The Flying Machine Boys on Secret Service

He saw the men pointing toward the aeroplane, heard them shouting to some one on the other side. Then they came on down the slope, half-running, half-sliding in their haste.

“Now, that’s a nice thing!” the boy mused. “They are probably wise to what we were up to, and stood ready to make a run as soon as we landed. I wish I knew whether Carl butted into them or whether he got away.”

All doubt regarding the matter was settled the next moment, for Carl appeared on the summit, accompanied by three husky-looking men. The men beckoned to Jimmie and called out to those who were running down the slope. It was clear that they were inviting him to remain where he was until the others came up.

Jimmie could not see the face of his chum, of course, the distance being too great. In fact, he only knew that it was Carl because of his being smaller than the others. He could, however, distinguish motions made by the boy, and these motions commanded him, as plainly as words could have done, to get the Louise away before the arrival of the men who were descending the slope.

Unwilling to leave his chum without knowing more of the situation, Jimmie hesitated. As he did so, he saw Carl drawn violently over the ridge. The last movement he saw was made by the boy’s outstretched arms, commanding him to take the Louise into the air as soon as possible!

He hesitated no longer but sprang to the seat and set the motors in motion. The machine lifted clumsily, for the landing had not been a smooth one, but finally got her into the air, not more than a score of feet distant from the men who were rushing down upon her.

The boy anticipated a serious time in getting away, but, although the men below flourished revolvers threateningly, no bullets were fired. He brought the machine around to the east in a moment and swept over the heads of the men below. The group remained at the summit as he passed over, swinging down over the camp.

There was naturally great excitement below, and the boy would have enjoyed the situation immensely if he had been sure of the safety of his chum. The occupants of the camp rushed out of their tents and threw their hands and voices into the air as he moved along, only a few yards above their heads. Again weapons were displayed but no shots came.

The boy circled the camp twice, but was unable to catch sight of Carl. Realizing that the boy had undoubtedly been taken to one of the tents, he turned the machine down the gorge to the valley and swept straight on toward the shelf of rock from which the red and green signals had been shown on the first night of their arrival in that vicinity.

By keeping to this route he was not obliged to ascend to the summit in order to leave the valley where the hunters’ camp was situated. When he came closer to the shelf of rock where the signal fire had burned, he saw three men standing in plain view.

“I reckon the whole population of British Columbia is centering in these hills,” the boy mused. “There must have been a dozen or more people in the hunters’ camp when I passed over it not long ago, and now here’s three more probably belonging to the same crowd.”

When the boy came within a few paces of the rock he whirled away to the south, not caring to seek a landing on the other side of the snowy ridge. As the machine lifted he saw two more men in the gorge or canyon which led from the summit down to the shelf.

“If the men who abducted Colleton and brought him into this country sought a location filled with peace and solitude, they will probably get out of it at the earliest moment,” Jimmie mused.

As the boy turned on full speed in the direction of his camp he caught sight of an object which caused him to hesitate and then set out in a circling tour of the valley.

What he saw was the plane of a flying machine lifting above the top of the ridge to the east.

CHAPTER XVIII.

THE MYSTERIOUS SIGNALS

When Carl reached the top of the slope lying between the spot where the Louise had landed and the camp occupied by the hunters, he found himself confronted by two men who were climbing up from the tents below.

The men addressed him civilly, asking about the aeroplane which had just passed over the camp, and suggesting that the two boys join them at dinner. They were well-dressed, pleasant-appearing fellows, evidently products of city life.

“I don’t think we can accept of your hospitality to-night,” the boy answered, “because we can’t both leave the machine at the same time. And besides,” he went on, “it will soon be sundown, and we ought to be getting back to our friends.”

“Why, we’ll send a man over to watch the machine,” one of the hunters argued. “Or, better still,” he continued, “you can bring the machine right into the camp. So far as I’m concerned, I wish your friends were with you. New faces are always welcome in a mountain camp.”

Seeing how insistent the men were, Carl determined to bring the interview to a close immediately, and turned back up the westward slope which he had started to descend.

“Just thought we’d call for a minute,” he said. “If you don’t mind, we’ll come over early in the day before long and have a good visit.”

