Airplane Boys Discover the Secrets of Cuzco

Produced by Stephen Hutcheson and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net

[Illustration]

Airplane Boys Discover the Secrets of Cuzco

By E. J. Craine

[Illustration]

The World Syndicate Publishing Co. Cleveland, O. New York, N. Y.

_Copyright_, 1930 _by_ THE WORLD SYNDICATE PUBLISHING COMPANY

_Printed in the United States of America_ by THE COMMERCIAL BOOKBINDING CO. CLEVELAND, O.

In this third book about the Airplane Boys, they get a marvelous new plane, which they name the “Lark” and which takes them to new adventures and serves them to good purpose in many a narrow escape.

Contents

Chap. Page

I Afire! 9

II Tracks In The Snow 30

III Pigeon Jute 49

IV “Thanks For The Buggy Ride” 67

V In The “Lab.” 86

VI Out Of The Sky 106

VII Parts Unknown 124

VIII An Officer’S Plea 144

IX The Stowaway 166

X The Fight In The Air 187

XI At Cuzco 205

XII Amy-Ran Fastness 224

[Illustration]

I.

Afire!

“Humph! I wonder where in the name of pulverized pups that young Slick-and-Slippery took himself. He sure knew how to cover his trail up good and pronto.” It wasn’t the unseasonable weather that made Bob Caldwell shiver slightly as he glanced ahead at the deserted ranch which was rolling toward him. It was the recollection of that day, only a few months ago, when he had taken Sergeant Bradshaw and Allen Ruhel, the Canadian Royal Mounties, to identify the outlaws.

Staring at the empty ranch buildings, the boy experienced an uncanny feeling; it seemed to him that in the weeks which had elapsed since the Gordons, Senior and Junior, had been forced to vacate so hurriedly and abandon their schemes, that the huge property had become amazingly desolate. Drawing swiftly nearer he saw doors swinging disconsolately in the wind, and although he knew perfectly well that no such sound could reach his ears, he thought that even the strips of forest wailed dismally over their condition.

“Anyway,” he remarked with relief, “the old man is safely in prison, and I reckon that Arthur had aplenty of Texas, so we don’t have to worry about his turning up here again.” Curiosity prompted him to take the glasses and examine the vicinity more closely. The rambly old-fashioned house in which the father and son had made their home for three years, swayed slightly. Many of its windows were broken, sections of the roof sagged, and one corner of the veranda was separated from its supporting pillar. A small shed in the back had fallen in, the bunkhouse entrance was blocked with debris, the corral fences leaned wearily, and the tall cottonwood trees that had been decorative during the summer, were stripped of their biggest branches.

“Guess they didn’t do any more repairing than they had to while they lived there or it wouldn’t be tumbling apart now,” he suggested as an explanation. His eyes rested for a moment on the twisted bole of a gnarled oak and he thought he saw something move swiftly around its base, but he decided that it was probably a wild animal that had taken shelter there because of an instinctive confidence that its haunts would not be molested.

Caldwell had witnessed the ignominious capture of the older man and the unceremonious retreat of Arthur Junior, who had fled the country without stopping to lock the place or make provisions for the hundreds of head of stock which roamed the range. Humane ranchers had driven the cattle to shelter, and Bob knew that the sheriff or some of his assistants occasionally patroled the property on watch for signs of the return of young Gordon or any of his associates, but so far the place had been shunned by members of the gang as if it were plague stricken.

“At that, some of them might make it a hang-out as soon as they think people have forgotten or are too busy to keep an eye on it.” He noted the rugged cliffs which rose like irregular saw-teeth and curved around sharply, like a protecting elbow. “From the ground the place isn’t easy to reach without being observed. Well, what a nice little scare-cat I’m getting to be,” he upbraided himself as he resolutely put the glasses into their case and turned his attention to the business of flying.

Bob Caldwell was the younger member of the Flying Buddies and he was returning from a hop in Her Highness to Crofton where he had done errands for his mother and picked up the mail for the three adjoining ranches above the Gordon’s on Cap Rock; his own, the Cross-Bar on the Pearl River; the K-A which was the Austin’s and his home; and Don Haurea’s of the Box-Z. The recollection of the stirring events and the eerie atmosphere about the lonely ranch made him turn the plane’s nose toward the blue dome of northwestern Texas until its magnitude and beauty enabled him to dismiss the sense of impending danger.

“We are all as safe as if we were in church,” he grinned cheerfully, then, as the altitude meter read twenty thousand feet, he leveled off, and shot north. At the boy’s right stretched the seemingly endless miles of level plain under an almost unbroken expanse of pure white, while at his left below the great ledge lay miles and miles of sharp hills, narrow valleys, and in the distance the Pearl River bottom. Presently he saw the timber line bounding the south of the K-A.

“Good old ranch,” he chuckled. “And Jim, the blithering highbrow, is all healed up, thank goodness. He sure has deserted us for Don Haurea’s laboratories.” The boy gave the machine an affectionate tap but he felt no resentment over the new interests of his step-brother for he too was culling valuable information from that same source, only Bob was applying everything he learned to the immediate development of the Cross-Bar ranch. “She’ll be some producer by the time I’m twenty-one.” That happy date was five years off and he whistled gaily as his mind tried to visualize the achievements possible to accomplish during those years.

By this time Her Highness was soaring smoothly above the plain, and in the distance, so far north that he looked like an animated exclamation point as he skied on the surface of the frozen snow, Caldwell recognized the familiar figure of Jim Austin, his Flying Buddy and step-brother.

Austin’s bright red mackinaw and flapping scarf stood out a cheery patch of color against the whiteness that surrounded him, and by the swing of his body Caldwell knew that the older boy was making an effort to beat him home. With an exuberant whoop, the young pilot waggled Her Highness’ wings to let the challenger know that she accepted the dare, but she was a good sport, and although the distance she had to cover was four times as far as the skier’s, she proceeded to make her handicap greater, by executing a wide circle, zooming, banking and spiraling. Bob was having a perfectly gorgeous time in the sky, and although he looked forward to joining his Flying Buddy, he hated to come down. But as he sped along, he saw that Jim stood a fine chance of making good, so after treating himself to a final climb, he leveled off again, then with the throttle wide open, he started to dive.

Jim was so close now that Bob could see him quite plainly, and he watched for his brother to pause and admire the spectacle of the rushing plane as it cut through space at topmost speed. Suddenly Jim did stop, stare up, then he waved his arms. At first Bob interpreted the motions as a signal of recognized defeat, but after an instant the pilot realized that his step-brother was trying to make himself understood and he seemed rather frantic about it. He glanced swiftly about to be sure that another plane was not in the vicinity, and discovering none, he took a swift look at Her Highness. As far as he could see the little bus was O.K. and he wondered if she had dropped her landing gear, but just then his eyes rested on the mirror which reflected the rear, and he gave a startled gasp of incredulous amazement. There was a thick trail of smoke belching along the fuselage and to the boy’s horror he saw tongues of flame bursting almost to the forward cock-pit where he sat.

Mechanically he kicked the rubber, jammed the stick, fought with the controls, brought the nose up and reduced the speed. All the while his mind was busy in an effort to account for the fire, but he could find no explanation. Going more slowly the smoke no longer shot back, but began to hover forward, swirled about the cock-pit and smudged his glasses. Groping and straining at the safety strap, he shut off the motor, but it was evident that whatever caused the blaze was in the back, yet he knew there was nothing in the construction of the machine that could ignite in the rear.

According to the meter he was still seven thousand feet up, so he made a desperate effort to save the beloved plane but nothing he tried helped matters at all, and finally, with a sigh of regret, he released the strap, his fingers moved over the parachute buckles, then stopping to pick up the bag of mail and his glasses, he climbed over the rim of the cock-pit. One last glance back when the machine was two thousand feet up, the boy jumped, dropped like a plummet until he was clear, then he pulled the release and in a moment the chute blossomed above him and he began to drift easily. As the plane dropped swiftly past him it seemed to the boy as if all the joy of life was carried down to destruction in the crackling machine. He clenched his fists inside his fur mittens, gritted his teeth, then because he simply couldn’t bear to witness the complete annihilation of Her Highness, he closed his eyes and paid no attention to his own landing.

“Spill some of it, Buddy!” Jim called sharply. Bob glanced about, saw that he was drifting toward the jagged tips of underbrush protruding above the snow, so spilled enough air to drop him more directly. He could hear his step-brother’s racing skis as the older boy hurried to meet him. Then Jim caught him by the coat and helped the landing. “All right?” he asked anxiously peering into Caldwell’s face.

“Sure.” Bob was down now, and the pair of them hastened to get him freed from the chute.

“What happened to you? Who did you meet?” Jim asked quickly.

“I don’t know what happened and I didn’t meet anyone,” Bob answered emphatically. “Is there any chance of saving her?”

“No!” Silently they stood together as the hungry flames, like a pack of ravenous wolves, consumed the helpless plane.

“Gee,” Bob said finally then sank down and buried his head on his arm, while his body shook in a brave effort to keep back the sobs.

“Don’t take it so hard, Buddy,” Jim urged, but he wasn’t feeling any too good himself.

“Gosh, I--I couldn’t feel worse if it was one of the h--horses, or t--the dog. She--gosh, she was a dandy bird, Jim--nobody could ever have more fun than she gave us--it was more like having a good pal that you could always rely on, than just a machine,” Bob choked.

“I know it, old man. I’d mighty like to find out what started her cooking. Have any engine trouble?” Jim asked.

“Not a bit. She ran like velvet, was going great when I was diving. It wasn’t until I saw you doing a wind-mill with your arms that I thought of grief, then I had an idea it might be the landing gear I’d dropped and you wanted me to look out. I didn’t find anything wrong until I saw the smoke in the reflection mirror.”

“Come on over and we’ll see if we can discover anything.” They made their way in stunned silence, threw snow over the flames, and carefully examined all that was left of the little bus, but she was too far gone, or they were too inexperienced to locate treachery.

“When we get home, let’s look over the plans. Maybe we can find a spot--some place where it might have been weak--” Bob proposed.

“I don’t believe we will, but it won’t do any harm. Who did you see when you were in Crofton?”

“Bill, he was going home to lunch, the storekeepers and the postmaster. Just the usual crowd,” Bob answered.

“Where did you leave Her Highness while you did the errands?”

“In the freight yard where we always park. There wasn’t anyone hanging around and the gate was closed. I had to climb over. Did that because I didn’t want to call Bill back to open it,” Bob answered, then he added, ruefully, “You’ll think I’m a rotten pilot to let a thing like that happen--gosh--”

“Aw go on, you’re a corking good pilot. I’ve got a hunch that some sneak, maybe some of those fellows that were in that jam at Don Haurea’s last summer fixed it up so she’d burn slow and then get going good while you were in the air,” Jim explained.

