The Flying Machine Boys in the Wilds

In a couple of minutes Carl caught the boy by the arm and pointed along the finger of light.

“Hold it steadier now,” he said. “I saw a movement there just now.”

“What kind of a movement?” asked the other.

“Looked like a ball of fire.”

“It may be the cat!” suggested Jimmie.

“Quit your foolishness!” advised Carl impatiently. “This is a serious situation, and there’s no time for any grandstanding!”

“A ball of fire!” repeated Jimmie scornfully. “What would a ball of fire be doing there?”

“What would a blue ball of fire be doing on the roof?” asked Carl, reprovingly. “Yet we saw one there, didn’t we?”

Although Jimmie was inclined to treat the situation as lightly as possible, he knew very well that the peril was considerable. Like a good many other boys in a trying situation, he was usually inclined to keep his unpleasant mental processes to himself. He now engaged in what seemed to Carl to be trivial conversation, yet the desperate situation was no less firmly impressed upon his mind.

The boys waited for some moments before speaking again, listening and watching for the reappearance of the object which had attracted their attention.

“There!” Carl cried in a moment. “Move your light a little to the left. I’m sure I saw a flash of color pass the opening.”

“I saw that too!” Jimmie agreed. “Now what do you think it can be?”

In a moment there was no longer doubt regarding the presence at the opening which was being watched so closely. The deep vocal vibrations which had been noticed from the other chamber seemed to shake the very wall against which the boy stood. As before, it was followed in a moment by the piercing, lifting cry which on the first occasion had suggested the appeal of a woman in agony or terror.

The boys stood motionless, grasping each other by the hand, and so each seeking the sympathy and support of the other, until the weird sound died out.

“And that,” said Jimmie in a moment, “is no ghost!”

“Ghost?” repeated Carl scornfully. “You may as well talk about a ghost making that gate and setting it against us!”

“Anyway,” Jimmie replied, “the wail left an odor of sulphur in the air!”

“Yes,” answered Carl, “and the sulphur you speak of is a sulphur which comes from the dens of wild beasts! Now do you know what we’re up against?”

“Mountain lions!” exclaimed Jimmie.

“Jaguars!” answered Carl.

“I hope they’re locked in!” suggested Jimmie.

“Can you see anything that looks like a grate before that opening?” asked Carl. “I’m sure I can’t.”

“Nothing doing in that direction!” was the reply.

At regular intervals, now, a great, lithe, crouching body could be seen moving back and forth at the opening, and now and then a cat-like head was pushed into the room! At such times the eyes of the animal, whatever it was, shone like balls of red fire in the reflection of the electric light. Although naturally resourceful and courageous, the two boys actually abandoned hope of ever getting out of the place alive!

“I wonder how many wild animals there are in there?” asked Carl in a moment. “It seems to me that I have seen two separate figures.”

“There may be a dozen for all we know,” Jimmie returned. “Gee!” he exclaimed, reverting to his habit of concealing serious thoughts by lightly spoken words, “Daniel in the lion’s den had nothing on us!”

“How many shots have you in your automatic?” asked Carl, drawing his own from his pocket. “We’ll have to do some shooting, probably.”

“Why, I have a full clip of cartridges,” Jimmie answered.

“But have you?” insisted Carl.

“Why, surely, I have!” returned Jimmie. “Don’t you remember we filled our guns night before last and never–”

“I thought so!” exclaimed Carl, ruefully. “We put in fresh clips night before last, and exploded eight or nine cartridges apiece on the return trip to Quito. Now, how many bullets do you think you have available? One or two?”

“I don’t know!” replied Jimmie, and there was almost a sob in his voice as he spoke. “I presume I have only one.”

“Perhaps the electric light may keep the brutes away,” said Carl hopefully. “You know wild animals are afraid of fire.”

“Yes, it may,” replied Jimmie, “but it strikes me that our little torches will soon become insufficient protectors. Those are jaguars out there, I suppose you know. And they creep up to camp-fires and steal savage children almost out of their mothers’ arms!”

“Where do you suppose Sam is by this time?” asked Carl, in a moment, as the cat-like head appeared for the fourth or fifth time at the opening.

