of
knowing more than they really did.

After a hastily-eaten supper, the boys ran the _Bertha_ around so as to
face the sea and stowed on board of her the packages of provisions which
had been removed and opened.

This done, Ben ran both machines back to the crag and paced the distance
to the abrupt drop into the sea.

“How far is it?” asked Jimmie.

“Something less than a hundred paces!” was the reply.

“The machines will rise in that distance, all right!” Carl cut in.

“If they do, it’s all right,” Ben answered, “and if they don’t, we’ll
all be dumped into the Pacific ocean.”

“Well,” chuckled Jimmie, “we came clear across the continent to get to
the Pacific ocean, didn’t we?”

“Couldn’t we swim out?” asked Kit innocently.

“Probably,” grinned Carl, “with a surf washing twenty feet up on the
rocks! Why,” he continued, “there wouldn’t be enough of us left in a
minute to wad a gun.”

“The _Louise_ will make it all right!” Jimmie insisted. “I’ve pulled her
into the air in less than two hundred feet!”

“The _Bertha_ can make anything the _Louise_ can,” Ben answered rather
impatiently. “I’ll go first with Kit and see what the prospects are,” he
continued. “If I’m not killed, you can follow.”

Kit shivered as he stepped into the seat.

“I wish right now,” he grumbled, “that I was asleep in Robinson’s barn.”

“Steady now, hold her right!” Jimmie called out, as Ben pressed the
starter and the wheels under the aeroplane began to revolve. “Hold her
tight and steady, and push on the bottom of the seat when you get over
the ocean. If you drop, whistle!”

“Cut it out, you little idiot!” stormed Carl. “That’s no fool of a trick
Ben’s trying to do! The air massed before and under the machine as it
moves along over the ground will push over the precipice, and then the
aeroplane will shoot downward, no matter if the wheels do leave the
surface before she comes to the edge.”

“That will be all right, if she comes up again!” Jimmie grinned.

“Perhaps you wouldn’t feel so merry over the proposition if you were
going in the first machine,” Carl said, impatiently.

“Huh!” grunted Jimmie with an exasperating smile, “we’ve got to go over
the precipice, too, haven’t we?”

The _Bertha_ wheeled slowly and steadily down the slight incline toward
the line of demarcation between the white sand and the open air, the
Pacific pounding upon the rocks a thousand feet below. Watching the
flying machine at the critical moment, Jimmie’s red hair almost lifted
his cap from his head as the great planes swept for a moment below the
level of the canyon floor.

The planes rose again in a second, however, and lifted almost instantly
into the red light of the beacon fire gleaming from the headland below.
It seemed to the anxious boys that she must drop down again, but,
instead, the planes lifted higher and higher until she sailed like a
bird out of the limited circle of illumination.

“Now for it, Carl!” shouted Jimmie, and together they sprang to their
seats and started the _Louise_.

Notwithstanding the fact that the _Bertha_ had made the trip into the
air in safety, the young aviators felt shivers navigating their backs as
they dropped down at the edge of the precipice.

For an instant it seemed as if the motors would never lift the planes in
time to prevent a tumble into the ocean, but at last the _Louise_ leaped
upward and onward, past the light of the signal fire, and into the
semi-darkness which lay over the scenery.

By this time Ben was some distance away with the _Bertha_. Jimmie turned
the _Louise_ in his direction and the two flying machines were soon side
by side. For a moment the boys tried to converse together, but the
clatter of the motors and the rush of air prevented the spoken words
from reaching the ears of the others.

Failing to communicate to Jimmie and Carl the thing which was on his
mind, Ben lifted a hand and quickly pointed to the north.

The headland in that direction still flamed red with the signal which
had been observed at twilight.

Although the distance was nearly two miles, the boys saw that people
were moving about the fire. Straight west from the headland a second
schooner lay rocking on the pulse of the waves.

“It’s a wonder the government wouldn’t send gunboats down here!” shouted
Jimmie in his chum’s ear. “It’s bananas to beams that both those
steamers are carrying contraband goods in the shape of Chinks and
opium.”

“They can carry anything they like, so long as they let us alone!” Carl
answered back.

For a time both machines passed straight out to the west, rising
slightly as they advanced. Then Ben turned away to the south, evidently
with the intention of passing above the deck of the steamer which lay in
front of the second beacon.

Jimmie, of course, followed his example, and directly both flying
machines dipped down to within a hundred yards of the deck. There was no
longer any doubt concerning the mission of the vessel. At least a score
of Chinamen were in sight.

The appearance of the flying machines naturally created great excitement
on the deck below. Hairy-faced sailors shook their fists violently
upward, and the Chinamen were driven like cattle into a hatchway and
passed out of sight.

“We haven’t got a line on the bank burglars yet!” Jimmie shouted into
Carl’s ear, “but we’ve butted in on a mighty prosperous game just the
same!”

Ben, of course, was beyond the reach of his chum’s voice, but he
expressed his acknowledgment of the situation by turning in his seat and
waving an arm in the direction of the _Louise_.

As soon as the two aeroplanes passed beyond the beacon on the headland,
they turned to the sea again and moved out some distance from the shore.
It was the intention, of course, to pass down the coast in quest of
another landing-place, and they swung out to sea in order that their
movements might not be observed in case they were watched from the
mountain.

Perhaps three miles from the second beacon and schooner they turned
sharply to the east and lifted to an altitude sufficient to enable them
to cross the line of summits which guarded the coast.

They proceeded in this direction for a short time passing over what
seemed to them to be the highest peak of the Sierra de Santa Lucia, and
then dropped down into what appeared, in the dim light of the stars, to
be a round bowl of a valley between two parallel ridges.

It was desperate and creepy work, settling down to earth, but the usual
luck of the boys prevailed, and before long they found themselves in a
grassy valley some two thousand feet below the summit. They all shivered
as they stepped out of their seats and gathered in a group.

“What did you see when you crossed the summit?” asked Ben, turning to
Jimmie. “Anything particular attract your attention?”

“To tell you the truth,” the boy replied, “I was so frightened, and so
busy following your lead, that I saw only the neck-breaking places below
and the stars above.”

“Well,” Ben went on, “if you had taken a good look to the north, you
would have seen a flying machine hovering over the headland where we saw
the first signal.”

“A flying machine?” repeated Carl.

“That’s what I said!” insisted Ben.

“And that means,” Jimmie argued, “that the blond brute who tried to blow
up our aeroplanes not far from St. Louis reached the ocean about the
time of our arrival.”

“That’s the way it looks to me,” Ben agreed.

“Have you any idea he saw us?” asked Carl.

“I’ve been thinking about that,” Ben answered, “and I can’t quite make
up my mind. You see,” he went on, “it’s just this way: If he crossed the
range while our machines were reflecting the light of the lower beacon,
he undoubtedly saw us. If he crossed after we passed out to sea and
turned back to the east, he probably doesn’t know that we’re here.”

“He’ll find out quick enough!” suggested Carl.

“How?” asked Jimmie.

“Why, the fellows who were sneaking the Chinamen across the Mexican
border will tell him all right!” was the answer.

“Don’t you ever think they’ll tell him,” Ben broke in. “He won’t give
them a chance to tell him anything! He’ll dodge them as if they had the
small-pox.”

“That’s about right,” Jimmie agreed. “He’ll head straight for Phillips
and Mendosa and tell them that there’s a red-headed boy who will cross
their life-lines in about twenty-four hours!”

“I hope he doesn’t know where to find them!” Ben observed.

“He probably does,” Ben suggested.

“Say,” cried Jimmie dancing about on his toes, “I don’t believe he knows
where they are any more than we do—nor half so much.”

“What’s the answer?” asked Ben.

“Do you remember the note Kit found in the barn where that monkey-faced
aviator had his arm set?” asked Jimmie.

“That’s a fact!” exclaimed Ben. “Who’s got the note now?”

“I have!” shouted Jimmie. “I have it at this moment secreted about my
person, but it isn’t necessary for me to read it again to tell what it
says. It gives an address and the address is Two Sisters canyon.”

“This blond cruiser may have a copy of it,” suggested Carl.

“Of course, he may,” returned Jimmie, “but I don’t believe it. This
monkey-faced fellow seems to me to be the big squeeze in this game, and
thieves don’t trust each other a little bit.”