“But how could anyone do that?” Bob demanded.

“You may investigate me, Buddy. Were any kids hanging around when you took off?”

“No. No one paid any attention to me. They don’t any more. It isn’t like it used to be. The people see one of us drop down five or six times a week, so the novelty has worn off. Why even Bill doesn’t come out any more and he used to run to meet us if we landed within sight of the place,” Bob reminded his step-brother.

“That’s so,” Jim nodded. “What you got in the bag?”

“Mail and stuff.”

“We better get home. You get on the back of the ski and we’ll slide, Buddy slide! It’s lucky we learned to do these things double. Someone at the house may have seen you drop and be worried to bits. Come along, Old Timer,” Jim urged. He went for the bag, tightened the straps of the ski, then Bob planted himself behind his step-brother, the bag in one hand and the other on the older boy’s shoulder, they got into step, and presently they were making good speed toward home. Jim was right in thinking that the blazing plane had been sighted, for they had not turned into the ranch road when they heard the jingle of bells as a team came dashing around the curve, the elder Austin standing in the bob-sled.

“What happened?” he shouted. “We saw Bob--”

“I’m all right, Dad,” Bob assured him, “but Her Highness went up in smoke, gosh--”

“So long as you didn’t go up with her, old man. Hop in here,” Mr. Austin urged. “Want to come with us, Jim?”

“I might as well,” Jim accepted. Presently the team dashed to the house, and on the long veranda, Mrs. Austin was waiting. She had taken only time enough to throw a heavy blanket shawl over her head, and when she saw the Flying Buddies, her eyes were filled with tears.

“Boys--”

“We’re top hole, both of us, Mom,” Bob called cheerily.

“I--I watched that plane--the smoke coming from the tail long before you started to dive--oh Bob--”

“Now, you knew I was wearing my trusty chute over me union suit,” he teased, but he put his arms around her and held her tight.

“Your union suit, how long since you--”

“Go on. Doesn’t a flying suit look like a step-in or a union suit?” Bob grinned as he led his mother into the house. The chore-boy took charge of the prancing team so Jim and his father followed.

“We have been lucky that the boys have not had an accident before, Mother, and really the danger, no matter what happens, isn’t very great when they have first-class chutes ready at a moment’s notice to land them safely. They both know enough to jump and keep out of difficulty,” Mr. Austin remarked quietly.

“To be sure, and me trusty side-kick was on the job with the elongated feet to bring me over the snow in fine style,” Bob laughed. They were in the living room now, both of them peeled down to ordinary clothes, and stood before her, a pair of fine looking tow-heads.

“What started the fire?” Mrs. Austin was not to be put off.

“As your devoted step-son so aptly puts it, you may investigate both of us, but I expect it was an exposed wire somewhere,” Bob answered, casually.

“Did you look to see?” she persisted.

“We did, but Her Highness was too hot to do much examining, and my breadbasket too empty for me to want to linger so far away from the commissary department, namely, the eats--is dinner almost ready?”

“It’ll be served in a few minutes. You hurry and get cleaned,” she urged, for the present need made her forget the past danger, which was exactly what her son was endeavoring to achieve.

During the evening meal the subject of the wrecked plane was studiously avoided but not because the boys did not feel the loss of Her Highness very deeply. Through their minds flashed snatches of memory that made it mighty difficult to laugh and joke with Mrs. Austin, but they kept the pretense up courageously. However, later that evening Jim and his father were in the ranchman’s office alone for a few minutes, then the boy’s shoulders slumped as he stared through the window toward the starry sky.

“It’s too bad, old chap,” Dad remarked thoughtfully. “Any idea how it happened? I don’t like to say much before Bob’s mother.”

“I don’t understand it, Dad. From what Bob says, she was working first class, every part of her, right up to the minute that he discovered she was ablaze. If a single part had gone wrong she would have showed it by the indicators or in the reaction of the controls. I do not believe that the Kid would have missed anything. Lots of times he’s quicker to locate pending grief than I am,” the boy replied softly.

“Have you any suspicions?”

“Not one. He said, that as far as he knows while she was parked in Crofton, no one came near her, and she flew like a charm all the way.”

“Sure there isn’t some technical solution to the mystery?”

“If there is, I don’t know it. I thought of writing to the manufacturers, and stating the facts, and see if they have any suggestions,” Jim answered.

“Could someone have put something inflammable somewhere around the tail assembly, something arranged to burn slowly?” the man suggested.

“I’ve thought of that, Dad. But there isn’t anyone in the state, outside of jail, who would be revengeful enough to do it. The men who were given the shortest sentences in that trial after the attack at Don Haurea’s last summer still have over a year to serve--none of them--that I know of--have been pardoned.”

“If any of them were I am sure the sheriff would have told us,” Mr. Austin volunteered.

“Yes, he would. It’s a cinch, Dad, that not more than one or two of that whole gang who were sent to prison know enough about airplanes and flying to set a trap that would go off like that. An amateur would have started the fire and let her go any old way. If the thing was a piece of treachery it was managed by an air man who didn’t take any chance of his plot being discovered too soon. I can’t figure out that anyone is guilty of such a mean trick, but I don’t know how else it could have been done.” With a sigh he turned back to the room and sat by his father’s desk.

“You are going to miss it a great deal.”

“Like fury. Dad, I want to get a job piloting, and save up for a new machine. Somehow, I can’t see how we can get along without a plane.”

“I will not agree to your giving up your studies, old man. The more you learn while you have the opportunity, the better off you will be later. I’m quite sure that mother will feel the same way about Bob. She has been most happy lately because of his interest in books.” The boy’s face drew down, but he tried to accept the verdict manfully. After a moment, he drew a deep breath.

“All right, Dad,” he agreed. His father smiled.

“Since you two came home this afternoon I have been doing some thinking on the subject. While we had Her Highness, we accepted her rather as a matter of course. One of you would go, at a moment’s notice on an errand which ordinarily would take several times the time it took to go by air.”

“Yes,” Jim nodded his head but he wasn’t following very closely. He was thinking that it would probably be months before he and his Flying Buddy went roaring into the sky again. It wasn’t easy to be cheerful.

“This winter has started out as if it is going to be a very hard one,” the man went on quietly.

“Yes, sir. It’s been a long time since we had so much snow,” Jim replied.

“Years. In fact, I don’t recall one like it since I was a boy, but seasons are always doing the unexpected.”

“Sure,” Jim replied as his father paused.

“To a stock man that means loss in straying cattle and horses. Young stock get lost, sometimes it takes cowboys weeks to locate them, and often only a few can be saved. That’s according to the old method. I’m going to miss getting the mail every day too. It’s quite a novelty reading the newspapers when they are not weeks old, especially in winter,” he rambled on.

“I’m sorry,” Jim said earnestly.

“We all are. It seems to me, Jim, that Bob’s idea of doing things in as advanced a method as possible is the greatest money saver we can invest in, so I think that for the present I shall purchase a new plane. It will not be quite such a splendid model as Her Highness, but it will help us out for the time being--”

“Dad!” Jim stared at his father, then he added weakly, “Even one of the cheaper ones cost quite a lot.”

“Don’t you think it will be a good investment?”

“Ha, ha,” Jim laughed. “Why Dad, I think it will be corking. We’ll save a lot of the stock and I’ll fly for your paper as soon as it’s off the press,” he promised eagerly.

“Then we--.”

“May we come in?” That was Mrs. Austin and she was followed by Bob, who dutifully held the door for her.

“You are always welcome.”

“I say, Jim, Mom says that Dad got Her Highness, so she wants to get us a new crate--”

“My dear, the boy told me he was going to get a job piloting for the winter--that would never do, and I should like to--you know, it’s been rather delightful--”

“Reading your newspaper before it gets old,” Jim interrupted with a wide grin. “That’s the same tune Dad sang to me, and he’s going to get a plane for the ranches--”

“Now--my dear--”

“It’s all settled, my dear,” Mr. Austin assured her. “We were just discussing the details, and we like our plan so well we do hope that you will not do anything to spoil it.” The two boys looked at the grown-ups, and chuckled.

“Tell you what, Jim, when the bus arrives let’s teach them to be a pair of flyers.”

“I believe it would be very interesting,” Mrs. Austin said quickly, but her husband looked grave.

“You’ll both be safe as in church,” Jim laughed heartily, then he and Bob executed an Indian dance about the parents until those worthies begged them to desist.

II.

Tracks In The Snow

The four days which followed the demise of Her Highness were sad ones and the whole family on the K-A ranch missed the convenience the little plane had afforded them. It seemed to the buddies that doing everything without the machine was far slower than they had ever realized, but they were both too busy to waste time in regret over the loss of their capable assistant. Then the morning of the fourth day brought the steady roar of an airplane as it beat its way swiftly down Cap Rock, lighting and sliding on a pair of runners until its pilot succeeded in bringing it to a halt.

“This the K-A?” he called to the choreboy who was racing to meet him.

“Yes, sir. Can you take the buggy around this way? Some horses are being hazed up the trail, they’ll be here any minute, and they may get scared of the machine,” he explained and his youthful eyes were eagerly taking in the lines of the new arrival.

“All right, old man, where had I better park?”

“Close to those trees, off the road.” The pilot lost no time in following directions and it was well that he did for he had barely left the vicinity when a bunch of young broncs came crashing through the woods, sending the snow flying in a thick screen all around them.

“Ki-yi. Ki-yi.” The air was filled with the musical cry, and the pilot, as soon as he again stopped his plane, climbed on top of it to watch the performance. He saw the broncs rear, kick, plunge and circle as they were being driven steadily forward, and the man could hear the creak of saddles, the jingle of bridles and crack of quirts as the cowboys dashed hither and yon to keep their charges from rushing off toward the enormous cliff which rose in a hundred-foot wall a quarter of a mile ahead. One young bay succeeded in breaking away. The pilot saw it thundering toward him; its eyes flaming, nostrils wide, and foam flecked about its mouth. The man was too startled and fascinated to realize his danger, then he heard another call.

“Ki--ki--ki.” A cowboy, looking for all the world as if he belonged in a wonderful tale of old-time west came racing after the truant, his pinto apparently requiring no guiding, and his hands busy with a long rope which was singing over his head. An instant later the cow-pony cut in front of the plane, the rope flashed out, its loop opened and dropped over the bay’s thrashing hoofs. As if the whole affair were one complete piece of perfect co-operation, the pinto braced its fore feet, the cowboy pulled back, and the runaway bay was secured.

“Bravo, bravo--what a circus!” The pilot yelled as lustily as a small boy in peanut row at a wild-west show, and then the cowboy glanced over his shoulder.