The two men who were now joined by a third followed the lad back to the summit arguing all the way that he ought not to take his departure so soon. When the Louise came into view they began beckoning and calling to Jimmie, as the reader already knows, and also shouting to those in the camp below.

“Tell your friend to come on up!” argued one of the men. “You may as well cross the ridge at this point as farther up. We’d like to have a look at your machine. Besides, you really must have a cup of coffee with us before you go away. We can’t lose our guests so soon.”

During this conversation the men had been beckoning to Jimmie, inviting him by gestures to bring his machine to camp. Seeing that the men were not inclined to let him depart at that time, the boy began signaling to Jimmie to get away in the Louise before the men got to her.

“Here, kid!” shouted the man who had been doing most of the talking, “don’t do that. He’ll think you want him to go away and leave you here.”

“I want him to get the machine away all right!” Carl answered.

“You’re an obstinate little rascal!” replied the man. “Here, Bob,” he added, turning to one of the others, “take this kid down to the camp and keep him there until I return.”

It was at this point that the men came chasing down the slope and Jimmie got away in the machine. Carl saw the aeroplane gliding over the camp with a great deal of satisfaction. He had been forced into one of the tents near the great fire, but could see the airship distinctly through the opening in front. Directly the man he had talked with on the summit entered the tent and sat down by the boy’s side.

“My name is Frank Harris,” he said abruptly, “what’s yours?”

“Carl Nichols,” the boy replied, with a grin which brought a smile to the other’s face. “What do you want to know that for?”

“Where are you from?” was the next question.

“The Big Puddle,” replied Carl.

“Meaning New York?”

“Sure,” answered Carl, “there’s only one big puddle in the world.”

“What became of the flying machine you boys were chasing the other night?” asked Harris after a moment’s reflection.

“She dropped into a hole in the air and the aviator was killed,” replied the boy gravely.

Harris sprang to his feet with a muffled oath and paced up and down in front of the tent for some time without speaking. When he returned to the boy’s side his face wore an expression blended between suspicion and dismay. Carl remained silent until the man spoke again.

“Is that right?” Harris asked. “Are you telling me the truth?”

“Sure, I’m telling you the truth!” replied the boy. “The aviator fell into a hole in the air and didn’t know how to get out of it. We made a shallow grave and piled about a ton of rock on top of it. If you want to get the body we’ll show you where it is any time.”

“Do you know,” Harris began rather angrily, “I hardly believe this story about the man falling into a hole in the air! Are you sure he didn’t come to his death as the result of a conflict with some member of your party?”

“You don’t think we murdered him, do you?” demanded Carl.

“Oh, I didn’t say that!” Harris hastened to say. “I only want you to understand that the matter isn’t yet settled in my mind. What about the machine which you say was wrecked?”

“So far as I know,” answered the boy, “it still lies where it fell, and just as it fell, except that we removed some guy wires to strengthen our own machine. I don’t think the motors can be used again. We used the canvas of the planes for a winding sheet, and brought away the gasoline.”

“We’ll get the poor fellow out to-morrow!” Harris promised, “and send the body east to his friends.”

“You knew him, then?” asked Carl.

Harris hesitated, colored a trifle, and began a busy pacing of the ground in front of the tent again.

“I reckon he sees that he’s made a mistake in claiming any knowledge of that fellow!” the boy mused with a quiet chuckle.

“What was it you asked?” inquired Harris, pausing in front of the tent. “Oh, I remember,” he went on, “you wanted to know if we knew this aviator who was killed in the race with you.”

“Why, yes,” Carl replied. “You seemed to know where he lived and who his friends were. I thought perhaps you might know all about him.”

“We know nothing whatever about him!” replied Harris, rather angrily. “He landed at our camp the day before the accident and visited with us a long time. He seemed to be a very pleasant and intelligent man. So far as his friends are concerned, we know nothing about them. When I remarked that we would forward the body, I did so under the supposition that papers in his possession would inform us as to his name and residence.”

“I see,” replied Carl with a knowing smile which the other was not slow in understanding. “How did you people come to know about the race?”