While the boys talked, the aeroplane which had been observed in the
light of the north beacon came sailing over the summit to the west and
dipped down toward the surface only a short distance away from where the
boys were sitting.

“There!” Ben observed, “he either saw and followed us, or he knows where
Two Sisters canyon is and is heading for it.”

“As the Bureau of Forecasts would say,” chuckled Jimmie, “threatening
weather may be expected about this time.”

“It looks to me like I never would get any more sleep!” wailed Kit.




                              CHAPTER XII.

                        THE FIGHT IN THE CABIN.


“It strikes me,” Havens observed, as he sat at the little table in the
screened-off corner of the _Nancy’s_ cabin, gazing at the brutal
features of Captain DeMott, the son of the old hag who had so deceived
him. “It strikes me,” he repeated, “that you people have some strong
motive for getting me out of the way.”

“Sartin, sure,” answered Captain DeMott.

“I must give you credit for capable management,” Havens went on, with a
smile. “How did you ever get me out of the stateroom?”

DeMott chuckled, shaking his broad shoulders, but did not answer the
question. Then his wicked face hardened.

“Fishing for millionaires in New York,” he commented, “is about the
surest and safest sport a-going at this time.”

The old fellow poured himself a liberal portion of whiskey from the
bottle and drank it greedily, smacking his lips heartily.

“We had trouble getting you to the house,” he finally said, “and were
afraid to carry you from there on board the _Nancy_. So the old woman
says to me that if we would leave you to her care for a short time,
she’d send you into the cabin of this here vessel of your own accord.”

“Very cleverly done!” commented Havens.

The man took another drink out of the bottle and refilled his foul briar
pipe. Havens sat in a brown study during the latter operation. Captain
DeMott seemed to be the only person besides himself on board the boat,
and he was wondering if it would be possible to overcome the fellow and
secure his freedom.

Once out of the boat and into the river, he would be safe from pursuit,
for a police barge would undoubtedly spring into motion at the splash.

Desperate as the situation was, the young millionaire decided that he
ought at least to make the attempt.

Presently DeMott, probably entering upon a small celebration in honor of
an adventure so craftily carried out, stepped to the cupboard and
brought forth another bottle of liquor.

“You needn’t mind inspecting the fastenings of the hatch or the
windows,” leered the captain as he seated himself again. “I saw you
doing of it while I was at the cupboard, so I’ll tell you for your own
information that the hatch is locked down hard and fast, and that the
windows are likewise fastened.”

Havens smiled grimly but made no reply.

“Likewise,” continued the captain, his voice growing slightly unsteady,
“I hold in these here pockets of mine two automatic revolvers which I
have a habit of using in case anything unpleasant turns up.”

“I presume,” Havens said after a time, “that the offer I made to Mother
DeMott would be rejected by you.”

“I haven’t seen Mother DeMott,” was the answer.

“I offered her twenty-five thousand dollars,” said Havens.

“That is a tidy sum, too,” the captain mumbled. “And yet,” he went on,
“what would twenty-five thousand bucks amount to if one got a knife in
his back for the taking of ’em?”

“You seem to be connected with a cheerful sort of a gang,” Havens
suggested. “I don’t think I’d like such associates.”

“It’s a gang that meets treachery with cold steel!” said the captain
savagely. “Always cold steel for traitors!”

“I’ve heard,” Havens observed in a moment, “that Phillips and Mendoza
regard human life very lightly.”

Captain DeMott sprang to his feet with an oath.

“I said nothing about Phillips and Mendoza,” he shouted, shaking his
fist in the millionaire’s face. “I never saw either one of them!”

Notwithstanding the emphatic denial of the captain, Havens knew then
where to look for accessories after the fact in the case of the two
murderers. There was no longer any doubt as to the interest which had
connived at his abduction.

The clock on the cabin wall denoted the hour of three, and Havens knew
that whatever was done must be done at once.

With the morning others would undoubtedly make their appearance on board
the _Nancy_, and then escape would be practically impossible. The
captain sat at the table for some moments, now, in gloomy silence,
occasionally lifting a pair of bloodshot eyes to the face of his
captive. At last, however, the millionaire’s opportunity came.

DeMott, swinging sullenly about in his swivel chair, brought his broad
back against the edge of the table, on the other side of which Havens
sat.

Havens lifted suddenly in his chair, seized the brawny neck with both
muscular hands and drew the fellow back upon the table. The furniture
was old and creaky, but it held under the added weight. DeMott naturally
threw his great hands to his throat to remove the pressure which was
shutting the air out of his lungs, but Havens held fast.

The man struggled fiercely, desperately, but the nervous fingers never
left his throat. Finally the captain managed to throw himself to the
floor, and then he almost succeeded in gripping the throat of his
opponent. But Havens was an athlete, and an expert at the wrestling
game, so the fellow’s effort failed of success.

After what seemed to the millionaire to be an infinite number of hours,
DeMott lay unconscious on the cabin floor. Possessing himself of one of
the fallen man’s automatic revolvers, Havens looked about for the key to
the cabin hatch. It was not in the captain’s pocket, but he found it in
a drawer of the desk.

When he opened the hatch there was a pearly light in the east, and
already the river was astir with moving craft. After a moment’s thought,
he got softly into the water and moved toward the pier. He heard a shout
and saw a police boat moving toward him.

Uttering a cry for assistance, he remained stationary until he was
picked up by the guardians of the river. Very fortunately the man in
charge of the squad was an intelligent and observing officer of long
experience in river work. He knew the shady reputation of the _Nancy_,
and remembered, also, that her captain was in great demand at Sing Sing,
from which place he had taken his departure without the formality of a
permit. This being the case, Havens had little difficulty in explaining
the situation. He was permitted to depart after disclosing his identity.

When he turned back to the pier and looked at the _Nancy_ in the growing
light of day, he saw half a dozen blue-coated officials swarming over
the sides. Shivering from his bath in the river, faint from the
excitement and exertion of the night, the millionaire waited at the head
of the pier on the chance of seeing a taxicab.

None appeared, however, and he was obliged to walk some distance before
seeing one of the nighthawks which prowl the streets of New York between
midnight and morning. Without stopping a moment for refreshment, he
ordered the chauffeur to drive with all speed to his city garage. His
own chauffeur was awakened with difficulty, but finally the journey to
the hangar in Westchester county was fairly begun.

In five minutes after the arrival of the master the whole place was
illuminated and a dozen men were at work.

“Look here, Hilton,” Havens said to the night-watchman, “I want the
_Ann_ put in shape for a long journey, and I want the trick turned in
less than an hour. I want provisions and gasoline sufficient for two
days, and I don’t want a word spoken concerning the departure of the
flying machine. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir,” answered Hilton.

“If any of the people ask about the departure of the _Ann_,” the
millionaire went on, “tell them that she has gone out on a trial trip.
They will presume, of course, that she was taken out by an aviator.”

“Yes, sir,” replied Hilton.

“And, another thing,” commanded Havens, “if any telegrams arrive here
for me, the reply is to be made that I took a sleeper for the west last
night. It may be also said if the messages are pressing that I
unaccountably left the sleeper before the departure of the train, and
since that time have not been seen.”

“You expect telegrams, sir?” asked Hilton.

“There may be several,” answered the millionaire.

In an hour, as per orders, the _Ann_ was ready for flight, fully
provisioned for a long voyage and with tanks well loaded with gasoline.
After giving Hilton positive instructions to inform his secretary that
all inquiries should be answered as stated above, Havens stepped into
the seat and whirled away.

At that hour, it will be remembered, the boys were watching their
machines in the open field a short distance east of the Mississippi
river. All that day, while the lads waited in and about the St. Louis
post-office, telegraphing to the hangar at frequent intervals, the
millionaire was speeding swiftly in their direction. At the Forest Park
hangar Havens secured his first news of the boys.

However, the superintendent knew nothing whatever of the destination of
the _Louise_ and the _Bertha_. The boys, he reported, had been
non-communicative. The millionaire, however, was glad to learn that the
lads had proceeded thus far on their way without serious accident. After
filling his tanks and taking a short rest at one of the leading hotels,
Havens continued his way.