“Oh, hello,” he shouted. His eyes lighted happily at sight of the plane, but he couldn’t say anything more for the bronc was making a frantic effort to get free of the lariat and required his undivided attention. In a minute he was being hazed along with the bunch and finally all of them were milling around the huge corral, while the riders went about their various tasks. That accomplished, the pilot saw the pinto and its rider say something to another rider on another pinto, then the pair turned their horses’ heads toward the plane.

“By George,” the pilot exclaimed enthusiastically. “I didn’t suppose a man could see anything like that these days. It’s simply great!”

“Oh, that’s nothing,” Bob answered. “The snow made the range a hard feeding ground, so we are bringing the stock in.”

“Keep them here all the rest of the winter?”

“Only a few that look as if they need extra care. We’ll give the others a week around here, then turn them loose,” Bob answered.

“It depends some on the weather,” Jim added, and then the pilot recognized the young fellow who had turned back the unruly bay. “Glad you got here so quickly with the new plane.”

“I’m glad that I didn’t miss the show. My name’s Kramer and I hope I get permission to hang around here a few days. If the fellow who is to pilot this machine is a crackerjack, my vacation is spoiled, but if he doesn’t know much about flying I can send word to the firm that I must stay to teach him.”

“Guess you’re here for a run,” Bob told him, “and you better get your message off as soon as you can. I’m the lad who has to fork the bird, and my side kick here. We both have a lot to learn. Last time I tried to do sky-riding I brought the machine down in flames.”

“Gee, that was tough luck,” Kramer said sympathetically. “I’ll like staying around and you can be sure I’ll do all I can to instruct you so nothing of the kind will happen again. You’re a pretty good sport, really, because very often when a man has an experience like that he gets air-shy--is off flying for the rest of his life.”

“We’ll appreciate your help. I watched the kid come down and it was no party. The bus looked like a Fourth of July rocket shooting the wrong way,” Jim announced. Then followed instructions and Kramer sized up his prospective students with real interest.

“You know, even if you did have an accident you look to me like the type who could be top-notch pilots if you don’t get discouraged, and after all, you are both young. In a few years, flying will be as ordinary as automobiles then you’ll be glad you took it up and stuck to it,” he told them earnestly.

“This looks like quite an air bucker,” Bob remarked as soberly as a judge. He urged the reluctant Tut close and his eyes traveled quickly over Her Highness’ successor.

“It’s a great machine. Perhaps you know that it’s a Pitcairn mailwing. They are used a lot as mail carriers, but airmen have become interested in them for sport use. It’s seven-cylinder, two hundred and twenty-five horse power. My boss said that Mr. Austin told him over the telephone that he wants a good serviceable plane for practical purposes. You could not get anything better than this. It’s got two cock-pits, that can be covered in bad weather and as soon as you learn more about flying, if it’s storming, you can shut yourselves up snug as a bug in a rug, and fly--”

“Flipping Flapjacks, you mean without looking at the ground?” Bob interrupted incredulously.

“Sure--positively,” Kramer answered emphatically.

“Here comes Dad,” Jim declared. “He’s the air-minded member of the family. When the other crate cracked up he got right in touch with your firm and ordered another. Said the K-A couldn’t get along without one. It’s a wonder to me he didn’t order a herd of them.”

“That goes to show you how really progressive he is. Why most men of his generation--a lot of them, anyway, think flying is all nonsense--”

“This is Mr. Kramer, Dad. We just told him we hope he can stay a while and give us instructions in flying.” Mr. Austin glanced questioningly at his son.

“Yes,” Bob added. “Kramer never saw a real ranch, except from the sky. He sat here and almost let the broncs jump over him. He likes horses.” Then Mr. Austin understood what was in the Flying Buddies’ minds so he nodded approval.

“It will give us a great deal of pleasure to have him stay as long as he can, and I am sure that your mother and I shall feel much more comfortable if we are confident that you have had thorough instructions. It seems to me that you boys are a little slow in bringing Mr. Kramer to the house. He has had a long trip, perhaps a hard one, and sitting here is cold work--”

“Oh, I was just telling them some things about the machine. My boss said that if this plane doesn’t suit you, we’ll send another model, sir, but from what you told him over the telephone, he thought this would be the best for your purpose,” Kramer said respectfully.

“The men of your firm must know a good machine,” Mr. Austin smiled.

“Absolutely--but the customer has to be satisfied. I don’t mind telling you that we all feel kind of cocky over a telephone order--”

“What’s the telephone for?” the older man asked.

“Oh, sure thing, it’s to save time and all that, but there aren’t many people who will buy a plane on short notice, why they want to see them all, read about them, listen to a man talk his head off, be taken up--”

“But my dear young man--it seems to me that when one wants a plane that is a great waste of energy to say nothing of time. Come in and meet Mrs. Austin and get rested.”

“I’ll take you up any time you can go,” Kramer offered.

“After lunch,” Jim answered.

After lunch the Sky Buddies listened with strained attention while Kramer conscientiously taught them the operation of the Pitcairn. The instructor carefully went from the propeller to the tail telling the name of every part and explaining each function in detail, while the boys listened with anxious frowns quite as if it were so much Greek to them. Finally Bob sighed heavily.

“One thing I like about a plane,” he announced.

“You’ll soon learn to like the whole bus,” Kramer smiled, “but what appeals to you particularly?”

“The tail. Dogs and horses have them and they are real understandable parts,” the boy replied soberly.

“Yes,” Jim added, “but a dog or a horse doesn’t have to have anyone work his tail for him. He manages his own rudder.”

“I expect you know dogs and horses better than I do airplanes,” Kramer laughed goodnaturedly. “Perhaps, while I’m here, you’ll give me a few lessons in managing them.”

“Sure,” Jim agreed heartily. “We’ll dress you up in a pair of slip-ins, and show you how to fork a bucker.”

“Guess I’d rather watch someone more experienced do that. I say, if you want to go anywhere, we might take a hop. Perhaps the first time up, I’d better do the piloting, but you can learn a lot--”

“Mom wants some pink crochet cotton. Let’s go to Crofton,” Bob proposed, then added quickly, “You take Jim in with you first. I’d kind of like to sit in the back with nothing to do.”

“That’s all right with me--”

“Why the heck can’t you let me take things easy?” Jim urged.

“Go on, you learn first. I have to get over being air-shy. Don’t want my insides doing a tail spin till they get kind of used to it.”

“It’s a good idea,” Kramer put in. “Sit in the back until we get to Crofton. It will restore your confidence. Perhaps on the return trip you can ride in front.”

“Wall--” Jim drawled. “Sure that’s pink crochet cotton?”

“Absolutely, I wrote it down.” Bob fished about in his pocket and found a scrap of wrapping paper. “Here it is. One skein of blue twist.”

“You were almost right, Buddy,” Kramer laughed heartily. “Anything else she wants while we are there?”

“The mail,” Jim answered.

“And the newspapers,” Bob grinned.

“Fine. Let’s go.”

Presently the Pitcairn was soaring splendidly into the air, and in the front Jim eyed the controls. His fingers itched to take hold of them, but he braced himself and hooked his hands under his safety belt, while Kramer cheerfully did his piloting so the student could see every operation and analyze its purpose. Once in the air it wasn’t so simple keeping up the pretense of ignorance and twice Austin nearly gave himself away, but Kramer was so absorbed in his task that the slips were unnoticed. However, he did feel that he was making great progress with this youngster, but he rather anticipated a more difficult time when he took Bob in hand.

There wasn’t a single mishap during the trip, and finally, when they reached the little town, the pilot began to look about for the best place to land. With the blanket of snow on the ground visibility was hard, and Kramer circled over several sites before he finally turned to the boy.

“I’m looking for a place to come down,” he announced through the tube.

“The cattle pen by the freight yard. It’s been trampled,” Jim suggested and pointed to the triangular runway. It was smaller than Kramer wished and built on a steep incline, but he didn’t want the new owner to think the plane wouldn’t do all that was expected of her, so he started the descent and at last landed perfectly. Austin hid a smile of appreciation at the accomplishment, and nodded indifferently.

“I’ll get the yellow yarn--”

“Blue twist,” Kramer corrected quickly.

“Sure. You come along so I won’t get it wrong, and you can wire your firm from here, unless you did it at the house,” Bob proposed.

“It slipped my mind,” Kramer admitted.

“I’ll wait here,” Jim decided. He slid low in the cock-pit as soon as the pair were out of sight, and his mind was busy with the idea that someone--perhaps the lad who was responsible for the loss of Her Highness, might come nosing around. He wanted to give whoever it was plenty of opportunity to get close in case he was again in the vicinity. Austin kept perfectly quiet, his head well below the rim of the cock-pit.

He heard the jingle of bells as small sleighs slid by, the shout of neighborly greetings, an occasional automobile and the distant whine of a buzz-saw as it bit into huge logs, cutting them into cordwood. The boy was beginning to believe that his vigilance was to go unrewarded when he heard the thud of a pair of boots dropping with someone into the cattle enclosure; then came the cautious approach. They were coming to the plane, that was evident, and Jim got ready. Watching, with every muscle keyed to spring, he waited. There was a moment’s hesitation, whoever it was stopped under the wing, then a second later a hand rested within a few inches of his face. He swung up with all his strength, caught the wrist firmly and yanked. At that there was a scraping, then the business end of a six-shooter was pointed into his face, and simultaneously he leaped up with a yell.

“What--” He stopped short and stared in startled amazement.

“Oh, that you, Austin?” The gun was slipped back to its holster.

“Sure, Sheriff.” Jim was too astounded to say anything more.

“I calculated I’d find you here, and I’m right glad you dropped in to town today because I’m going to ask you to help me.”

“I’ll do anything I can,” Jim assured him.

“Wall, it’s this way. You know we’ve been keeping the Gordon place under observation. Got a deputy there most of the time. Maybe he’s getting nutty, I don’t know, he’s alone and there’s a sort of sameness to this here snow. He reported a couple of days ago that he thought someone was hanging out up there but he hasn’t been able to fetch up with whoever it is and he ain’t seen no tracks. I ain’t had a minute to go and look myself, and I ain’t got no one to send right now. He put in a call ’bout noon time. Said he’s seen some tracks, they look like a bear’s.”

“There are no bears out this time of year,” Jim reminded him.

“I told him the old fellows has crawled in and pulled their holes after ’em, but he says it’s a big bear track plain as can be and it’s round the ranch house.”

“What can we do for you?”

“Wish you’d stop on your way home and see what the heck’s eatin’ the feller. It’s Carl Summers--reckon you know him.”

“Yes, sure I know Carl,” Jim replied.

“He’s needin’ a job, and I’se needin’ a watchman, sort of, so I swore him in. He rigged up a contraption--taps the wire and that’s the way he reports every day to me,” the sheriff explained.