“Why, one of our men was up on the summit when the race began and saw the aeroplanes flying south. We know nothing further than that!”

“I’m sorry for what took place,” Carl said, “but the man was sailing over our camp in a suspicious manner, and we thought we’d find out what he wanted. As a matter of fact, he needn’t have run away when our machine took after him. There was no need of that.”

The fact was, as the reader well understands, that the dead aviator had not been circling the boys’ camp at all. The race, as Carl well knew, had started in the vicinity of the smugglers’ cave where the Louise had taken up the chase. The boy made the above statement half expecting that Harris would contradict him, and so show some further knowledge of the race and the man who had been killed.

Harris looked suspiciously at the boy for a moment, half-opening his lips to speak, but finally decided to remain silent.

“There’s another thing I want to ask you about,” he went on after a moment. “You have a young Englishman named DuBois in your camp.”

“How did you know that?” asked Carl.

“Why,” was the rather embarrassed reply, “our boys are traveling over the country in search of game, and we naturally know what’s going on around us! Besides, we know something about that Englishman. When he left us, we had a notion that he would go to some nearby camp.”

“If he tells the truth,” Carl replied, “our camp hadn’t been pitched when he left yours.”

“It is my impression,” Harris answered, “that DuBois reached your camp on the evening of the day he left ours. Did he have a valuable looking burro with him when he came to you?”

“He was on foot,” replied Carl, “and we saw nothing of anything like a burro. He appeared to be completely exhausted with walking.”

“That was a bit of acting on his part! When he left us he took with him a burro worth at least two hundred dollars. Large sums of money also disappeared from the tents that same morning. The boys learned to-day that he was at your camp and they’re going over to get him.”

“Will they take him to prison?” asked Carl wonderingly.

“I’m afraid not!” was the significant reply.

“What then?”

“Justice is mighty slow and terribly uncertain in this country,” Harris answered. “In fact,” he continued, “there’s only one judge who tries cases to the liking of the people.”

“You mean Judge Lynch!” suggested Carl.

“That’s his name,” laughed Harris heartlessly.

“You don’t mean to say that they’d lynch DuBois without giving him a hearing?” demanded the boy.

“I’m afraid they would!” was the reply.

“You don’t approve of such outrages, do you?”

“Certainly not!”

“Then, why don’t you send some one over to the camp to warn DuBois? Or send an officer who might take him to Field and turn him over to the law? That would be the right thing to do!”

“I’ve been thinking of doing that!” replied Harris. “I wish your friend had remained with the machine. Then we could have sent an officer over to-night.”

“He might have remained if you people hadn’t made such a rush for him!” laughed Carl. “You frightened him away.”

“You’re a pair of bright boys!” laughed Harris. “I wish I could find a young fellow just like you to put into my Wall street office. If you showed the same courage and resourcefulness there that you do in the mountains, you’d be apt to make the money-kings sit up and take notice in a few years. Such young men are needed in New York!”

“I don’t think I’d care to enter on a Wall street career,” Carl replied, not at all deceived by the gilded bait so cunningly extended.

“Think it over,” continued Harris. “You may change your mind after you leave the mountains. It’s a fine opening for you!”

The lad promised to consider the proposition seriously, and Harris went away. He returned in a few moments with a bountiful supper, which he shared with the boy. All through the meal he continued his questions regarding the race, the Englishman, and the purpose of the boys in visiting that section of British Columbia.

Carl answered the questions truthfully whenever he could. He understood, however, that the attitude of the man who seemed to be so friendly was absolutely hostile. After supper Harris went away and Carl sat in the door of the tent watching for the return of the flying machine. He rather expected that Jimmie would return with one of the boys in order to find out the exact situation.

The tent in which he had been placed faced the south and was directly in front of the fire. As darkness fell he saw members of the party gathering about the blaze with tin cans in their hands.

“Now,” he mused, “I wonder what they’re going to do. Looks like they might about to warm up lobster or canned roast beef for supper.”

When it became quite dark in the valley the boy was amazed at seeing one of the men pour a powder from one of the cans into a long-handled shovel and drop it from there into the fire. The blaze flared up as red as a police danger-signal.