As will be seen by the reader, he was only a short distance in the rear
of the _Louise_ and the _Bertha_. The _Ann_ was a much more powerful
machine than either of the ones owned by the boys, and Havens was noted
for his reckless driving, so it is quite possible that he would have
caught a glimpse of the two flying machines at some stage of the journey
if the latter had kept farther to the north as had been agreed upon.

As Havens swept rapidly over the country he was more than satisfied with
the steps he had taken to prevent pursuit. But he was out of touch with
the boys as well as with his business associates! He still considered
the situation a desirable one for the reason that he was also out of
touch with the mercenaries who had given him such a bad night on the
water front!

And so, flying swiftly, stopping only to rest for a few hours at time,
and for gasoline and provisions, Havens crossed the continent in his
powerful machine, and, one morning, caught sight of the pretty little
city of Monterey, nestling on the border of the bay of the same name.
His next task would be to locate the _Louise_ and the _Bertha_.




                             CHAPTER XIII.

                           IN RANGER UNIFORM.


“Speaking about sleep,” Ben observed, as Kit made the remark that he
never expected to get any more, “reminds me that we can’t go on like
this forever. It will soon be daylight, now, and the chances are that
the fellow in the other flying machine will lie low for a time for the
same reason that we shall. In other words, he won’t want to attract
undue attention by hovering over the mountains in plain sight of forest
rangers and tourists.”

“That’s a mighty pleasant conclusion!” laughed Jimmie. “It means that
all we’ve got to do now is to leave one man to guard the machines and
sleep all day!”

“I’ll do the watching stunt,” offered Kit. “I had a great sleep back
there in the other canyon.”

“You might have had a longer one if you hadn’t followed Jimmie into the
cavern,” suggested Carl.

“Well,” replied Kit, “you fellows made so much noise that I couldn’t
sleep, and I saw Jimmie’s light disappearing in the cave, and so I just
naturally sneaked in after him! I got there just in time, too,” he went
on, “for I believe those Chinks would have devoured Jimmie if they
hadn’t seen some one else coming!”

“Speaking of Chinks,” laughed Carl, “I wonder what that Chink thought
when he saw us heading our machines directly for the precipice.”

“It’s a good bet that he didn’t stop long enough to think,” Ben
suggested. “The chances are that he flew back to his companions in the
cave at a pace that set his pigtail straight out in the air.”

“You found him tied up, didn’t you?” asked Ben.

“We sure did,” replied Kit.

“Then why should he go back to the people who served him a trick like
that?” asked Ben.

“That’s a fact,” Jimmie replied, “I never thought of that.”

“Now, I’d give a dollar to know what they were doing to him, anyway,”
Carl put in. “I can’t understand why they should tie up one of their own
crowd in that way.”

“He was a queer-looking fellow,” suggested Kit.

“Just washee-washee!” Jimmie insisted.

“Well,” Kit went on, “when I held the light in his face and bent down
over him, it seemed to me that he drew a grin that meant something more
than amazement. And, then, did you notice how he chuckled when we turned
him loose?”

“I only noticed that he smelled like a Chinese laundry!” Jimmie
answered. “I never did like a Chink.”

“Now, if we sit around here talking all day, we won’t any of us get any
sleep,” Carl exclaimed, after a while. “We’ll give Jimmie a chance to
get up one of his square meals, and then all flop in this nice soft
grass and wake up when we hear the sun going down.”

“That’ll suit me!” Kit said. “I wouldn’t sleep if I had a chance! You
fellows go to it, and I’ll watch the machines.”

The breakfast was not so elaborate as the boys desired, but there was
plenty of it, and in a short time the three were stretched out on the
grass sound asleep, their faces protected by a rude awning hastily
constructed out of a shelter tent.

Kit wandered about the little valley aimlessly for a long time. The
whole situation was new to him, and he was filled with wonder at the
things he had seen since leaving the little settlement where the boys
had found him.

The valley where the flying machines had landed has been called a little
bowl between two parallel ridges. The word bowl describes it exactly.

It was as round as if dug out by the hand of man. The bottom was covered
with lush grass, and through the center a small stream trickled from
ridge to ridge. Where the rivulet started and where it ended no one
knew. For years the valley had been known as the Place of the Lost
Brook.

The sides were heavily timbered to the very summits which shut in the
bowl. Through some freak of nature, however, there was no undergrowth or
trees at the very bottom. Perhaps the soil, being a wash from the rocks
around in prehistoric days, provided only sufficient nourishment for the
grass which grew there.

After walking around the grassy bowl, and crossing the stream at least a
dozen times, Kit turned his face toward the wooded slope to the west. He
was soon in the heart of a forest, the trees of which interlaced their
boughs far above his head. The sun shone warmly on the softly swaying
tops, and there was a stir of insect life in the air. He knew that the
summit of the ridge he was climbing was merely a convex wrinkle in the
side of the lofty mountains.

His idea as he climbed steadily upward, always keeping his eye on the
little valley where the machines lay, was to reach the top and look into
the next canyon in the hope of seeing the flying machine which had been
observed during the dark hours of the night. Wearied from his long
climb, he finally sat down and leaned against the bole of a sprawling
sycamore tree.

Birds were winging their way among the branches of the trees, and the
drone of insect life was in his ears. In fact, the boy would have been
asleep in another moment if an unexpected thing had not occurred.

The bushes directly in front of him parted, and, with a grunt like that
of an overfed hog, a gigantic grizzly bear lumbered into the little
clearing under the boughs of the tree.

Kit had never seen a grizzly bear before. In fact, his knowledge
concerning all wild animals was limited. At that moment, however,
instinct told him that the bear was not friendly to his species.

At first it seemed that the animal was equally surprised with the boy,
for he drew hastily back, his pig-like eyes glaring viciously.

The fellow was evidently not very hungry, but at the same time he did
not propose to overlook a feast of boy. The next thing Kit saw was a
figure advancing toward him on a pair of hind legs which seemed to him
to be larger than the trunk of the tree against which he leaned.

With a shout which he now declares must have been heard in San
Francisco, he sprang for an overhanging limb and drew himself up. A
person less agile and, perhaps, less frightened, would have been unable
to escape the sweep of the bear’s paw which followed his spring.

The bough bent low under the weight of the boy, but he seized another
just above it, and in a short time was walking up the tree like one
passing from one rung of a ladder to another. Bruin sat down under the
sheltering branches, evidently intending to remain there until his
dinner should be served. Kit looked down upon him scornfully.

“Come on up, bear!” he shouted.

Bruin growled out a refusal.

“Look here, bear,” Kit explained, talking to the animal as if he
understood every word that was said, “you ought to go on your way
immediately, for I have two flying machines to watch, and consequently
have no time to visit with you. Go on away, now!”

Bruin uttered a series of vicious growls at the sound of the boy’s
voice, but refused to honor the request.

“I’m in a nice box, now!” wailed Kit. “If I only had a gun, I could fill
this wild animal full of lead, but I haven’t got any gun, and I guess
I’ve got to stay here until some of the boys wake up and come to the
rescue. I’m in a bad fix!”

The bear did not seem to agree with the boy in his estimate of the
situation, for he appeared to be contented as he shambled around under
the tree, looking up into the branches with greedy eyes.

“Now,” thought Kit after the situation had held for at least half an
hour, “I wonder how I’m going to shake this brute. If I let out a yell,
people we don’t want to know anything about our presence here may follow
the sound of my voice and make trouble with the machines before the boys
get up.”

An hour passed and the bear showed no signs of impatience.

“If I had a good round rock about the size of a hen’s egg,” declared
Kit, “I believe I could raise a welt on his nose that would put him on a
fluid diet for a month! But I haven’t got any rock, and I haven’t got
any gun,” wailed the boy. “All I’ve got left is my voice, and I’m going
to use that right now!”

In accordance with this decision, Kit threw back his chest and let out a
shout which, as he believed, must have been heard far beyond the camp.
Indeed it was heard at a point more distant than the place where the
machines were standing. The boy listened in suspense for an answer to
his call, and was soon gratified to see a motion in the undergrowth to
the right.

“Hello!” a voice cried in a moment.

“Look out!” Kit answered. “There’s about a ton of bear under this tree!
He’s waiting for his dinner!”