“I’m afraid Sam couldn’t get in here in time to do us any good even if he stood in the corridor outside!” was the reply. “Whatever is done, we’ve got to do ourselves.”

“And that brings us down to a case of shooting!” Carl declared.

“It’s only a question of time,” Jimmie went on, “when the jaguars will become hungry enough to attack us. When they get into the opening, full under the light of the electric, we’ll shoot.”

“I’ll hold the light,” Carl argued, “and you do the shooting. You’re a better marksman than I am, you know! When your last cartridge is gone, I’ll hand you my gun and you can empty that. If there’s only two animals and you are lucky with your aim, we may escape with our lives so far as this one danger is concerned. How we are to make our escape after that is another matter.”

“If there are more than two jaguars,” Jimmie answered, “or if I’m unlucky enough to injure one without inflicting a fatal wound, it will be good-bye to the good old flying machines.”

“That’s about the size of it!” Carl agreed.

All this conversation had occurred, of course, at intervals, whenever the boys found the heart to put their hopes and plans into words. It seemed to them that they had already spent hours in the desperate situation in which they found themselves. The periods of silence, however, had been briefer than they thought, and the time between the departure of Sam and that moment was not much more than half an hour.

“There are two heads now!” Jimmie said, after a time, “and they’re coming out! Hold your light steady when they reach the center of the room. I can’t afford to miss my aim.”

“Is your arm steady?” almost whispered Carl.

“Never better!” answered Jimmie.

Four powerful, hungry, jaguars, instead of two, crept out of the opening! Jimmie tried to cheer his companion with the whispered hope that there might possibly be bullets enough for them all, and raised his weapon. Two shots came in quick succession, and two jaguars crumpled down on the floor. Nothing daunted, the other brutes came on, and Jimmie seized Carl’s automatic. The only question now was this:

How many bullets did the gun hold?

CHAPTER XVI.

BESIEGED IN THE TEMPLE

As Sam watched the shadow cast by the moonlight on the marble slab at the entrance, his prisoner turned sharply about and lifted a hand as if to shield himself from attack.

“A savage!” he exclaimed in a terrified whisper.

It seemed to Sam Weller at that moment that no word had ever sounded more musically in his ears. The expression told him that a third element had entered into the situation. He believed from recent experiences that the savages who had been seen at the edge of the forest were not exactly friendly to the two white men. Whether or not they would come to his assistance was an open question, but at least there was a chance of their creating a diversion in his favor.

“How do you know the shadow is that of a savage?” asked Sam.

The prisoner pointed to the wide doorway and crowded back behind his captor. There, plainly revealed in the moonlight, were the figures of two brawny native Indians! Felix was approaching the entrance with a confident step, and the two watchers saw him stop for an instant and address a few words to one of the Indians. The next moment the smile on the fellow’s face shifted to a set expression of terror.

Before he could utter another word, he received a blow on the head which stretched him senseless on the smooth marble. Then a succession of threatening cries came from the angle of the cliff, and half a dozen Indians swarmed up to where the unconscious man lay!

The prisoner now crouched behind his captor, his body trembling with fear, his lips uttering almost incoherent appeals for protection.

The savages glanced curiously into the temple for a moment and drew their spears and bludgeons. Sam turned his eyes away with a shudder. He heard blows and low hisses of enmity, but there came no outcry.

When he looked again the moonlight showed a dark splotch on the white marble, and that alone! The Indians and their victim had disappeared.

“Mother of Mercy!” shouted the prisoner in a faltering tone.

“Where did they take him?” asked Sam.

The prisoner shuddered and made no reply. The mute answer, however, was sufficient. The young man understood that Felix had been murdered by the savages within sound of his voice.

“Why?” he asked the trembling prisoner.

“Because,” was the hesitating answer, “they believe that only evil spirits come out of the sky in the night-time.”

Sam remembered of his own arrival and that of his friends, and congratulated himself and them that the savages had not been present to witness the event.

“And they think he came in the machine?” asked Sam.

The prisoner shuddered and covered his face with his hands.

“And now,” demanded Sam, “in order to save your own life, will you tell me what I want to know?”