Carl came nearer to the flap of the tent and looked out to the north and east. Greatly to his astonishment he saw a green flame on the shelf of rock which cut the mountainside at the foot of the canyon in which lay the smugglers’ cave.

When the red light in front of his tent died down it was succeeded by a green flame. A glance at the distant shelf at that instant revealed a red one. The boy drew back into the tent with a soft chuckle.

“I guess we didn’t dope it out correctly when we figured that the signals on the shelf were not intended entirely for whiskey smugglers,” he said. “It seems to me that these hunters who talked about Wall street and money-kings are pretty thick with the outlaws!”

CHAPTER XIX.

A SURPRISE FOR JIMMIE

When Jimmie saw the planes of the flying machine on the east side of the summit he dodged away in order that the aviator still below the line of the ridge might not catch sight of the Louise until he was himself well in the air. The boy wanted to know, before coming to close quarters, whether this machine was a new one in that vicinity, and whether the man in charge was in sympathy with those on the shelf below.

As soon as the aeroplane came into full view, however, the boy chuckled and swung close over. It was the Bertha, and Ben occupied the aviator’s seat. Jimmie pointed toward the men on the shelf, asking mutely whether he ought to land, and Ben shook his head warningly.

Rather to the disappointment of Jimmie, Ben speeded the Bertha toward the valley instead of circling the gully and the shelf where the men stood. However, he was somewhat mollified when he saw Ben seeking a landing-place. In a very short time the two machines lay side by side on the grass, and the boys were conferring together.

Twilight was falling fast, and the light of the fire on the shelf brought the scene there into distinct view. The boys were not so far away that they could not recognize one face and figure standing by the fire.

At first Jimmie could hardly believe that he saw aright, but in a moment his impression was confirmed by his chum.

“What’s DuBois doing with those men?” Jimmie asked.

“He’s trying to get away!” was the reply.

“Who are the men?” asked Jimmie.

“They’re from Neil Howell’s hunting camp.”

“I thought so!” replied Jimmie. “But what do they want of DuBois?”

“They’ve got him under arrest!” replied Ben.

“That’s a nice thing, too! What have they got him under arrest for?”

“They claim that he stole a horse or a mule or a burro and a lot of money from their tent.”

“You don’t believe it, do you?” asked Jimmie.

“I certainly do not!”

“What are they going to do with him?”

“They’re going to take him back to their camp. One of the men said they’d probably lynch him when they got him there.”

“Did they get him out of our camp?” asked the boy.

“No,” answered Ben, “I’m the one that’s to blame for his being in his present predicament. I set out in the Bertha to see what was going on at the smugglers’ camp, and let him go with me. When we landed those fellows came rushing out with guns in their hands and grabbed the Englishman. I had a gun with me, but of course I couldn’t do anything against three husky men like the hunters.”

“And that leaves Mr. Havens alone, of course!” Jimmie said.

“He thought we’d better go before dark,” Ben explained. “And now,” he continued, “what have you done with Carl?”

Jimmie explained what had taken place at the hunters’ camp, and the two boys looked into each other’s faces with no little anxiety showing in their eyes. Ben was first to speak.

“What did they geezle him for?” he asked.

“I couldn’t imagine at the time,” Jimmie answered, “but I think I see through the scheme now. When DuBois left their camp and came to ours they naturally understood that he would tell us all he knew about what was going on at the place he had just left.”

“There wasn’t much to tell,” suggested Ben.

“We don’t know whether there was or not!” answered Jimmie. “That Englishman hasn’t told us all he knows about the doings there by any means! He probably knew about the signals. That is, if they had been in action on previous nights, and he probably knew whether the aviator who was killed had made any visits to the hunters. You probably noticed how thoughtful DuBois looked when we told him that the aviator was dead and that there were no identifying marks or papers about him.”

“Of course I noticed that!” Ben said.

“I don’t believe the Englishman told us half he knows about that bunch,” Jimmie declared, “and it’s my private opinion that he never stole a thing at that camp! I guess when we know the truth about the matter, we’ll find that he knows too much about those fellows, and that’s why they want to get hold of him!”