“Couldn’t he follow the tracks and see where they lead?” Jim asked.

“That’s the goldurnest part of it. They only lead ’round in a circle. Ain’t no entrance or exit, as it were. He can’t find no place where they start or stop.”

“That is odd. What do you want us to do?”

“See what Carl has to show you and hear what he has to say. If he seems kind o’ sick, take him to your house en fetch the doctor, or if he’s all right, you get in touch with me. If you take him home, ask your pa if he can spare a man to kind o’ keep his eye on the place for a couple o’ days till I can get someone else. I got a bee in my bonnet that young Gordon will land back there one o’ these days, and I’m aimin’ to catch him when he does.”

“We’ll be glad to stop and have a talk with him. I can telephone you from there if it’s anything serious,” Jim agreed.

“That’s fine. I knew I’d find you here soon’s I saw Bob swinging up the street. Watched you the other day when the kid came down and you were loafing here--” He broke off suddenly, and frowned. “Why the name o’ hen’s teeth did you make such a grab at me? Boy, you might o’ got a whole round of lead in you and I’d had a fierce time apologizing to your folks.”

“I was watching for a sneak--”

“Think you caught him?”

“Oh, no, I know I haven’t--but say, what did you mean when you said that you saw me in the cock-pit the other day?” Jim asked.

“Saw you from my window up there. That is, I happened to look out and discovered the plane parked in the freight yard and you fussing away in the back seat.”

“I didn’t come with Bob the other day,” Jim told him.

“You didn’t come--why I saw you as plain--”

“My face?” Jim was excited. He hoped the sheriff could describe the fellow who was responsible for the loss of Her Highness.

“Wall no, can’t say that I did. Saw the top of that helmet and as I know there are only two Flyin’ Buddies in these parts, I reckoned it was you,” the man answered, and Austin was most disappointed.

“It wasn’t, and great guns I wish you’d come over then,” he said with a sigh. He went on and explained about the burning of the plane and the sheriff scowled.

“Thunderation, that ain’t lookin’ too good.” He took off his hat and scratched his head. “You-all got a hunch that plane’s death--as it were--wasn’t due to no natural causes?”

“That’s the way it looks.”

“All them guys that might be sore on you because of last summer at the Don’s place is working off their grudge in jail--that is--let me see, Gordon got away--the young feller I mean, en the chauffeur chap. Humph. Maybe Carl ain’t so loony. You can shoot?”

“Of course.”

“Maybe it’s mighty important that someone get up there to Carl fast as he can get. You take a set o’ irons--I’ll get ’em--one for you and one for Bob--”

“There’s another chap with us--name’s Kramer--he came with the new plane. I don’t know if he can shoot or not--”

“I’ll get three.” The man hurried off and while he was gone, Bob and the instructor returned with an arm full of mail.

“Get that red--”

“Blue,” Kramer corrected with a laugh.

“We have to do an errand for the sheriff.” By the time the officer had returned, Jim had given his companions details of what was required and they both looked rather sober at the task before them.

“You boys know that Gordon--if you see him don’t take no chances. I’m gettin’ a gang together, and we’ll follow pronto--fast as the automobile can bring us.”

“We could take you along now,” Kramer suggested.

“I can’t leave the office for half an hour. Got something needs my attention here and it’s almost as important as gettin’ Gordon. Do you swear to do your duty as officers of the law and upholders of the Constitution of the United States? That ain’t real regular, but you know what it means.”

“I do,” came from three throats. Then they climbed into the cock-pits.

III.

Pigeon Jute

“Hit her up, loop the sun,” Bob called as he climbed into the rear cock-pit. Kramer let the motor run for a moment, then managed to smile at her performance.

“That’s a motor what motes,” he announced. Soon they took off and they looked most war-like with the sheriff’s artillery added to their equipment. Through the minds of the Sky Buddies raced a varied assortment of possibilities regarding what they would find when they came down on the Gordon ranch. Jim rather wished that Bob was not along for if either young Arthur or any of his former associates were there no one would anticipate how much trouble awaited them. Although there was only a few months difference in their ages, Austin felt years older and was anxious that the younger boy be kept out of danger. He recalled the scheme the two Gordons had concocted and nearly brought to perfection at Don Haurea’s ranch a few months ago. While Caldwell had not been hurt physically the horror of what he had witnessed had almost taken the fun out of him.

In the back seat Bob too was thinking of that day. Through his brain flashed the vision of his step-brother lying wounded and bleeding on the steps of the Bar-Z ranch house. It wasn’t a picture a fellow could shake off easily and he was wishing that Jim was not going to be in this, whatever was ahead of them. To be sure, under the splendid care of the medical men and surgeons of the Don’s people, his Buddy had healed and recovered with remarkable speed, but just the same being a target was a hazardous business and one couldn’t expect to get off so easily very often. He whistled softly and determined that he would keep his eyes open and if possible shove Austin into the background. The plan looked good to the boy, and then he thought of something which seemed even better. When they came down he’d suggest that his step-brother fly on home and explain the matter to his father who could get a number of the men on the K-A together and join the deputies at the lower ranch. That was a great idea, and an even better one was to propose that Jim get in touch with Don Haurea. From this highly capable man’s laboratories something very effective could be accomplished. Bob had no thought of what the Box-Z owner would do, but since the difficulties of the summer he too had paid a visit to the subterranean department and had seen the workings of the super-television-radio. It was an awe-inspiring place and the young fellow knew that the proposal of getting in touch with its head would appeal strongly to his step-brother.

By this time the rugged peaks of lower Cap Rock were rolling swiftly toward them, and presently the buddies from their separate points of observation were examining the ranch through the glasses. Finally Jim located Carl Summers sitting on a projecting ledge from which he could keep a watchful eye on his territory. It struck the boy that the young deputy appeared very unconcerned. He had expected to discover Carl crouched in some out-of-the-way corner where he could not be taken by surprise, and surrounded with a battery of artillery. Touching Kramer on the shoulder, Jim pointed out the ledge where he had landed with Her Highness the day Lilly Boome and Ollie had inveigled him to give them a lift from Laville. Three minutes later the Pitcairn lighted perfectly on the strip of table rock, and Bob, eager to put his plan into operation, called:

“I say, Jim, I’ve got an idea!”

“Take off your hat and let your head cool,” Jim advised. The younger boy got out of the cock-pit with all possible speed and was standing by the forward door before it could be opened. Austin grinned at him cheerfully.

“I don’t need to, you nut. Listen, Old Timer, you fly on to the K-A and tell Dad what’s doing, then telephone Don Haurea. I bet a thin dime against the State of Texas that he’ll be able to do something worth while from his place--”

“But your brother can’t fly well enough yet!” Kramer interrupted.

“Say, you sent that wire to your firm, didn’t you, that you are going to stay here?” Bob demanded.

“Yes, but what’s that got to do with it?”

“Nothing much, old man, but the Buddy and I know a lot more than you would suspect about airplanes. We’ll give you a demonstration when we’re not too busy. It’s this way, we thought you looked like a deserving lad, and we were sorry for anyone who never got real close to a good horse, so, when you said that your firm would give you permission to stay a while, we wanted to help you--we’re a pair of regular little helpfuls--ask our folks.”

“I’ll tell the world you are. Think I’m going to hang around here to teach you something you know? I’m not lying to my firm--”

“Gosh,” Bob’s face flushed. “That’s right, I didn’t think of it--you couldn’t do that--” then he grinned--“but, look here, if you do like Texas and horses and dogs--and us--I’ll bet you could sell a couple of planes to some of the ranchers. We’ll introduce you around--”

“I’ll bet the sheriff would buy one,” Jim added. Then the frown disappeared from Kramer’s face and he too grinned.

“Now you are talking. I’ll get in touch with the firm and see what my boss thinks. Much obliged, Buddy, for the tip, and much obliged too for the desire to give me a good time.” He held out his hand and Caldwell gripped it firmly in his own.

“Now that’s settled,” Jim put in--“the sheriff said that Summers has an instrument here and he has tapped the telephone wires. Your idea of getting in touch with Dad and the Don is great, I’ll do it by phone.”

“Oh--yes, sure you can do that.” Bob’s face fell and he sighed as he saw how quickly his perfectly good plan to get Austin away from the danger zone vanished into thin air. “Sure, you can do that and it will save time, too.”

“Hello there!” Carl Summers, who was a stocky little Texan, came swinging carelessly up the winding trail, his face wreathed in smiles.

“Hello yourself. We were at Crofton and the sheriff asked us to drop in and see how things are,” Jim explained.

“That’s fine. For a couple of days I sure have been doing some tall figuring without getting an answer. Guess I was sort of hipped with the snow and the emptiness of this place, but I wasn’t all goofy,” he said.

“Did you find anything?” Jim asked. He and Kramer were out of the cock-pit ready to listen to the story, whatever it was.

“Yes, a spell ago. I’ve been feeling that I wasn’t alone on this ranch and it got me worried, not because I was afraid, but because I couldn’t come up with anyone. The first time was at night, I was asleep in a bunk I fixed myself in the old root house, that dugout, and I awoke thinking I heard prowlers. I couldn’t find anything, but dozens of times since then I was sure I was being trailed; then I found those bear tracks and I know bears are enjoying a siesta this time of year, but they were tracks and they went around in a circle. It didn’t make me feel too good trying to figure what made ’em.”

“It must have made you anxious,” Kramer remarked.

“Surely did, brother. I reported to the sheriff and he promised to get someone here as fast as he could, and he told me to keep watch. Now, you two know bear tracks, just for fun come and look at this set and see if you can tell what made them and where the animal came from or went,” he proposed.

“Lead on, McDuff,” Kramer invited.

“You got my name wrong, buddy, it’s Summers--”

“I know, but that’s just a quotation,” Kramer hastened to explain.

“He wants you to show us,” Bob added.

“Oh, I see, he’s from Missouri. Well, come along.”

“Do we need the battery?” Kramer asked. He didn’t like toting a gun and seeing the two in the boys’ belts made him feel uncomfortable.

“We’ve got them on, and we might as well keep them,” Jim answered cautiously.

“Bring it with you, it will make you feel more as if you are in the woolly west,” Bob put in quickly. Both he and Jim were sure that leaving them behind would be foolish, and although all thought of danger had been effectively dispelled by Summers, they were not taking needless chances, at least until the ranch guardian had absolutely convinced them.

Carl made his way back down the slippery trail while the three followed single file. The descent was about a hundred feet and at the bottom they started to walk easily on the thick crust across a couple of acres of open space, then they reached the back of a row of sheds which had been used for machinery, tools, and also a smithy and general catch-all. Summers removed a loose board so they went through, and then proceeded by a winding way past the numerous ranch buildings until they came to the further end where the deserted home had been erected. There were a few scrub trees around it, their branches poking up through the snow, and here and there were layers of soft snow that had not frozen because it had been jarred from the branches or blown from near-by roofs.