The old sullen look returned to the eyes of the captive. Perhaps he was thinking of the great reward he might yet receive from his distant employers if he could escape and satisfy them that the boys had perished in the trap set for them. At any rate he refused to answer at that time. In fact his hesitation was a brief one, for while Sam waited, a finger upon the trigger of his automatic, two shots came from the direction of the chamber across the corridor, and the acrid smell of gunpowder came to his nostrils.

The prisoner gasped and opened his lips. It was undoubtedly his belief at that time that all his hopes of making a favorable report to his employers had vanished. The shots, he understood, indicated resistance; perhaps successful resistance.

“Yes,” he said hurriedly, his knees almost giving way under the weight of his shaking body. “Yes, I’ll tell you where your friends are.”

He hesitated and pointed toward the opposite entrance.

“In there!” he cried. “Felix caused them to be thrown to the beasts!”

The young man seized the prisoner fiercely by the throat.

“Show me the way!” he demanded.

The captive still pointed to the masked entrance across the corridor and Sam drew him along, almost by main force. When they came to the narrow passage at the eastern end of which the barred gate stood, they saw a finger of light directed into the interior of the apartment.

While they looked, Sam scarcely knowing what course to pursue, two more shots sounded from within, and the odor of burned powder became almost unbearable. Sam threw himself against the iron gate and shouted out:

“Jimmie! Carl!”

“Here!” cried a voice out of the smoke. “Come to the gate with your gun. I missed the last shot, and Carl is down!”

Still pushing the prisoner ahead of him, Sam crowded through the narrow passage and stood looking over the fellow’s shoulder into the smoke-scented room beyond. His electric light showed Jimmie standing with his back against the gate, his feet pushed out to protect the figure of Carl, lying on the floor against the bars. The searchlight in the boy’s hand was waving rhythmically in the direction of a pair of gleaming eyes which looked out of the darkness.

“My gun is empty!” Jimmie almost whispered. “I’ll hold the light straight in his eyes, and you shoot through the bars.”

Sam forced the captive down on the corridor, where he would be out of the way and still secure from escape, and fired two shots at the blood-mad eyes inside. The great beast fell to the floor instantly and lay still for a small fraction of a second then leaped to his feet again.

With jaws wide open and fangs showing threateningly, he sprang toward Jimmie, but another shot from Sam’s automatic finished the work the others had begun. Jimmie sank to the floor like one bereft of strength.

“Get us out!” he said in a weak voice. “Open the door and get us out! One of the jaguars caught hold of Carl, and I thought I heard the crunching of bones. The boy may be dead for all I know.”

Sam applied his great strength to the barred gate, but it only shook mockingly under his straining hands. Then he turned his face downward to where his prisoner lay cowering upon the floor.

“Can you open this gate?” he asked.

Once more the fellow’s face became stubborn.

“Felix had the key!” he exclaimed.

“All right!” cried Sam. “We’ll send you out to Felix to get it!”

He seized the captive by the collar as he spoke and dragged him, not too gently, through the narrow passage and out into the main corridor. Once there he continued to force him toward the entrance. The moon was now low in the west and shadows here and there specked the little plaza in front of the temple. In addition to the moonlight there was a tint of gray in the sky which told of approaching day.

The prisoner faced the weird scene with an expression of absolute terror. He almost fought his way back into the temple.

“Your choice!” exclaimed Sam. “The key to the gate or you return to the savages!”

The fellow dropped to his knees and clung to his captor.

“I have the key to the gate!” he declared. “But I am not permitted to surrender it. You must take it from me.”

“You’re loyal to some one, anyhow!” exclaimed Sam, beginning a search of the fellow’s pockets.

At last the key was found, and Sam hurried away with it. He knew then that there would be no further necessity for guarding the prisoner at that time. The fact that the hostile savages were abroad and that he was without weapons would preclude any attempt at escape.

At first the young man found it difficult to locate the lock to which the key belonged. At last he found it, however, and in a moment Jimmie crept out of the chamber, trying his best to carry Carl in his arms.

“Here!” cried Sam. “Let me take the boy. Are you hurt yourself?” he added as Jimmie leaned against the wall.

“I think,” Jimmie answered, “one of the brutes gave me a nip in the leg, but I can walk all right.”

Sam carried Carl to the center of the corridor and laid him down on the marble floor. A quick examination showed rather a bad wound on the left shoulder from which considerable blood must have escaped.