Bruin sniffed in the direction of the newcomer, but continued to give
the most of his attention to the tree and the boy it held.

“Why don’t you shoot him?”

“Got no gun!”

“Jump down and run, then,” suggested the other.

“Not me!” replied Kit.

Almost before the words were out of his mouth, the whizz of a bullet cut
the air, and the bear dropped, floundering and gasping, to the ground.

“You can come down now!” said the stranger.

“Holy Smoke!” shouted Kit. “How did you shoot that bear without firing a
gun? Is he really dead?”

“He’s as dead as he ever will be!” was the reply.

“Did you throw something at him?” asked Kit, still wondering.

The boy heard a chuckle in the bushes but saw no one.

“I have a silencer on my gun,” the voice said directly. “I don’t care to
advertise every bullet I send out.”

The boy dropped down from the tree and stood for a moment over the bear,
still twitching spasmodically, but undoubtedly dead.

Then a man in the uniform of a forest ranger stepped out and looked the
boy over curiously.

“You’re a little mite of a fellow to be in a mix-up like this,” the
ranger said. “Where are your friends?”

“Down in the valley,” replied the boy. “We came across in flying
machines and we’re taking a little rest.”

“Rather a dangerous locality to take a little rest in,” smiled the
other. “You ought not to remain here long.”

“Why don’t you go down and talk to the boys?” asked Kit. “I left them
asleep by the machines.”

“Well,” the visitor said, after a moment’s hesitation, “I may give you a
call this evening, if you are still in the valley. Just now I have an
important engagement.”

“We’ll be glad to see you,” replied Kit.

“So you came over in flying machines, did you?” asked the man in
ranger’s uniform.

“That’s what we did,” replied the boy.

“What do you call the machines?” asked the other.

“The _Louise_ and the _Bertha_.”

“From New York, eh?”

“Yes, from New York,” replied the unsuspecting boy.

“Well,” said the man after a moment’s thought, “I’ll probably call on
your friends to-night. I never fail to have a good time in the company
of flying machine boys. By the way,” he added as he turned away, “have
you seen anything of a third machine in this vicinity?”

As the man spoke he lifted his left hand to brush a twig out of his path
and Kit saw that the little finger was missing at the first joint.

“No,” the boy replied in a moment, making a mental note of the crippled
hand. “I don’t think there’s any other machine here.”

For the first time during that interview the boy realized that he had
been talking too much. Therefore, he denied any knowledge of the
aeroplane which had crossed the mountains during the night.

The ranger departed, and Kit hastened to the camp to find the boys awake
and anxious concerning his absence. Of course he was all excitement over
the encounter with the bear, but he told of his conversation with the
ranger hesitatingly, for he disliked to admit that he had been too
talkative with an entire stranger. He explained the good turn the ranger
had served him and added that they might have company that night.

“Forest ranger, is he?” asked Ben as the boy concluded his story.

“He wore a ranger’s uniform, anyway!” replied Kit.

“And he asked you all about us, didn’t he?” Jimmie quizzed.

“Why, he asked a few questions, yes.”

“And you told him all about our coming from New York, and the names of
our machines, and everything else you could think of, didn’t you?”
questioned Carl. “You were so glad he saved your life that you told him
all you knew?”

“I told him about New York, and about the machines,” was the hesitating
reply. “He didn’t seem to care much about details.”

“What sort of a looking man is he?” asked Ben.

“Oh, he looks all right,” Kit replied. “I couldn’t describe him. When he
lifted his left hand I saw that the little finger was off at the first
joint. That’s all I know about him.”

“That’s enough!” Ben exclaimed. “We don’t have to know any more about
him! Phillips has a frank, pleasant manner, and his little finger on the
left hand is off at the first joint, too, but perhaps that is only a
coincidence!” he added with a scornful smile.

Kit actually turned pale under all his freckles.

“Is that one of the men you boys have been telling me about?” he asked.

“I haven’t a doubt of it!” replied Ben.

Kit, very much ashamed of himself, crawled under the shelter-tent where
the boys had been sleeping and refused to be comforted.

“It’s just this way, boys,” Ben said as they stood looking into each
other’s faces, questioningly. “It looks like we’ll have to get out of
this cosy little valley right away.”

“Phillips doesn’t know what we’re here for yet, because he was inquiring
for the third flying machine,” Jimmie replied. “If he wants to come to
the camp to-night, let him trot right along. If he isn’t warned in time
we may be able to tie him up like a pig for market.”




                              CHAPTER XIV.

                         A GAME OF TAG STARTED.


Carl walked over to where Kit lay under the shelter-tent and, seizing
him by one leg, drew him forth into the sunlight.

“It’s all right, Kit!” he exclaimed. “We’ve decided that you did a
mighty good thing in locating Phillips. We know where he is now, and so
it will be all the easier to catch him.”

Kit rubbed his eyes sheepishly.

“I thought I’d given the whole snap away,” he said.

“You couldn’t have done a better job,” Carl insisted. “You see it’s this
way,” he continued. “Phillips and Mendoza are still unaware that they
have been followed to this locality. At least, we judge so because this
alleged ranger asked you concerning a third machine.”

“I begin to understand,” said Kit brightening.

“This third machine,” continued Carl, “is evidently operated by the man
who tried to destroy the _Louise_ and the _Bertha_ near St. Louis. He
came on from New York, the way we have it figured out, to warn the two
murderers of the steps which were being taken for their capture.”

“And we beat him to it!” cried Kit exultantly.

“Yes, we beat him to it,” replied Carl. “And here’s another reason,” the
boy went on, “why we think the outlaws have not yet communicated with
the messenger sent on from the east.

“If Phillips had known all the messenger will be able to tell him when
they meet, he never would have shown himself to you.”

“Jiminy!” exclaimed Kit. “Then I’d be up in that bear tree yet!”

“You might be!” grinned Carl. “Anyhow, you did a good job in locating
the outlaws for us. We know now that they’re in this section, and that
is a whole lot.”

“Then we must be somewhere near Two Sisters canyon?” asked Kit.

Carl replied that he believed that they must be, and Kit tumbled back
into the shelter-tent in a more cheerful frame of mind.

“There’s one thing about this situation that I’m not at all pleased
with,” Ben remarked, as the boys began working over their machines,
oiling, polishing and giving them a more respectable appearance
generally. “We saw this third machine cross the range and settle down
somewhere off to the south. My idea is that it can’t be very far away at
this time, and I’m wondering whether the outlaw who talked with Kit
won’t find it before night.”

“You bet he will!” exclaimed Jimmie. “That blond aviator who tried to
blow up our machines will find some way of letting the murderers know
that he has news for them.”

“Then why don’t we go and drive this blond aviator away?” asked Carl.

“I’d like to know how we can do that?” asked Jimmie.

“We might get up in the air and drop a few sticks of dynamite down on
him!” suggested Carl. “You know we always carry dynamite in small
quantities. He ought to be blown off the earth, anyway!”

“There’s no doubt about that,” Ben cut in, “but we ought not to be the
ones to do it.”

“Well, we ought to do something!” insisted Jimmie. “If that blond brute
gets to Phillips and Mendosa, we may as well trek back to little old New
York! We never can find them in all this mess of hills if they know
we’re doing the detective stunt.”

The boys discussed the problem for a long time without reaching any
decision. At last Ben and Carl went to the shelter-tent and fell asleep.
There had been very few hours of uninterrupted rest since leaving New
York, and the boys were really “about all in” as Carl expressed it.

Jimmie, thus left alone, climbed into one of the seats of the _Louise_
and sat for a long time in deep thought, his freckled chin resting
heavily in the palm of his right hand.

“I don’t know what the boys would say,” the lad finally mused, “but I’ve
a great notion to try it!”

He leaped to the ground and began a careful inspection of the _Louise_,
looking to every detail of the mechanism.

“I wish I knew whether he would or not,” the boy thought, a slight smile
coming to his face. “I just wish I knew whether he’d be fool enough to
do it.”

Next, Jimmie went to the convenience box under the seat and drew out two
automatic revolvers and a searchlight. He saw that the light was in good
working order and that the revolvers were loaded. After that he drew on
a belt stuffed with cartridges and again took his place on the seat of
the machine.