“Here you are.” Summers stopped at the edge of a clear spot on the far side of the house, which was less exposed than the front, and protected from the colder winds by the elbow of the cliff. The three looked down quickly, and sure enough, they saw a set of tracks that must have been made by some large animal. It looked as if the beast had made the circuit twice, for most of the imprints were irregular, but many of them were distinct enough to show their form.

“I pass, what’s the joke?” Kramer asked.

“They do look a little like a bear,” Bob hesitated, and a moment later Jim turned to their guide.

“Is it someone who has his feet wound up?” he asked.

“You go to the head, that’s it,” Carl grinned. “Reckon if I hadn’t been so blamed scary I’d a thought of it myself.”

“Whose tracks are they?” Bob demanded.

“And why do they go around in a circle?” inquired Jim.

“Come along and see the rest of the exhibit,” Carl invited.

They followed him to the root cellar, which, as they approached, looked like a long high mound of snow. At the further side, they saw the entrance, a short steep incline, with a heavy, old fashioned cellar door that fitted into a frame which was level with the ground. This opening was thrown back, so the three stepped down, Carl pulled another heavy door, and instantly the odor of a miscellaneous collection of vegetables which had been stored there for years, came to their nostrils. Coming, as they did, from the glaring white of the world outside, everything looked pitch black, but in a moment their eyes were adjusted to the change and they saw a long room with a sloping roof. Two lighted lanterns were suspended from the huge beams overhead. A rough attempt had been made at furnishing. There was an army cot in one corner, some bright blankets draped the walls, and the earth floor was almost concealed under a collection of dressed hides. A couple of home-made chairs and a table completed the items.

“Some palatial house. Where did you get this stuff?” Bob asked.

“Mostly from the bunkhouse,” Carl answered.

“What’s beyond that?” Kramer wanted to know. He nodded toward the further end where he saw a partition of wide planks.

“Just another hole. I went in to see. These root houses used to be divided off. When I was a kid I played here one day, and explored this place. My dad said that the first hole was small, but every year a new section was added to hold more, and some of them were used in hot weather to keep things cool,” Summers explained.

“Great idea--”

“Who’s this?” Kramer asked, as he jumped back quickly.

“Pigeon Jute. You boys know him,” Carl chuckled. A tall slender Indian, wrapped in a grey blanket, had risen from the cot and stood staring at them gravely.

“Why sure we know him,” Jim laughed. “Haven’t seen you for a long time, Jute. How’re the pigeons?”

“Heap good,” the Indian grunted.

“When I first knew him he was trying to get a breed of birds that would be world beaters on long distance,” Jim explained.

“How did you make out, Jute?” Bob asked goodnaturedly, but the Indian merely grunted and shrugged.

“Real loquacious, isn’t he?” Kramer remarked softly, but he did feel as if he were getting a taste of the ancient west he had read of when he was a youngster.

“He’s all right. When I was a little kid he used to do things for my mother and he made enough bows and arrows to destroy an army,” Bob declared. He was genuinely glad to see his old friend.

“I suppose you made the tracks,” Jim laughed. “You thought you would have some fun with Carl so you hopped out of a tree, or started them by jumping from where the ice is clean.”

“Jumped!” came the brief explanation.

“So that finishes the mystery,” Bob sighed with relief.

“Surely does. He showed up today and wanted something to eat. I was as glad to see him as if he were a bouquet of spring flowers,” Carl assured them.

“I should have wanted to punch his jaw,” Kramer laughed.

“You wouldn’t if you hadn’t seen a human being for two weeks, besides, I’ve got a sense of humor,” Summers answered.

“We’ve brightened your day a lot, old man, but we’ve got to breeze along. Does the sheriff know what the answer is?” Jim asked.

“Yes. I just caught him when he was ready to start up here, so he called off the Reserves and went back to work. Much obliged to you all for dropping in and I hope you do it again.”

“Maybe it’s just as well if we stay on our side of the line a while longer, but you have skis, slide up and pay us a visit when things get too dull. You ought to rig up a radio; that would keep you in touch with a lot of fun,” Jim suggested.

“I’ve been building one, want to see it?”

“We’d better not linger any longer, it’s getting late,” Bob urged. Now that the mystery was solved he began to feel that he and Jim couldn’t get away from the place any too quickly, besides the short day was coming to a close and it would soon be dark. The Indian followed them outside, and strolled off unceremoniously.

“He’s got some traps set in the cliffs,” Carl explained. They watched the tall grey figure striding over the snow almost as swiftly as if he were on snowshoes, and soon he was lost from sight. He stepped so lightly that he didn’t leave an imprint.

“How do you like being a ranch nurse?” Bob asked, just to make conversation as they hurried along.

“It hasn’t been so inter--” He stopped short in his answer, and for an instant the four of them stood in startled silence. To their strained ears came an unmistakable rumble.

“Is it a plane?” Jim asked softly, but he knew it wasn’t. The words were hardly out of his mouth before the rumble grew into a thunderous roar, the earth under their feet rocked as if it had a convulsion; there was a terrific boom, followed in quick succession by three more violent explosions which threw all four of them on their faces. Kramer struck an icy spot and slid twenty feet. The land behind them ripped open, a sheet of flame and smoke belched forth, carrying huge rocks, hunks of earth and ice which flew high, wide and handsome, then began to shower as far as the cliffs.

“Come on,” Bob gasped. He caught Jim’s collar and the two struggled to their feet. Carl was lying motionless some distance away, and Kramer was rolling as hard as he could roll toward the row of sheds.

“We’ll get Summers,” Jim snapped. Bending low, the Buddies raced to the prostrate guardian of the ranch, each grabbed him and then hauled him along with them toward safety. One lump of debris struck Bob’s hand a hard crack, forcing him to let go, but Jim dragged harder and after a breathless stampede, the three at last reached the open door of the shed where Kramer was picking himself up gingerly.

“Don’t go in there,” Jim shouted. “It may come down.” He thought it was safer to trust themselves to the rain of missiles than to a building which might also be destroyed and crush them under its weight. By that time Carl was gaining consciousness and he jerked himself to his feet.

“What’s the mat--”

“Can you walk, old man? We’ve got to get out of here,” Jim urged.

“Sure.” Carl took a hasty glance over his shoulder and the sight of the yawning root house, to say nothing of the hail of frozen earth that filled the air, fairly put wings to his feet and he ran as fast as they could carry him. The others followed, but keeping their footing was a difficult matter for most of the time they were sliding, and several times Carl sprawled in a frantic effort to stay upright. Then Bob noticed that the direction they were taking would fetch them up quite a distance beyond the trail they must climb in order to reach the plane on the cliff.

“Buddy, Buddy,” he panted. “We’re out of the course.” Jim heard, dug his heels to act as a brake, and skidded around. Glancing ahead he realized they could never scale the wall. He made a megaphone of his hands and bellowed.

“Summers!” But the deputy was going too strong to stop at once, so they panted after him until finally they managed to get him to listen. “We have to get to the trail.”

“Oh, yes, sure!” He seemed too dazed to understand what they really meant, so they each caught him by the arms and struggled to get in the right direction. For a moment they completely lost sight of Kramer, then suddenly they heard him shout.

“Hey--stop--” They heard his gun snap and the crack of a bullet as it struck the rocks. Then sputtered a half dozen shots in quick succession, and the three paused uncertainly.

“He’s attacked,” Jim shouted. “Come along.” They ran faster and presently they could see across to the trail. The air man was holding his right arm to one side, but he pointed with the other. The boys’ eyes followed where he indicated, and in a moment they caught a glimpse of a fleeting figure leaping up the rocks of the cliff. Once, when the fellow came to an open spot, he stopped and leveled his gun, but by that time Summers’ brain began to work. He fired three shots as fast as he could pull the trigger, and they struck dangerously close to the man on the trail. With a curse he leaped back into the shelter of a huge rock.

“Drop,” Bob shouted, but they kept on running and were surprised that the fellow did not fire again. He might have used all his ammunition or his gun jammed. Then, suddenly above the commotion and confusion, they heard another sound.

“Suffering cats,” Bob gasped.

“Sacred Cod--the plane--” Jim started to race in pursuit, and although he ran as he had never run before, he barely reached the trail before the plane moved. Bob, who could see it best, stopped to stare, and there in the cock-pit sat Arthur Gordon. He waved impudently as the machine lifted, and in less than a second he was soaring with a thundering roar of the engine into the sky.

IV

“Thanks For The Buggy Ride”

As the three boys stood staring in the gathering gloom at the plane that was taking young Arthur Gordon to safety, something dropped at Jim’s feet and mechanically he picked it up. It was a note weighted with a hunk of ice. “Thanks for the buggy ride. A. G. Jr.” He read it aloud, then gave a little grunt of disgust.

“Great boy, that. He’s as lovable as a meat ax,” Bob remarked. A prolonged silence followed as the group glanced anxiously about them. The explosion had spent itself, the air was cleared but the ground was covered as far as they could see with the debris that had been thrown up. Kramer, who had fallen, struggled to his feet, staggered forward, but by that time the sound of the stolen plane died away in the distance.

“We’d better see how badly you are hurt,” Jim announced practically.

“Oh, I’ll be all right.”

“We’ll make sure. Bob’s a whiz at first aid, his mother taught him. Have you got any bandaging or stuff like that, Carl?”

“Had a kit,” Summers replied ruefully as his eyes rested on his destroyed quarters, “but I calculate there isn’t much of anything left.”

“Who do you suppose started that thing?” Kramer asked weakly. He wavered a bit and Caldwell sprang to support him. “Was it the Indian?”

“I don’t know, but I imagine it was the lad who stole the plane,” Bob answered. “Come along to the bunk house. Wish one of you fellows would make a fire. There’s an old stove in there. Rustle around and find a kettle or something so I can heat some water.” They prepared to obey the commanding officer and presently they had Kramer on one of the bunks, but there wasn’t any sort of cover to put over him. Jim ran out and gathered an arm full of wood, there was plenty of that scattered around, and it didn’t take him long to get things ready. Carl found an old pail, but it leaked, so he filled it with clean snow and rummaged further.

“Who’s got a match?” Jim asked. “I haven’t.”

“Neither have I,” Bob added.

“I had some in the roothouse--”

“Feel around in my pockets, Buddy. I guess you’ll find a few in a folder.” The folder was located but there were only two left.