“He’ll be all right as soon as he regains his strength!” the young man cried. “And now, Jimmie,” he went on, “let’s see about your wound.”

“It’s only a scratch,” the boy replied, “but it bled like fury, and I think that’s what makes me so weak. Did we get all the jaguars?” he added, with a wan smile. “I don’t seem to remember much about the last two or three minutes.”

“Every last one of them!” answered Sam cheerfully.

While Sam was binding Carl’s wound the boy opened his eyes and looked about the apartment whimsically.

“We seem to be alive yet,” he said, rolling his eyes so as to include Jimmie in his line of vision. “I guess Jimmie was right when he said that Daniel in the lions’ den was nothing to this.”

“But when they took Daniel out of the lions’ den,” cut in Jimmie, “they brought him to a place where there was something doing in the way of sustenance! What about that?”

“Cut it out!” replied Carl feebly.

“But, honestly,” Jimmie exclaimed, “I never was so hungry in my life!”

The captive looked at the two boys with amazement mixed with admiration in his eyes.

“And they’re just out of the jaws of death!” he exclaimed.

“Is that the greaser that put us into the den of lions?” asked Carl, pointing to the prisoner.

“No, no!” shouted the trembling man. “I am only the animal keeper! Felix laid the plans for your murder.”

“The keeper of what?” asked Sam.

“Of the wild animals!” was the reply. “I catch them here for the American shows. And now they are killed!” he complained.

“So that contraption, the masked entrance, the iron gate, and all that, was arranged to hold wild animals in captivity until they could be transferred to the coast?” asked Sam.

“Exactly!” answered the prisoner. “The natives helped me catch the jaguars and I kept them for a large payment. Then, yesterday, a runner told me that a strange white man sought my presence in the forest at the top of the valley. It was Felix. I met him there, and he arranged with me for the use of the wild-animal cage for only one night.”

“And you knew the use to which he intended to put it?” asked Sam angrily. “You knew that he meant murder?”

“I did not!” was the reply. “He told Miguel what to do if any of you entered and did not tell me. I was not to enter the temple to-night!”

“And where’s Miguel?” demanded the young man.

The captive pointed to the broken roof of the temple.

“Miguel remained here,” he said, “to let down the gate to the passage and lift the grate which kept the jaguars in their den.”

“Do you think he’s up there now?” asked Jimmie. “I’d like to see this person called Miguel. I have a few words to say to him.”

“No, indeed!” answered the prisoner. “Miguel is a coward. He probably took to his heels when the shots were fired.”

The prisoner, who gave his name as Pedro, insisted that he knew nothing whatever of the purpose of the man who secured his assistance in the desperate game which had just been played. He declared that Felix seemed to understand perfectly that Gringoes would soon arrive in flying machines. He said that the machines were to be wrecked, and the occupants turned loose in the mountains.

It was Pedro’s idea that two, and perhaps three, flying machines were expected. He said that Felix had no definite idea as to when they would arrive. He only knew that he had been stationed there to do what he could to intercept the progress of those on the machines. He said that the machines had been seen from a distance, and that Felix and himself had watched the descent into the valley from a secure position in the forest. They had remained in the forest until the Gringoes had left for the temple, and had then set about examining the machine.

While examining the machine the savages had approached and had naturally received the impression that Felix was the Gringo who had descended in the aeroplane. He knew some of the Indians, he said.

The Indians, he said, were very superstitious, and believed that flying machines brought death and disaster to any country they visited. By making them trifling presents he, himself, had succeeded in keeping on good terms with them until the machine had descended and been hidden in the forest.

“But,” the prisoner added with a significant shrug of his shoulders, “when we walked in the direction of the temple the Indians suspected that Felix had come to visit the evil spirits they believed to dwell there and so got beyond control. They would kill me now as they killed him!”

“Do the Indians never attack the temple?” asked Sam.

“Perhaps,” Pedro observed, with a sly smile, “you saw the figure in flowing robes and the red and blue lights!”

“We certainly did!” answered Sam.

“While the animals are being collected and held in captivity here,” Pedro continued, “it is necessary to do such things in order to keep the savages away. Miguel wears the flowing robes, and drops into the narrow entrance to an old passage when he finds it necessary to disappear. The Indians will never actually enter the temple, though they may besiege it.”