Looking about cautiously, almost furtively, at the shelter tent and the
_Bertha_, he saw Kit making his way toward him.

“Come on, Kit!” Jimmie called out softly, so as not to waken the others.
“I was just wishing you’d wake up. I want you to be a good little boy,
now, and watch the camp, and not associate with any more grizzly bears
until I come back.”

Kit looked into the boy’s face questioningly.

“And another thing,” Jimmie went on, “when Ben and Carl wake up, advise
them to go out and get a haunch of bear. You can show them where it is.
Bear steak sounds mighty good to me! Only for our excitement over the
discovery you made, I would have been out there long ago.”

“Where are you going?” asked Kit.

“Why,” replied Jimmie, “I’m just going out to exercise my horse. She
seems to be getting a little lame standing in the stable.”

“Why can’t I go?” asked Kit.

“You’ll have to watch the camp,” Jimmie answered.

Kit stood by the machine when Jimmie pressed the starter. Instead of
dropping back and clearing away, the lad bounded nimbly into the seat
and looked up at Jimmie with a twisted smile on his face. By this time
the _Louise_ was well under motion, the wheels humming softly over the
grass of the green bowl in which she lay.

“Jump!” cried Jimmie. “You’ve got to watch the camp, you know!”

Kit hung on tighter. The wheels of the aeroplane left the earth and the
propellers whirled softly in the upper air.

“Now you’ve gone and done it!” Jimmie exclaimed half-angrily. “Now I’ve
got to turn back and let you out!”

“I’m going with you!” insisted Kit.

“You’re likely to get your neck broken!” advised Jimmie.

“I guess I can stand it if you can!” responded the boy. “Anyway, my neck
is long enough to tie.”

Jimmie remained thoughtful for a moment, and then turned to his chum.

“Come to think of it,” he said, “I guess I would better take you along.
You always do seem to blunder into the right procession. You located the
outlaws for us, and now you’re going out to be the candy boy in the
sleuth game. You’re all right, Kit!”

“What are you going to do?” demanded the boy.

“Look here,” Jimmie declared. “We came out here to do some flying
machine stunts, didn’t we?”

“That’s the idea!” answered Kit.

“Well, we haven’t done any stunts yet,” Jimmie went on. “We just plugged
across the continent, half asleep all the time, like an old horse
pulling a cross-town car in New York. We’ve exercised our machines good
and plenty, but we haven’t had any real lively fun yet.”

“It’s kept us awake, anyhow,” suggested Kit.

“Well,” Jimmie went on, “the machine that followed us from New York is
in one of the canyons over to the south. You remember that we saw it
settling down in the darkness.”

“And it isn’t very far away, either,” suggested Kit.

“That’s the idea!” returned Jimmie. “It is so near at hand that this
imitation ranger you saw is likely to find it at any minute. If he does,
it’s all off with us!”

“So you’re going to bump into this crooked aviator yourself?” asked Kit.

“I aim to keep him busy all day!” Jimmie answered.

“Up in the air, I presume?” queried Kit.

“Exactly,” replied Jimmie.

“Then I ought to have stayed behind to watch the camp,” Kit mused,
regretfully. “The boys may sleep for hours, and some one may wreck or
steal the _Bertha_. You see,” the boy continued, “I thought you were
only out for a short spin, so I had the nerve to jump aboard.”

“It’s all right to have company,” laughed Jimmie, “and now,” he added,
turning on more power, “we’ll have to quit talking, for I’m going to
give the motor a tip to get a move on, and her conversation will drown
anything we have to say. But before I do this,” the boy went on, “I want
to pass you this automatic revolver, and tell you that if anything
happens to me I want you to catch hold of the steering apparatus as
you’ve been taught and keep going toward the camp.”

“I couldn’t run a machine on a bet!” replied Kit sorrowfully.

Jimmie laughed and turned on full speed. Just as the _Louise_ swung over
the edge of the cup which formed the round valley below, the boy saw Ben
and Carl, doubtless awakened by the starting of the motors, rush out of
the shelter-tent and wave toward them. It was evident that the two boys
left in camp did not think much of Jimmie’s unannounced excursion into
the air, for their greeting seemed to be more of a command to return
than anything else.

A mile away, Jimmie slowed down and, with a field glass, began a close
examination of every gully, canyon, and valley which he passed. Finally
the glistening planes of an aeroplane came to view, lying on a level
stretch of rock only a short distance from the main ridge.

“Here we are, now!” thought the boy. “Here’s the other machine! Now, if
I can only coax him out of his nest, and keep him amused through the
day, I’d like to know how he’s going to get time to deliver the message
sent by the underworld of New York to Phillips and Mendosa?”

As the boy slowed down again, he saw a figure running wildly around the
aeroplane below. He circled the little shelf, dropping lower at each
swing. Presently he darted away, as if satisfied with his scrutiny, and
the machine below lifted instantly and gave chase.

“And here,” mused Jimmie with a grin, “you’ll see the liveliest game of
tag ever pulled off in the air!”




                              CHAPTER XV.

                         A CRIPPLED AEROPLANE.


Left together in the camp, astonished and angry at the sudden departure
of Jimmie, Ben and Carl saw the _Louise_ disappearing with varying
emotions.

“Now what did he do that for?” demanded Carl.

“He’s always up to some mischief!” growled Ben.

“Well, if he’s going sailing around over the mountains in broad
daylight,” Carl suggested, “we may as well go up to San Francisco and
bring down a band. A brass band wouldn’t give us any more prominence in
the community, and it might be more amusing.”

“Oh, the boy always has some fairly good reason for what he does,”
defended Ben, chuckling inwardly at the daring of his chum, “but I wish
he’d tell us a little more about his plans before he makes such breaks.
It would take the strain off a little!” he added.

From the valley in which the _Bertha_ lay the boys could not, of course,
see what was taking place until the _Louise_ was high up above the lower
summits, with the third aeroplane in full pursuit.

“Now, what do you think of that?” demanded Carl. “That fool boy has
found the crook’s machine, and the chances are that he’ll be sorry he
did it before the day is over!”

“Oh, well,” Ben replied, “we’ll have to wait and see what comes of this
absurd trip. Perhaps we’d better be getting something to eat, so as to
be ready for a flight if the boy should need assistance.”

While the two were eating a hastily prepared meal, an exclamation of
astonishment came from the vicinity of the _Bertha_, and they both
sprang to their feet and chased off in that direction.

At first no one could be seen, then a figure crawled slowly out from
under the planes and stood upright.

“The Chink!” exclaimed Ben.

“Now, I wonder how he found his way here?” Carl questioned.

“That’s the fellow we released from captivity over at the first
stopping-place, isn’t it?” asked Ben.

“You may search me!” replied Carl. “Negroes and horses and Chinamen all
look alike, so far as I’m concerned.”

“Me savvee you!” exclaimed the Chinaman, in most outrageous pidgin
English. “Me savvee you, alle same.”

“Where’d you come from?” demanded Ben impatiently.

The Chinaman put a finger to his lips and looked puzzled.

“No can do!” he said.

“Look here!” Ben exclaimed. “How did you ever find this place, anyway?
If a Chink fresh from the odorous Orient can walk in on us like this,
I’d like to know what an outlaw who really meant business could do!”

“No can do!” repeated the Chinaman.

“You’re the fellow we found tied up, aren’t you?” asked Carl.

“Me savvee you!” was the only reply, the words being accompanied by a
foolish grin. “Me savvee you, alle same.”

Ben pointed to the provisions spread on a cloth lying on the turf.

“Hungry?” he asked. “You seem to me to look rather lank!”

“I bet you don’t shake your head at that, and chatter out that
everlasting ‘No can do’,” Carl laughed. “Fall to, friend!” he added.

The Chinaman quickly accepted this invitation, and was soon devouring
bread and butter, tinned meats, and vegetables, as if he had eaten
nothing before for a week. The boys watched laughingly.

“We’re next to you!” Carl cried. “You came to visit on purpose to get a
good feed! Look here!” he added as the Chinaman looked up with a
submissive grin, “what did those fellows tie you up for?”

“No can do!” answered the Chinaman. “No can do.”