“You still believe in the Englishman, do you?” laughed Ben.

“You bet I do!” answered Jimmie. “And I just believe they got him into the mountains because they suspected he knew what was going on in that Pullman stateroom. If you leave it to me, some of the hunters over there are mixed up in the abduction of Colleton!”

“That would be too good to be true!” exclaimed Ben.

“Why would it,” demanded Jimmie.

“Because it’s a long step in the game we’re playing to find the men who actually took part in the plot against Colleton. If we have found them in that bunch over there, we’ve made mighty good progress!”

“Well, when it all comes out at the end,” Jimmie insisted, “you’ll find that some of those fellows are in the deal, all right! And you’ll find that they got DuBois out into the mountains for the reasons I have already given. They doubtless expected they could keep him with them until the whole thing blew over. But he ran away for some reasons of his own and they’re afraid he’ll talk!”

“You’re the wise little Sherlocko!” laughed Ben.

Jimmie arose, seized his chum by the shoulders, whirled him around so that his face looked out toward the shelf of rock, and gave him a playful punch in the back.

“I’m the wise little Sherlocko, am I?” he demanded. “If you think I’m not right, just look there.”

“What does it mean?” asked Ben as red and green signals alternated from the blaze at the foot of the gully.

“It means that the hunters who have grabbed DuBois are communicating with the same sort of signals we saw before with the men in Neil Howell’s camp!”

“Perhaps they are explaining that they’ve captured DuBois.”

“I don’t care what they’re explaining,” Jimmie exclaimed impatiently. “What I’m trying to get through your thick head is the fact that they’re using the same kind of signals the smugglers used. They are also using the red and green fire the smugglers carried to their rendezvous.”

“I understand!” Ben exclaimed. “That establishes the connection, all right! Now, what are we going to do about it?”

“You got DuBois into that mess,” Jimmie grinned, “and it’s up to you to get him out. It’s a wonder they ever let you get away with your machine after grabbing him! They overlooked a bet, there.”

“They didn’t want me to get away with it,” Ben answered modestly. “In fact,” he continued, “they placed a man down there to see that I didn’t get away with it. While they were busy putting DuBois through the third degree, I slipped down to the machine and caught the guard when he wasn’t looking. Then I got away with the Bertha.”

“Caught him when he wasn’t looking, did you?” chuckled Jimmie. “What did you do to him?”

“I bumped him on the coco with the butt of my automatic!” was the reply. “I guess probably he’s laying on the ground there yet!”

“You’re the wise little sleuth, too!” laughed Jimmie. “And now,” he continued, “have you any idea how we’re going to wedge our way into that mess of pirates and cut out DuBois?”

“I haven’t an idea in my head!” answered Ben. “And I think we’d better go back to camp and talk to Mr. Havens about it. Probably he’ll know what to do!”

“He ought to be consulted in the matter anyway,” said Jimmie.

“Yes, and by the time we get done talking with Mr. Havens those outlaws will have DuBois halfway over to their camp,” grumbled Ben.

“Well, you proposed talking with Mr. Havens yourself!”

“Yes, but I didn’t think that time was an important element in this case just now. Do you think you can climb that slope and get up to the place where those fellows are without being seen?”

“We can climb the slope all right!” Jimmie answered.

“And we ought to do it without being seen,” Ben went on, “because it’s going to be darker than a stack of black cats.”

“What’ll we do when we get there?” asked Jimmie.

“We’ll have to settle that question on the ground!” answered Ben.

“Look here!” cried Jimmie. “I’ve got a hunch!”

“What’s the answer?” asked Ben.

“When we sneak up the slope, we’ll make for the place where the whiskey is stored. If Crooked Terry is there at all he’ll be drunk, and we’ll talk immunity, and a lot of other stuff to him, until he thinks we’re there to save him from a life sentence in the penitentiary. That will give us the run of the cavern, and we ought to be able to sneak out at some time during the night and get DuBois away.”

“If they leave him there all night!” Ben replied.

“There’s no danger of their making a hike to the hunters’ camp in the darkness,” Jimmie replied. “Those fellows are not mountain men, and they’d break their necks before they had gone halfway down the slope.”