“Here’s the whole stock.” Bob handed it to his step-brother, who promptly whittled a good collection of shavings to make doubly sure he got his fire. When he struck the first one it crackled like a firecracker and was useless. The four watched as the boy cautiously scratched the last one. After several futile attempts it lighted successfully, a piece of shaving caught, flickered an instant then blazed up and lighted other bits. They sighed with relief at the performance.

“What next, Doctor?” Jim grinned.

“See if you can find some kind of pail or pot, to heat some water in. How many snivel dusters have you got? My patient is bleeding.” Two clean handkerchiefs were produced, then leaving the patient and his attendant, Carl and Jim started to forage for a container. After a five minute search they found a pot which was serviceable, then they filled it with snow and took it in to melt.

“Couldn’t you get any water?” Bob demanded.

“No,” Jim answered.

Kramer was partly stripped and the boy found that he had been shot in the shoulder. “Don’t know how bad it is, but I can tie it up for a little while, then we have to find a way to get out. See what you can do.” He went back to his task, and the two assistants watched his capable fingers making a temporary dressing for the wound.

“It’s getting pretty dark. Let’s take some dry wood for torches, then investigate,” Jim proposed. He selected one of the longest pieces from the pile on the floor, lighted the end, and again the two sallied forth.

“Great guns, Jim, suppose we all had been in that place when that thing went off. We’d have been scattered over the landscape.”

“In small chunks,” Jim supplemented. “The sheriff told us that you tapped the wires and reported to him. Suppose we do that now. We can call K-A, his office and get a doctor here, or something like that. I didn’t do any extra gabbing about Kramer, but I know Bob, and I have a hunch that the chap has been hurt pretty seriously and needs help quick.”

“A part of the instrument is in the shed, we can get it and try, but I did the tapping in my dugout and that’s blown to blazes,” Carl answered. They were making their way to the shed, and Jim frowned at the information.

“There’s a telephone, or several of them in the house--”

“Sure, but the root-house was between that and Crofton so if the wires are broken we are out of luck unless we can find an end.” A few minutes later Carl found the instrument, and the pair went on to the scene of the disaster. They picked up several sections of dry wood to use when they needed more torches. Holding the light high the boys stopped at what had once been the entrance to Summers’ quarters but now it looked more like a hole that had been shelled with a big gun. From one end to the other they couldn’t see a thing that wasn’t badly broken, or wedged so tightly it was immovable. The iron cot was a twisted mass of metal, some of the larger sections of planking stuck up out of the accumulation of earth which had dropped back, and near by they discovered a piece of ski too short to be of any use.

“You hold the light and I’ll feel around,” Jim suggested. “Where abouts was the place you tapped?”

“On the right side of the door. A long time ago someone who owned the ranch had all the wires put in cables underground. It’s a great way to have them but if you don’t know how they are placed it’s some job to locate them,” Carl explained.

“Yes, I know. The only telegraph poles go along the back of the K-A, so they won’t help us. Can you get into the house?”

“Sure, I’ve got the keys--no I haven’t. I left them here on the shelf in a jar this morning. Thought I wouldn’t take a chance on losing them and they are kind of awkward to carry around,” Carl answered. “Whoever set this off surely got us where they want us.”

“We’d better break in somehow. You are an officer of the law, so you have a right to do that in an emergency. Come along and we’ll see how things are inside. My family will be throwing fits about now, especially if the bang of that blow-up carried so far,” Jim urged. They hurried toward the old ranch house and presently were standing on the long, low veranda. Their first try was to find out if there were any of the windows which had been left unfastened, but they were all nailed tightly.

“Here goes.” Carl smashed one of the larger panes with a piece of the torch wood they carried, then he ripped out the cross sections, and in a few minutes they were standing in what had been the family living room. Considering the haste the owners had been forced to make when they took their departure, the place was almost bare.

“How do you account for this?” Jim asked in surprise.

“Can’t really. I’ve never been in here, not since I came up to keep watch. The sheriff told me not to unless it was necessary. He said the house had been locked just as they found it and not to disturb anything,” answered Carl. “Expect Arthur Gordon has been hanging around and got away with the stuff. Great Scott, I’m some watchman.”

The same depleted state existed everywhere they investigated and as they walked from room to room their footsteps echoed hollowly. Carefully they both watched for telephone instruments and at last they found one in the long hall which went from one end of the building to the other but after examining it they learned that it was merely a house phone that was not used for outside purposes at all.

“That’s that! I know there was a phone in this room,” Jim declared suddenly making his way back to the living room. He remembered the day he had been in Don Haurea’s laboratory and had sat before the television-radio watching and listening to the two Gordons. That time the phone had rung and the young man talked over it. Without the furnishings it was not easy to locate where the instrument had stood, so they lighted a second torch and painstakingly examined the floor.

“Isn’t that a hole?” Carl pointed to the floor and sure enough they found an opening large enough to permit wires or a cable to go through, but there wasn’t even an inch of one left.

“It must go into the cellar,” Jim announced. He stood a moment to get the position, then they searched for the trap door through which they followed the stone steps down to the cave-like basement. It too had been systematically cleaned out. There wasn’t a useful thing in the place. It took a few minutes to find the hole that went into the living room above, but there was nothing left of the telephone.

“Wonder why in heck he ripped them up!” Carl exploded. “What did he expect to do with them?”

“Search me,” answered Jim. “I say, this place surely is spooky.”

“Let’s get out,” urged Carl. “Think it’s all right to leave Bob and Kramer alone?” he added.

“We’re here, so we’d better have another look for some wires,” Jim insisted. “We’ve simply got to get into connection with somebody soon.” Later they found the place where the cable went through the masonry but everything had been ripped away, and there was no possible means of getting at the connections that had once been there.

“We’re dished at this end. If I had been above the house I’d have discovered that these things were out of commission. Perhaps that’s why Gordon blew up the root-house,” volunteered the deputy.

“Think he did it?” asked Jim softly. The mystery of the place was beginning to get on his nerves. An almost overwhelming sense of helplessness was taking possession of him, but he struggled to combat it.

“Who else would? I don’t believe it was Jute. I’ve known him since I was a kid. He gave me my first pair of pigeons--they were beauties,” Carl answered.

“How did he happen to come around here?”

“I don’t know that, but I think he was following his traps and discovered I was guarding the place. He thought he’d have a little fun with me, so he made the tracks, but he just walked in on me this morning. I sure was glad to see him, and he laughed when I told him how he got my nanny with his trick. If he had done any mischief around the place he would have sneaked off and no one would have been the wiser. Let’s go and see if the doc and Kramer are all right.”

“Yes, then we’ll get to work on the dugout. We ought to be able to get connected with some wires there unless they are buried too tightly under that mound. I saw some tools in the shed, we can dig and chop.” They were glad to get out of the house and later when they reached the “hospital” Bob greeted them cheerfully.

“My patient is comfortable,” he announced with a grin. “Able to do anything?”

“Not yet, but we’ll try something else. Got plenty of wood? We may be gone an hour or so,” explained Jim.

“Lots. I discovered a box full, so we’ll be comfortable.” Kramer was lying on the bed, but his eyes were closed and he did not move.

“Asleep?” Summers wanted to know.

“Yes, just dozed off. If you find anything to eat, bring it along.”

“Sure pop. I say, Bob, are those guns you have, loaded?” Jim asked.

“To the gills,” the young fellow replied.

“Well, you keep them handy--”

“Shoot first and apologize afterwards,” Carl advised.

“The door is a good solid one and it has a bar across,” Bob told them so they realized that his labors had not made him forget to be cautious.

“So long. Meet you in the olive grove.” The two went out again and in the shed they found a couple of hatchets, a spade, and a short handled pick, which they took with them to the hole and immediately set to work to locate a weak spot in the mass. Necessity made them search thoroughly and at last they were rewarded by discovering a place where some of the beams had only a few inches of covering, which Jim industriously shoveled out of the way while Carl held the torch.

“Here she comes,” Austin exclaimed with satisfaction. Summers stuck the light in the ground, the two hauled on the boards and presently had a good sized opening.

“It lets us in toward where the door was,” Carl announced and he let himself down. “I say, Old Timer, you light another torch; we’d better each have one so we can see our way and not stumble over each other.”

“Rip snorting idea. Gosh all fishhooks, I’m hungry.”

“There is some grub. You look at the far end, you’ll find a sort of cache I made near the partition. I’ll see if I can get at the wires.” They started on the task but the debris cluttered the root-house so they were forced to proceed slowly, and several times they helped each other lift pieces of logs and rocks out of the way. Finally they were busy at their respective ends, Carl looking for exposed wires, and Jim trying to find some food that had escaped destruction. He had to do more chopping and hammering and, after several minutes he succeeded in clearing a wide section of the partition, but he didn’t locate the cache, so he went to work again, stopping once to kindle a fresh torch, and with its bright light he discovered that he had come through the dug-out to the second cellar.

“Having any luck?” Carl shouted.

“Not much,” he answered. “How about you?”

“I think I’ll have it in a minute,” replied Carl and he began to chop away, while Jim at the opposite end stepped into one of the older sections. Like the front of the place this too was wrecked, but not quite so badly as there had not been such a variety of things to scatter. However, one side was inaccessible, and although Jim saw nothing of special note on the other, he decided to examine it anyway. One thing which attracted his attention was a quantity of paper which looked as if some big books had been torn to bits, and some of their pages burned. Curious, Austin picked up some pieces, wondering from where they had come, then he found out, for right in front of him was an opening. Beyond the boy was a very small room which seemed to be lined with some sort of masonry. It was about seven feet square, and had projections which might have been used for shelves and seats. On the floor was more of the paper, like that which he had picked up outside, but in the poor light the boy could not be sure if it was blank or not.

“A queer joint,” he muttered, but a closer examination revealed nothing more, and there was no explanation as to why the small room was there or for what it had been used. The torch was beginning to burn close to his hand, so he made his way out. They could explore it later.

“Hey, Jim, I got it. Whoopee!”

“Good work.” Jim stuffed a few bits of the paper into his pocket and hurried to see what Summers had accomplished. He found that the deputy had unearthed a wire, had attached his instrument, and was listening for a response to his call. At last it came, then after a moment’s delay, Carl began to put in his message.

“I say, Sheriff, Arthur Gordon, the young fellow, was here. He got away in the Austin’s airplane--” There was a pause. “He blew up the place, but we’re all right, except Kramer, he was shot--” Another pause then Carl looked at Jim. “He wants to know how much gas was in the plane, how far it could go.” Austin frowned and thought hard, then he remembered that as he sat in the cock-pit with the pilot he had calculated that there wasn’t enough to carry them more than about sixty miles.

“Not much unless there was a reserve tank, and I don’t believe there was,” he answered. “We can find out for sure from Kramer, if he is able to talk.”