“Go to it!” exclaimed Ben. “Put a couple of pounds of groceries under
your belt at our expense and then you may be able to talk United
States.”

“No can do,” was the only answer received to this suggestion.

Watching the man critically as he ate the provisions with all the gusto
of one near to the point of starvation, Ben thought he saw indications
of a different sort of a life in his manner of handling his food.

The fellow’s face expressed only stupidity. His eyes were dull and
staring, but the manner in which he brought the food to his mouth was
not that of a man who had been trained to eat with chopsticks.

In a moment Ben drew his chum to one side.

“There’s something strange about that Chink,” he said, when they were
out of hearing of their strange guest. “He’s not as stupid or as
ignorant as he would have us believe. And he never stumbled on us by
chance, either! How does the idea strike you?”

“There is no doubt in my mind that the fellow is disguised in manner and
speech if not in person,” Carl replied. “For all we know, he may be one
of the leaders of the smuggling gang.”

“Then why should the bunch we found in the cavern tie him up?” asked
Ben. “You remember the shape in which he was found?”

“I guess we’ll have to decide that we don’t know anything about it!”
Carl replied. “We only know that we stirred up a nest of Chinamen, and
that they ran away from us like rats. We don’t know where they went to
either, although we may have time to find out later on.”

“We might have learned something more concerning the combination right
there,” Ben grumbled, “only for the second beacon light and the
schooner. Of course we couldn’t remain there with a new bunch of
smuggled Celestials swarming about our ears.”

“We don’t know yet whether that schooner landed any Chinamen or not!”
suggested Carl. “We had to duck away so fast that we couldn’t see what
took place. I wish we’d kept in the air long enough to find out!”

“I don’t wish anything of the kind!” Ben declared. “Daylight was coming
on and Mr. Havens told us to keep out of the air except during the
night. After we round up Phillips and Mendoza, we may take a throw at
the smugglers.”

“Perhaps Jimmie has gone over to the coast now,” suggested Carl.

“Much good it will do him!” grumbled Ben, “with that outlaw machine
chasing him up! I’m afraid the boy has got us into serious trouble,” he
added, “though I’m sure he meant everything for the best!”

During this conversation the strange visitor had been busy with the
provisions. He now drew back and regarded his hosts through half-open
eyes. The two boys approached the place where he sat.

“Me savvee you, alle same!” the Chinaman said.

As he spoke he drew one yellow finger across a wrist and an ankle, thus
indicating that he remembered them as friends because they had released
him. Then he arose to his feet and looked about.

“Savvee him,” he exclaimed pointing to the _Bertha_. “Savvee mate, alle
same!”

The Chinaman pointed straight to the east as he spoke.

“Do you mean,” asked Ben, “that you saw a machine like that in that
direction? How long ago was it?”

“No can do!” replied the Chinaman shaking his head vigorously.

“I believe he understands well enough,” exclaimed Carl. “I believe he
knows what we’re talking about!”

The Chinaman gazed stupidly from one boy to the other and then turned
away. The lads gazed after him in amazement.

“Where are you going?” asked Ben, and the Chinaman turned back.

“Savvee you, alle same!” he replied and pointed off to the north.
“Savvee you, alle same,” he repeated. “No can do.”

“Go to it!” shouted Carl. “Trot along and play you’re in a Chinese
laundry on Pell street. We love to see you eat, but we don’t like the
exuberance of your conversation!”

In ten minutes’ time the Chinaman, climbing the steep dip of the bowl
toward the north, disappeared from view in a thicket.

“Well, of all the consarned, everlasting, inscrutable combinations I
ever saw in my life!” exclaimed Carl, “this combination of Chinaman and
ignorance and hunger is about the worst! Now, what do you suppose he
came in here for, and then went away in broad daylight?”

“He probably came here to fill up!” answered Ben.

“What do you understand he meant by pointing to the _Bertha_ and then
pointing east? It seemed to me that he wanted to inform us that he had
seen a machine like that in that direction.”

“It might have been the outlaw machine now chasing Jimmie,” suggested
Ben. “He might have seen it before it passed over to the coast. It’s a
wonder to me that he wouldn’t get out of the country after being trussed
up by his own people.”

“It’s just one of the mysteries of the case,” laughed Carl. “We don’t
know anything about the Chinaman, or of Jimmie’s motive in going away,
or of the smugglers!”

The boys gathered up the remnants of the meal and sat down to wait for
the return of their chum. They had remained seated only a short time
when Carl called the other’s attention to the glistening planes of a
flying machine away to the north and east.

“There’s the Chink’s machine!” he exclaimed.

Both boys sprang to their feet and Ben rushed to the _Bertha_ for a
field glass. He looked steadily at the machine for a moment before
speaking, then he handed the glass to Carl.

“That’s certainly one of the largest aeroplanes I ever saw!” he cried.
“I’ve seen big ones, but I never saw anything like that before! What do
you make of it?” he continued as Carl lowered the glass.

“I’ve been thinking,” the latter replied, “that it might be the _Ann_!”

“If it is,” Ben answered, “she will miss us, for there she goes straight
off toward San Francisco. She’ll miss us sure!”

“Why don’t we get up in the air and chase her up?” asked Carl.

“I was just thinking of that,” answered Ben, “but, you see, there’s
Jimmie and Kit away, and they’d never be able to find us!”

“Don’t you ever think they won’t be able to find us!” exclaimed Carl.
“You can’t hide a flying machine the size of the _Bertha_ by taking it
up in the air. First thing we know,” he continued, “we’ll have all four
machines bunched. And then there’s likely to be a mix-up!”

“Well,” Ben said, “if we’re going to start after that flying machine, we
may as well be getting under way.”

As will be remembered, the _Bertha_ had been overhauled early that very
morning, and now it took only a moment to get her into the air. When she
came to the lip of the valley the boys saw the large aeroplane sailing
northward at great speed. Before Ben put on full power he turned to Carl
with an anxious look on his face.

“I shall have all I can attend to at the levers,” he said, “so you’ll
have to keep watch for Jimmie and his outlaw escort. Keep your eye on
the sky every minute of the time, and if you see two flying machines
doing a Marathon, just give me a poke in the ribs with your elbow.”

Carl nodded and Ben put on full speed, after which conversation was, of
course, impossible.

The machine ahead was going at terrific speed, and the _Bertha_ for a
time had all she could do to keep in sight of her. At that time it was
not a question of overhauling their quarry. The plucky little _Bertha_,
however, clung tightly to the chase, and Ben saw crags, canyons, shelves
of rock, and grassy valleys go whirling under his feet as one watches a
swiftly flying landscape from the window of a mile-a-minute train.

All through the exciting flight Carl kept his glass in use. He searched
the sea, now plainly visible to the west, the green landscape to the
east, and the rocky summits to the north and south but for a long time,
caught no glimpse of what he sought. After the chase had continued a
couple of hours the boys felt the machine sinking beneath them. They
both knew that there could be no good reason for this, as everything had
been in working order only a short time before.

Ben examined the mechanism as carefully as he could from his seat and
Carl glanced apprehensively at the tanks. Their judgment told them that
everything about the flying machine was exactly as it should be, and yet
she kept dropping down without any apparent reason.

Straight ahead was a level summit comparatively clear of rocks.
Realizing that something must be done at once, Ben shut off the motors
and volplaned down. The machine sank faster and faster, and the boys
looked at each other with frightened eyes.

It seemed as if the machine must fall short of the summit!




                              CHAPTER XVI.

                         THE INSIDE OF A JAIL.


As has been said, it was morning when Havens caught sight of the pretty
little city of Monterey on the Pacific coast. He had traveled steadily
all night, and was very tired, so he decided to drop down near the town
and rest during the day. Remembering the instructions he had given to
the boys, he had no thought of seeing either the _Louise_ or the
_Bertha_ in the air at that time.

The young millionaire had made a very swift flight across the continent.
It will be remembered that he had left New York city something like
twenty-four hours after the departure of the boys. The _Bertha_ and the
_Louise_ had spent fully twenty-four hours at St. Louis waiting for some
news of the _Ann_. On the morning when Havens alighted a short distance
from Monterey, the Flying Machine Boys had been on the coast something
like twelve hours. It will be understood, therefore, that the _Ann_ had
followed not far behind the _Louise_ and _Bertha_.