“There goes your ghost story!” Carl interrupted. “Why,” he added, “it’s about the most commonplace thing I ever heard of! The haunted temple is just headquarters for the agents of an American menagerie!”

“And all this brings up the old questions,” Jimmie said. “How did the Redfern bunch know that any one of our airships would show up here? How did they secure the presence of an agent so far in the interior in so short a time? I think I’ve asked these questions before!” he added, grinning.

“But I have no recollection of their ever having been answered,” said Sam.

“Say,” questioned Jimmie, with a wink at Carl, “how long is this seance going to last without food? I’d like to know if we’re never going to have another breakfast.”

“There’s something to eat in the provision boxes of the Ann,” Sam replied hopefully.

“Yes,” said Jimmie sorrowfully, “and there’s a bunch of angry savages between us and the grub on board the Ann! If you look out the door, you’ll see the brutes inviting us to come out and be cooked!”

The prisoner threw a startled glance outside and ran to the back of the temple, declaring that the savages were besieging the temple, and that it might be necessary for them to lock themselves in the chamber for days with the slain jaguars!

Jimmie rubbed his stomach and groaned!

CHAPTER XVII.

THE LOST TELEGRAMS

On the morning following the departure of Sam and the boys, Mr. Havens was awakened by laughing voices in the corridor outside his door. His first impression was that Sam and Jimmie had returned from their midnight excursion in the Ann. He arose and, after dressing hastily, opened the door, thinking that the adventures of the night must have been very amusing indeed to leave such a hang-over of merriment for the morning.

When he saw Ben and Glenn standing in the hall he confessed to a feeling of disappointment, but invited the lads inside without showing it.

“You are out early,” he said as the boys, still laughing, dropped into chairs. “What’s the occasion of the comedy?”

“We’ve been out to the field,” replied Ben, “and we’re laughing to think how Carl bested Sam and Jimmie last night.”

“What about it?” asked the millionaire.

“Why,” Ben continued, “it seems that Sam and Jimmie planned a moonlight ride in the Ann all by themselves. Carl got next to their scheme and bounced into the seat with Jimmie just as the machine swung into the air. I’ll bet Jimmie was good and provoked about that!”

“What time did the Ann return?” asked Havens.

“Return?” repeated Ben. “She hasn’t returned yet.”

The millionaire turned from the mirror in which he was completing the details of his toilet and faced the boys with a startled look in his eyes. The boys ceased laughing and regarded him curiously.

“Are you sure the boys haven’t returned?” Mr. Havens asked.

“Anyhow,” Glenn replied, “the Ann hasn’t come back!”

“Did they tell you where they were going?” asked Ben.

“They did not,” was the reply. “Sam said that he thought he might be able to pick up valuable information and asked for the use of the Ann and the company of Jimmie. That’s all he said to me concerning the moonlight ride he proposed.”

In bringing his mind back to the conversation with Sam on the previous night, Mr. Havens could not avoid a feeling of anxiety as he considered the significant words of the young man and the information concerning the sealed letter to be opened only in case of his death. He said nothing of this to the boys, however, but continued the conversation as if no apprehension dwelt in his mind regarding the safety of the lads.

“If they only went out for a short ride by moonlight,” Glenn suggested, in a moment, “they ought to have returned before daylight.”

“You can never tell what scrape that boy Jimmie will get into!” laughed Ben. “He’s the hoodoo of the party and the mascot combined! He gets us into all kinds of scrapes, but he usually makes good by getting us out of the scrapes we get ourselves into.”

“Oh, they’ll be back directly,” the millionaire remarked, although deep down in his consciousness was a growing belief that something serious had happened to the lads.

He, however, did his best to conceal the anxiety he felt from Ben and his companion.

Directly the three went down to breakfast together, and while the meal was in progress a report came from the field where the machines had been left that numerous telegrams addressed to Mr. Havens had been delivered there. The millionaire looked puzzled at the information.

“I left positive orders at the telegraph office,” he said, “to have all my messages delivered here. Did one of the men out there receipt for them? If so, perhaps one of you boys would better chase out and bring them in,” he added turning to his companions at the table.