“Only a little.” Then followed a series of quick questions and answers, and finally Carl disconnected with a sigh of relief. “They discovered at Crofton that they can’t get the ranches up Cap Rock on the telephone and some line men are out looking for the trouble. Your father sent a message through from the Haurea place, sent it to the north station, and it was relayed back. They wanted to know what had happened to us.”

“I suppose our folks are on their way down,” Jim remarked, and he was mighty glad.

“Sure thing. The sheriff is going to broadcast about Gordon and have every plane watched. Too bad it wasn’t earlier in the day, but the landing field will turn on the search lights. It isn’t a dark night and if he has to come down for gas he’ll run the risk of getting picked up.” Carl put the instrument in the spacious pockets and they felt he had done a good job.

“I didn’t find a blame thing to eat, but I guess we can survive until someone comes. Say, Summers, I opened a queer hole, come and look at it,” Jim urged, so he led the way back to the paper-strewn section. They crawled through the opening and Carl stared in puzzled wonder.

“Great guns, I never saw a place like this before.” He tapped about the wall, but made no further discovery.

“What do you suppose it is?”

“Tell you what it might be--a hiding place. Before the blow-up, I looked behind those boards and even went into the second division. It was just another place for storing potatoes, or something like that--canned fruit perhaps,” Carl answered.

“What was this metal room used for? Bob’s mother has a closet for preserves in the cellar at the K-A and she has one on the Cross-Bar, but they’re just built-in places to keep things at an even heat, or cool, nothing like this,” Jim explained.

“Sure, I know, my mother has one. Tell you what, this is an old ranch, was settled by some of the first cowmen when the country was pretty wild. It might be that the owner had this in case of a raid, a place big enough to keep his wife and children, something like that--he might have wanted to keep them safe from Indians--”

“It looks to me as if this is about five or six feet below the surface of the ground and quite a few people could stay here but not for long,” Jim remarked.

“It would protect anyone who got in, from being butchered, or in case the ranch houses were burned,” Carl suggested.

“Perhaps that was it, but I don’t see why all the paper,” Jim argued.

“Neither do I unless they had books, accounts and that sort of thing. Some of the descendants could have used it as a safe-deposit, but I haven’t got another guess. Come on and see how Bob and Kramer are.”

They didn’t wait to do more than throw a few pieces of plank over the openings, and then with new torches they made their way to the bunk house, which was pitch dark. Jim caught Carl’s arm and instinctively the two stepped as softly as the hard snow would permit. When they reached the door, Austin listened, but not a sound came from inside. He tapped softly, his heart hammering against his ribs, with dread lest some thing had happened to his Flying Buddy and Kramer. He wished heartily that they hadn’t lingered so long.

“Knock again,” Carl whispered and Jim did. There was a soft movement from inside, the bar was lifted carefully, and finally the door moved, but only wide enough to permit the barrel of a gun to be poked through.

“Hands up or I’ll blow you up--”

“Buddy--Bob--”

“Oh, why the heck did you come sneaking around like a pair of coyotes? I heard a dozen things since you left. Come on in. Get anything to eat?” The two entered and the younger boy turned up the wick of a small lantern. “Gosh, I thought you fellows had been buried.”

“No, but we got word to the sheriff,” Carl explained. “How’s Kramer?”

“Crazy in the head. He’s been muttering and twisting around until I had to tie him down.” Just then they heard the welcome honk of an automobile, and two minutes later, Mr. Austin and Don Haurea were at the door. “When do we eat?” the substitute doctor demanded.

“Right away, my boy. Your mother knew that you would be hungry--”

“God bless her, she knows we always are,” Caldwell grinned, and the rest of the party laughed heartily.

V

In The “Lab.”

“Humph, now I feel as if I am alive!” Bob had just swallowed the last bite of a delicious fried-chicken sandwich, and he blinked contentedly about the room. They were all in the bunkhouse at the Gordon’s. Zargo, who had accompanied Mr. Austin and Don Haurea, had relieved young Caldwell of his patient, so the Flying Buddies and Carl Summers could give their undivided attention to the basket of food the rescuing party had brought with them. At that moment Kramer moved, opened his eyes and stared at the dark man bending over him.

“You are doing well, sir,” Zargo said quietly. There was something very reassuring in the manner of the Box-Z’s overseer, and although the man from the north had never set eyes on him before, the dozen questions that popped into his brain on returning to consciousness began to arrange themselves in an orderly array instead of a confused mass.

“Guess you are a doctor,” he said.

“I know a little,” Zargo admitted.

“I say, Kramer, was there an extra tank of gas in that bus?” Jim asked. “We have been trying to calculate where it would have to come down.”

“Gas? Oh, no, I left the extra ones at your ranch before we went to Crofton. Thought I shouldn’t need them,” he replied.

“Then that chap couldn’t get more than about fifty miles?”

“It would depend upon how he flew. He’ll get about sixty or sixty-five; if he conserves it,” answered Kramer.

“Great, then he would have to come down in Texas. Feel like eating something? There is a little left but believe me it has taken great self-restraint on our parts to save anything.”

“He may have a little, then more before we leave,” Zargo decided, so they arranged a roll of blankets to raise Kramer’s head, and he was ready to eat.

“I can feed him, Old Man,” Bob offered. “Don Haurea wants to go up the cliff to where the plane took off. When you come back we’ll go home. It’s been a nice large night and a good time was had by all.”

“That is an excellent suggestion,” Don Haurea smiled at the irrepressible young fellow. “We shall leave the officer with you,” he added and turned to Carl Summers. “You are both armed, I do not anticipate further attacks, but it is always well to--as the Boy Scouts say--to be prepared.”

“Yes, sir,” Carl agreed, but he wasn’t especially keen about being left behind, for although he had caught occasional glimpses of the owner of the Box-Z this was the first time he had come into close contact with the man who was something of a mystery to his neighbors, and more so to the natives of Crofton, so the deputy greatly regretted not being a member of the investigating party.

“You are a good soldier,” said the tall man, who was, on close acquaintance, proving so very unformidable.

“Thank you, sir.” Carl was immediately eager to take his part in upholding the law and guarding the wounded. The rest of the party got into great coats, wrapped mufflers about their necks, and pulled fur caps over their ears. The three men had strong flashlights, and presently they stepped out into the night anxious to explore the vicinity as quickly as possible. Their first journey was to the scene of the explosion, which interested Don Haurea very little, and finally they made their way to the trail where they began the steep climb to the ledge.

They had to exercise care, for the explosion had loosened huge chunks of rock and ice and as they proceeded Jim was amazed that the plane had not been damaged. At last they reached the spot, but as far as the boy could see there was nothing gained by the trip. However, Don Haurea made his way close to the steep cliff, which rose almost straight as a wall with several broken sections. Carefully the man investigated all of them and a moment after he disappeared into the last one, they heard him call sharply to his servant, who responded immediately, the Austins following close on his heels. To their utter astonishment they saw something huddled in a heap against a rock and as the lights turned fully upon it, they whistled.

“It--why Dad, it’s Jute--Pigeon Jute. I’d forgotten him.” Zargo was bending over the Indian, his capable fingers moving swiftly, then he said something to the Don, and an instant later picked the man up in his arms.

“He was shot,” Don Haurea explained briefly. “We will get him where it is warm and see if we can help him.”

“Shall I go ahead with a light?” Jim asked softly.

“It would be a good plan,” the Don answered, so the boy led the way down the treacherous trail. Zargo might have been carrying an infant for all the effort it took, and finally they were again in the bunkhouse. Bob was too amazed for even the mildest of exclamations, but he jumped in and arranged a bunk.

“We found him near where the plane was,” Mr. Austin explained. Then they waited silently while Zargo examined the Indian, and after what seemed hours, he looked up.

“In a moment he will return to consciousness,” he announced, and he was right. Pigeon Jute opened his dark eyes, looked from one to the other, then tried to raise himself. Don Haurea spoke to him in his own language and the Indian’s eyes lighted. After a minute, he spoke a few sentences, and when he was finished the Don nodded.

“He says that for some time he has been selling--or delivering long distance flying pigeons to Arthur Gordon. He was in the north at the time of the trouble at the Box-Z, so did not hear of it until a few days ago after he had delivered several carriers to a ranch outside of Crofton. When he learned of the difficulty he started to find young Gordon to collect his money. He trailed him to the ranch, but could not locate him until this morning. When you boys left the dugout Jute started up the trail. He was behind the cliffs when the place blew up and was coming back to see if you were hurt when he saw Gordon leap into the plane. He tried to prevent it, but was shot for his pains.”

“Jute can speak English!” Jim remarked.

“Yes, but not so well as his own tongue, which is less effort while he is so weak,” Don Haurea replied.

“Whistling Pigs,” exclaimed Bob, “reckon that’s why Gordon did not favor us with any more lead.”

“Undoubtedly it is,” Don Haurea agreed.

“What was Gordon going to do, or doing with carrier pigeons?” Jim wanted to know. “Are they kept on that ranch?”

“Merely shipped from there. The man told Jute they had sold the place and were waiting for the last birds he brought down.”

“Shipped by rail?”

“Truck, and probably that truck will not appear in the neighborhood again. From the plane, Gordon no doubt dropped a warning, or several of them, and every trace will be obliterated at once.”

“Tough luck,” Jim muttered.

“How many of the wounded can be moved?” Mr. Austin asked practically.

“Both of them,” was the decision. “I shall take Jute to the Box-Z.”

“Kramer is booked for the K-A,” Jim grinned.

“Boy, you’ll have a vacation as is a vacation,” Bob promised. “You can do a Caesar; wire your firm that you came, you saw, and you conquered--”

“Were conquered,” Kramer corrected. “I’ve had a grand trimming--”

“Well, don’t broadcast it, why shouldn’t you have some glory!”

They lost no time in getting the two wounded men into the limousines and although Mr. Austin urged Carl to come to the ranch, the deputy decided to wait for instructions from the sheriff, so at last they drove off, leaving the young fellow alone, but this time there was no anxiety regarding his safety. Seated beside his father, Jim’s eyes stared ahead and his mind was busy. He felt it was a beastly shame that the new plane should have been lost before they had had it twenty-four hours, and although they had made the trip for the mail and newspapers, the bag was now no-one-knew where and the family was deprived of its second investment. The boy was feeling too blue over the theft to discuss the matter so he resolutely tried to put it out of his mind. He thought of young Gordon, with his limited supply of gas, but he had absolutely no hope that the outlaw would be captured. In the first place, it had been hours from the time the machine took off from the cliff before the sheriff could send the alarm, and by that time Gordon would have made good his escape. There were dozens of ways by which he might replenish the fuel supply and go on to the Mexican border, or almost any place. To be sure, a description of the machine would be sent forth but that did not help matters much.