While the young millionaire was sleeping at a neat hotel, after
breakfast and a refreshing bath, Ben and his chums were discussing the
situation in the little grass bowl into which they had dropped the
machines during the dark hours.

Before leaving the _Ann_, Havens had, as he thought, taken extra
precautions for her safety. He had landed on a level surface in the
outskirts of the town, and had employed the man in charge of the local
garage to supply him with gasoline and at the same time station guards
about the machine.

While Havens slept a man who gave every indication of having traveled
over a long distance in a short time dashed into the hotel office and up
to the counter. The clerk eyed him coolly, as became a clerk having a
proper respect for his own dignity.

“Havens!” panted the man. “Is Mr. Havens here?”

“He is!” replied the clerk, readjusting the diamond pin in his
neck-scarf. “What do you want of Mr. Havens?”

“I want to see him!” was the panting reply.

“He left orders not to be disturbed!” growled the clerk.

“But he told me to let him know if anything happened to his machine!”
insisted the other. “Will you send for him?”

“I will not!” answered the clerk impudently.

“Then I shall have to go to his room!”

“I shall see that you don’t!” snarled the young man behind the counter.

“It’s a serious matter!” almost shouted the man in front of the desk.

“Write out a message, explaining your errand,” commanded the clerk, “and
I’ll have a boy take it to his room!”

The panting man reached calmly and deliberately over the counter, seized
the obstreperous clerk by the collar of his coat, and dragged him over
the obstruction. There he gave him such a shaking as a dog might have
given a rat, pitched him headlong to the floor, and gaily mounted the
stairs, taking three at a jump.

When he reached the top step the hall was ringing with his great bass
voice, and a little crowd was gathering below.

“Havens! Havens! Havens!” called the man who had assaulted the clerk.

It was not necessary for him to call many times, for the door of the
millionaire’s room opened almost instantly and his tired face looked out
on the man who was creating the disturbance.

“I thought I’d never get to you, Mr. Havens!” declared the intruder.

“You must have important information!” smiled the millionaire.

“I think,” the other went on, “that before we stop to discuss
possibilities, you’d better get your clothing on and make a break for
the field where you left the airship!”

In an instant Havens stood by the little heap of clothing he had
discarded not so very long before, and he was soon dressed and ready for
the street. Then he turned to the red-faced man at his side.

“What is it?” he asked.

“Rough-house!” was the reply.

“At the flying machine?” asked Havens.

“Yes,” was the disgusted reply. “There’s a man there claiming the
machine as stolen property, and there’s a crowd of yaps ready to back
him up. When I left, the two men I hired were standing them off with
loaded guns, but I don’t know how long they can hold the fort,” he added
with a smile. “It looked pretty serious when I left.”

For a moment Havens was almost dazed by the information. It meant that
word of his departure, and of that of the boys, had at last reached the
friends of Phillips and Mendoza on the Pacific coast. In some manner the
nature of his mission was known there at Monterey, and the friends of
the two outlaws were already busy.

“The first to do,” Havens suggested, as they passed down the stairway,
“is to notify the officers.”

“The fellow who claims the machine insists that he is acting for the
officers,” answered Stroup, the garage man.

“Well,” continued Havens, “we’ll have to take the sheriff and the chief
of police out there, and find out whether he does represent the officers
or not. We can soon settle his case.”

“I’m afraid,” Stroup replied hesitatingly, “that we won’t find any
machine there when we get back. It was just a riot!” he continued
angrily.

“The machine not there!” shouted Havens leaping for the door.

When he reached the porch in front of the little hotel he missed Stroup
and looked back. The garage man stood in front of the clerk and the
house detective who were attempting to place him under arrest for the
assault recently committed.

Enraged at the delay the young man hastened back into the hotel office.

“What’s the trouble here?” he demanded.

The whiskey-faced man standing beside the clerk tapped a brass badge on
the lapel of his coat significantly.

“I’m the house detective!” he declared.

“Glad to know you!” answered Havens. “What’s up?”

“I’m arresting this man for assault and battery, and for resisting an
officer. He’s committed an outrageous attack on the clerk.”

Stroup passed an inquiring glance at the millionaire, and Havens quietly
amused yet still anxious, gave a slight nod.

The next instant the maul-like fist of the garage man shot out with
lightning rapidity, and the clerk and the house detective tumbled over
on the floor. Before the clerk could straighten his necktie, or the
house detective staunch the flow of blood from his nose, Havens and
Stroup were well out of the house and on their way toward the threatened
flying machine, both looking rather sober.

As luck would have it, the hotel ’bus was just backing up to the walk a
short distance away, and the two fugitives immediately boarded her.

“Drive to the aeroplane!” shouted Stroup.

“Isn’t that rather indefinite?” asked Havens. “We can’t afford to lose
any time, you know.”

“Every man, woman, and child in town knows where the flying machine is
long before this!” answered the driver with a smile. “I’ve sent three
loads out there this morning now,” he added.

As the ’bus lumbered away, half a dozen excited individuals dashed out
of the hotel door and shouted for the driver to draw up. For a moment
the fellow hesitated and then began pulling on the reins.

“Get a move on! Get a move on!” shouted Stroup.

“But there seems to be other passengers,” argued the driver.

Havens hastily drew a ten-dollar bank-note from his pocket and thrust it
through the little opening to the driver.

“I’ll charter the ’bus for the trip!” he said with a smile. “Now run
away from the whole bunch.”

“Are you the owner of the machine?” asked the fellow.

“He certainly is!” answered Stroup. “Go faster!”

“I’ll do that,” agreed the driver, “because I think there’s something
doing out there.”

As the lumbering old vehicle drew away, lurching from side to side as
the horses ran at full speed, the crowd forming in front of the hotel
took to the middle of the street and followed on in hot pursuit,
shouting at the top of their lungs. Stroup eyed the procession grimly.

“At any rate,” he said, “we’re taking the right course to bring all the
officers in the city to the field where the machine lies.”

“I hope they’ll get there before any mischief is done,” said Havens.
“But look here,” he went on, “what was the trouble at the hotel? What
was that fellow arresting you for?”

“Why, he wouldn’t let me up to your room,” explained Stroup, “and I
shook him up a little. It is funny, the way his bones rattled as I
dumped him over in a corner of the room.”

“You’ll probably have a fine to pay,” Havens suggested, “but I’ll see
that it doesn’t cost you anything.”

“It’s worth a ten-dollar note to get your clutches on a puppy like
that!” said Stroup angrily. “He knew very well that my business was
important, for he had heard talk about trouble at the machine, and yet
he wanted to show his own importance at your expense.”

As the ’bus rolled and swayed down the street, it was followed by a
motley procession of hacks, delivery wagons, and private carriages. When
at last the aviator came in sight of the field where his machine had
been left he saw that it still lay on the ground.

“It’s there yet, all right!” shouted Stroup. “I guess we didn’t get here
any too soon, however!”

Those at the machine, the ones endeavoring to remove it under a
fraudulent process of law, saw the long line of vehicles trailing up the
street with the hotel ’bus at the head. Havens saw the crowd parting and
running in different directions, and then the _Ann_ lifted slowly into
the air.

At that moment Stroup was by far the more excited man of the two. He
opened the ’bus door and stood on the steps outside, waving one hand
frantically, his face glowing with excitement.

“Stop her, stop her!” he shouted.

The only answer which came was a cheer from the mob gathered below the
now swiftly ascending aeroplane.

When at last the ’bus reached the spot where the flying machine had
lain, it was at once surrounded by a crowd of curious and impertinent
spectators. Havens sprang to the ground and opened a conversation with
the first man he saw.

“I understand that the man who took the machine claims to be an
officer,” he said. “Will you point him out to me?”

“I am the officer!” said the fellow sticking out his chest.

“Where are your papers?” demanded Havens.

“A man don’t need no papers,” was the insulting reply, “in order to take
possession of stolen property, wherever he can find it!”

Stroup now pushed his way through the crowd to Havens’ side and looked
the fellow over with threatening eyes.

“Talk civil!” he advised in a moment.

“Now, Stroup,” said the officer, “don’t you go to butting into this!”

“That’s the man who let the thieves take my machine!” said Havens with
suppressed passion.

“That’s too bad,” exclaimed Stroup moving nearer to the officer.

Before Havens could lift a finger or say a word to prevent, Stroup shot
out a great fist which landed squarely between the eyes of the officer.
The fellow went down in a huddle on the ground, but the next moment the
posse he had gathered in order to back him in taking possession of the
machine gathered about Havens and Stroup.

“Here, here!” shouted a man in uniform pushing through the crowd. “I
arrest both of you fellows!”

“It strikes me,” Havens smiled, “that that really is the best way out of
it. This mob begins to look ugly.”

The two men willingly entered the ’bus with the officer and were hastily
driven to the city prison. When at last the door was closed and locked
against them, Havens turned to Stroup.

“Well,” he said, “for all long-distance, ready-for-action bruisers I
ever saw, you certainly take the cake! You’ve assaulted three men and
got us both locked up! And yet,” he added, “I rather like it!”

Stroup blushed and grinned and said not a word.




                             CHAPTER XVII.

                        A MESSAGE FROM THE SKY.


For a time it looked as if the _Bertha_ must fall far short of the
summit and drop to the jagged rocks below. There was nothing whatever
the boys could do. The song of the motors had almost ceased, and they
understood that through some mischance the gasoline tank had become
empty. The situation was a critical one.

The angle at which the flying machine was descending, however, included
the summit to which the boys were directing her. In a few moments she
landed at the top, and almost rolled down the opposite slope before the
momentum could be checked.

Ben instantly ran to the tanks and found them empty. He called to Carl,
and the two made a close examination of other portions of the machine.
There was nothing wrong anywhere except that the tanks were dry!

Ben pointed to the drain cock at the bottom and found that it had been
turned about half-way. That explained the situation.

“What surprises me,” he said, “is that we never noticed the leak. Why,
we should have been able to smell the wasting gasoline before we left
the camp. I don’t understand why we didn’t.”

“That’s easy,” explained Carl. “We were cleaning up the machines this
morning, oiling and shifting a little gasoline from one car to the
other, and so we never noted the additional evaporation.”

“I’m sure I never turned that cock when I was working over the machine!”
declared Ben. “And I think I’m the only one who worked around the
tanks.”

“Look here,” exclaimed Carl, a sudden suspicion coming into his face,
“you remember the Chinaman who came out from under the planes and
consumed about a dollar’s worth of groceries!”

Ben stared at his chum for a moment and then dropped down on the ground.
His face was hard and set.

“That’s it!” he cried angrily. “That’s just it! The Chink ran our
perfectly good gasoline into the ground and then sat down at our
hospitable board. I only wish I had him here right by the pigtail!”

“In that case,” suggested Carl, “I don’t think he’d want another square
meal in about three months. His greatest need would be a hospital.”

“There’s no doubt of that!” replied Ben. “Why, it was actually murder to
do what that fellow did! I had an idea while he was eating that he
didn’t act exactly like a man accustomed to eating with chopsticks. I’ve
seen men at Sherry’s who didn’t have any better table manners than he
had. That fellow was a fraud!”

While the boys were exclaiming over the loss of their gasoline and
wondering how they were ever going to get the _Bertha_ out of the
position in which she now lay, Carl threw a cushion from one of the
seats and sat down upon it, with the remark that it made the rock some
softer.

Ben stepped forward and drew a folded slip of paper from the under side
of the cushion and held it up.

“Did you leave that there?” he asked.

Carl shook his head wonderingly.

“Of course not,” he replied. “I don’t drop any letters in the
post-office when I can communicate verbally with the man I want to
advise with. Perhaps Jimmie or Kit left it there.”

“Well, the way to find out about it is to open it,” suggested Ben, “so
here goes! There certainly isn’t much of it.”

The boy opened the note and read aloud for the benefit of his chum, who
stood by eager-eyed and excited.

“‘Don’t leave this place with the machine. The gasoline is out, or
nearly so.’”

“Is it written in Chinese?” asked Carl with a frown.

“Chinese, nothing!” exclaimed Ben. “It’s good honest English, and
written in a pretty good hand at that!”

“Then that Chink wasn’t a Chink at all!” cried Carl.

“There are Chinamen who can read and write English,” suggested Ben.

“But this fellow pretended that he couldn’t even understand English.”

“I’d give a heap to know something about this puzzle,” Ben declared. “We
find this fellow tied up in a smugglers’ cave one night, and the next
morning we find him snooping about our camp, consuming our provisions
and wasting our gasoline. That was a treacherous trick for him to play
on us! I hope we’ll come across him some other day.”

“The question before the house right now,” Carl explained, “is how we’re
going to get off this bald-headed old peak. We might be able to tumble
down into one of the valleys below, but we wouldn’t be any better off
there than we are here. Besides,” he went on, “our making our way down
wouldn’t help us any with the machine.”

“If Jimmie would only show up with the _Louise_, now, we might borrow
enough gasoline to get us back to level ground again. And still,” Ben
went on, “we wouldn’t have fuel enough to do much racing until the tanks
were filled. It’s a rotten scrape we’re in, and that’s no fairy tale.”

“Here’s a problem for you to solve when you get through with all the
others,” grinned Carl. “I want you to tell me why that Chink wasted our
gasoline, and then warned us not to use the machine.”

“I give it up!” declared Ben. “There’s no use of trying to guess it out!
It’s just another little old mystery!”

“And why did he pretend that he couldn’t understand English?” persisted
Carl. “Was that in order that he might hear what we were talking about
without our suspecting that he was listening with the intention of
betraying us? It seems to me that that must be it.”

“I tell you I don’t know!” almost shouted Ben, “and I’m not going to
puzzle over the matter any longer. Here we are up on a bald old peak
without any show of ever getting our machine down to the ground again,
and that’s enough for me to brood over for the time being.”

“This is a beautiful view from this mountain!” suggested Carl, with a
grin. “Note the sunlight on the valleys below.”

“Aw, dry up!” cried Ben. “What’s the use of rubbing it in?”

“But,” urged Carl, “just think of the situation Noah was in when he
landed his Ark on top of a mountain!”

Ben threw a pebble at his chum and turned moodily away.

“I wouldn’t have your disposition for a barrel of gasoline!” laughed
Carl.

“I wish I could trade my disposition for a barrel of gasoline,” grinned
Ben. “That might help some.”

“Well,” Carl said rather excitedly, in a moment, “you may keep your
precious disposition, for here comes our barrel of gasoline!”

“You must have been reading a dream book!” exclaimed Ben.

“Honest!” shouted Carl. “If you’ll take a squint up there to the north,
you’ll see the _Ann_ come poking back! If you don’t believe that is the
_Ann_ with Havens on board, just observe the signals in sight.”

“I guess that’s the _Ann_ all right,” Ben returned. “I hope she’s got
full tanks of fuel. We need a lot right now.”

The great flying machine came winging south at a great rate of speed,
and finally, after circling the peak several times, volplaned down to
the _Bertha_. The boys sprang forward to greet Havens, but drew back in
a moment for the aviator was a man they had never seen before.

The machine was the _Ann_, sure enough but she was in the hands of two
men who were total strangers to the boys. They were slender, dark
fellows, with oblong eyes and low foreheads.

“The _Bertha_?” asked one of the men in almost perfect English, stepping
close to the machine. “You seem to have met with an accident.”

“It’s the _Bertha_ all right,” Ben answered, “and we’re out of
gasoline.”

“And where is the _Louise_?” asked the other.

“Off on a scout somewhere,” was the indefinite reply.

“That’s unfortunate,” the other began, “for we are instructed by Mr.
Havens to notify you all to turn back to New York at once.”

“What’s the meaning of that?” demanded Carl.

“Mr. Havens didn’t take me into his confidence to any great extent,” was
the reply, “but I understood from what he said that you were no longer
needed in this section. Is there any way you can signal to the
_Louise_?”

Now Ben did not believe the man to be speaking the truth. In the first
place, Havens would never have sent an entire stranger in the _Ann_. In
the second place, Phillips, one of the murderers, had been seen at
liberty in that district that very morning, so the hunt was still on!

The natural result of this reasoning was the belief on the part of t

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