Finally the two cars reached the point in the road where the Austins turned into their own ranch house. As he sped by, Don Haurea waved to the occupants in the other car. Then Jim wondered how it was the Indian had been discovered. He recalled the man’s interest in the cliff, his investigating each crevice, and the finding of Jute. Then another query popped into his mind.

“I say, Dad, is Jute an American Indian?”

“Yes, full-blooded. What made you ask?”

“Just wondered how Don Haurea knew his language,” Jim answered.

“I have heard that as a boy, the Don was always interested in the various tribes and made a point of learning all he could about them. Here we are--and, oh what a shame--” He broke off quickly when he saw the house lighted from top to bottom and knew that Mrs. Austin had not gone to bed, although it was nearly morning. Before they drove to the door, it was thrown open.

“The doctor came from Crofton and is waiting,” Mrs. Austin called, and a moment later the medical man came to help his patient into the house. Over the eastern rim of the mountains the first faint streaks of dawn were breaking before the buddies were ready for bed.

“Kind of rotten about the bus,” Bob said softly.

“All of that,” Jim replied. They turned in to catch up on some of their lost sleep and it was noon before either of them opened his eyes again. The pair joined the family for a “brunch,” which was the name Bob gave to a combination breakfast and lunch. As they lingered over the meal, the telephone rang and Jim went to answer.

“Yes, this is the K-A.” There was a slight pause, then, “yes, wait,” “Oh, Galloping Snails, that’s great, Sheriff! Will you hold the wire a moment please? I say, Dad they found the plane--”

“They did, that is splendid--”

“Did they get Gordon?” Bob demanded.

“No, not a trace of him. Dad, they have got the plane near an aviation field. It’s smashed up some, but not bad, just a few little things--”

“Can they fix it?” Mr. Austin asked.

“Yes, easily, so she’ll be all hunkie-dorie.”

“Ask them to do it, and if they have a pilot, have him fetch it home as soon as it is ready. We are certainly fortunate.”

“All right, Sheriff. Thanks a lot for calling us.” Jim hung up the receiver, and everyone was eager to hear the details.

“I suppose Gordon came down in the night and sneaked off,” Bob suggested.

“They haven’t any idea of what happened to him. One of the airmen saw the plane roaring along and he rode beside her just for companionship. When he looked for the pilot, Gordon, the cock-pit was empty. The fellow thought he was seeing things. Then in a couple of minutes our engine conked, stopped, and began to go down, but she spun around in grand style, going forward, and finally she dropped in a nice smooth section of the plain. The mail-man followed, but she was absolutely empty when he investigated. There was a bag of things on the floor, everything seemed just as it should be, but there wasn’t a trace of the fellow who started off in her,” Jim explained.

“Isn’t that rather amazing?” Mrs. Austin inquired.

“It surely is, Mom. I say, Buddie, was the parachute there?”

“Two; one on the front seat and one on the back.”

“The third one was gone. Gosh, Gordon must have hopped overboard when he saw he couldn’t get very far. Did his exit before anyone could start a search for him. She’s one grand little bus--intelligent animal, to make her own landing all by her lonesome. That ought to make Kramer feel pretty cocky--some talking point for his advertising department.”

“Better run up and tell him. He was feeling badly last night over the loss, and now that the machine will--”

“Be coming home to roost,” Bob grinned. “I’ll break the good news to him gently.” He raced upstairs to tell the salesman, who was delighted and no end set up over the achievement of the machine. While they were discussing the matter, the Box-Z limousine drove up, and Jim went to admit the caller. He discovered that it was Zargo.

“I had to be in this direction and Don Haurea asked me to stop and see if you wish to return with me.”

“Thanks a lot. I’ll be ready in a jiffy. How is Jute?”

“Doing very well, thank you. And Mr. Kramer--”

“Top of the world,” Jim replied.

“That is good news.” The boy hurried into the house.

“Oh, Bob, going to the Don’s this afternoon? Zargo is outside!”

“Guess not, Old Timer. I’ll linger around and keep Kramer from getting rusty, but you ooze along.” Ten minutes later, Jim was in the big car, which was a particularly powerful, smooth-running machine, and now it ate up the miles as it rushed over the road that wound along the edge of Cap Rock.

“Dad told me that when he was a boy this was the stage-coach road. The drivers used to go lickity-split--mostly split--and when the passengers got out most of them would be black and blue from the bumps,” Jim remarked.

“Those days are not so far distant,” Zargo replied. “Your father’s generation has seen many changes.”

“Yes, sir, from covered wagons to airplanes. Besides that there have been the cables, radio, submarines, automobiles and television. When you come to think of it they have had to do some mental jumping to grasp it all. The inventors and discoverers in these days are everlastingly lucky they were not born earlier, during the time when the mob pitch-forked everything that was different and called any kind of progress heresy. Great guns, I never can understand why those old ducks were so opposed to people using their own brains. What a lot of good men and women they cooked when half the world had to believe what a couple of fellows dictated. Zargo, do you believe there is a hell?”

“What is your definition of hell?” the man asked.

“That’s a hot one. A bad place where bad people go when they are dead. Where they have to atone for their sins,” Jim answered.

“And what would you classify as sin?”

“You sure are not going to commit yourself,” the boy chuckled. “Well, I don’t believe God punishes people for their ignorance, but if he does, there’s an army--an everlasting big one--of people who have been powerful enough. I mean held high positions, inflicted torture and suffering on their fellow men, who tried to show the world how everybody could know more--like Galileo, and a lot of fellows. I’d call destroying men like that a sin.”

“You would turn a great many--say standard saints, into sinners.”

“Sure, why not? If they were incapable of rightly classifying their fellows, they just naturally over-estimated their own importance.”

“I should say you have given the matter a good deal of thought.”

“Well, I have some,” the boy flushed. “You know, when you are flying, way up in the sky--through the heavens, no matter what they were doing, it does set a chap’s thinking machine to working. Gosh, I’ll be glad when we get our new plane fixed. When they fetch it home, Bob and I are going to take it to bed with us so nothing can happen to it--wow, here we are.”

The car went purring along the drive under the snow laden willows whose long branches rustled and murmured as the breeze stirred them. It stopped before the door, which was promptly opened by the man servant, and a minute later, Don Haurea was welcoming his pupil, who lost no time in divesting himself of outer garments.

“Your step-brother, I take it, is engaged in entertaining Mr. Kramer.”

“Yes, sir. He’s still got some things he wants to read, and I guess he thought if he stayed at home, it would be a little easier on Mom, and Bob sort of likes to take care of sick things. It tickles him pink if he can doctor a chicken, especially if it gets well,” Jim laughed, then added earnestly, “Bob’s a great buddie.”

“He certainly is,” the man agreed promptly.

“I say, Don Haurea, did you know that Pigeon Jute was up there in those rocks? I’ve been wondering all night.”

“Suppose we go to the laboratory and see. It is nearing the hour when I have a few minutes with my son--”

“That’s so, I’d like to say hello to Yncicea, haven’t done it for a week. Does he celebrate Christmas, I mean the way we do?”

“With the rest of the world he enjoys a holiday,” the man nodded.

“I’m glad, because a year without a Christmas would be sort of--well lonesome.”

The two went leisurely into the long, cheery living room, to the panel in the wall which was now a familiar object to Jim, but he recalled that first day the Don had opened the way to the little elevator, which had been installed during the days of the present owner’s grandfather. Without waiting, the boy pressed the tiny knot, and as he did so, his mind leaped back to the summer day when the Gordons and Burnam had led a crazy mob to the ranch, and an airplane machine gunner viciously fired his deadly rounds into the house in an attempt to destroy its occupants. The whole scheme had failed because Jim had managed, despite wounds, to press his bleeding hands against a small button on one of the pillars on the veranda, releasing an invisible wall of electricity which caught the invaders. Today the door slid smoothly, the pair stepped inside and immediately began to descend to the beautifully built under-ground work and experimental laboratories. Presently they were in the long tiled hall, the boy went at once to his own closet where he changed to the close-fitting white suit and soft sandals.

“This sure is a comfortable outfit,” he grinned. The Don was ready too, so they hurried along to the turn, and finally they were admitted to the outer room, which was exactly as it was on the boy’s first visit, only now the attendant smiled his recognition, and they passed inside. Here was a large class of scientific men; as before, some of them glanced up from what they were doing, while others were too absorbed to note the late arrivals. Austin nodded or spoke a soft greeting as he passed on into the Don’s own department, and soon they seated themselves on a long bench before a sort of desk with a high frame at the back. Eagerly the young fellow looked up at the man, who nodded, and then Jim’s fingers moved expertly across the dial until at last he sat back and waited.

Over the screen in front of him passed a slight movement which might have been water, but Austin knew that it was a film composition rolling past and in a moment he made out blurred objects which gradually shaped themselves into a back-ground of blue sky, with a rushing stream in the foreground. Shrubs and trees stood out in stately order, then a winding path which led over moss-grown rocks to a wide terrace above. Then something moved and Jim could not contain himself a moment longer as the boy he had first seen in Vermont, stepped out from the garden.

“Yncicea,” he called.

“Jim, Old Scout,” came the laughing response. “In Texas you are to have a white Christmas.”

“We surely are,” Jim laughed. “Bob’s mother is crazy about it, says it’s exactly like when she was a girl in Vermont--you know--”

“When she lived on the farm, by the waters of Lake Champlain.”

“Right you are. Well, it’s great to see you, and your father wants to speak to you. So long, Old Man.”

“So long, Jim, Old Scout; here’s to the membrane on your proboscis.”

“Aw, go on, that’s no way to say--skin on your nose,” Jim laughed.

“My son has not proved to be a very good student of slang,” the Don chuckled, then, for several minutes the two spoke in that strange language which Jim had not been able to attribute to any race. Finally the father and son were finished, then the man moved to the further end of the room. Again the two sat down before a dial board, but this time the screen was more like a moving picture.

“Will this be yesterday--last night, I mean?” the boy asked.

“Yes, and perhaps it will answer your question.”

VI

Out Of The Sky

Young Austin waited eagerly for the photo record of certain observations made every day in the laboratory. In a moment the film had rolled to the beginning of the picture and after a few preliminary scenes passed, Jim saw the buildings of the Gordon ranch appear, one after the other. There were the barns, corrals, bunkhouse, the ancient home and the root house a short distance away. Beyond, the cliff rose in ragged ridges to the strip of table land which the boy knew so well. He saw Carl Summers, the deputy, gun on his arm, and snowshoes on his feet, moving cautiously as he made his rounds of the place in search of a sign of the return of Arthur. The picture passed from the young chap to other sections, lingered an instant on Pigeon Jute following the deputy, and at last it revealed the outlaw emerging stealthily from a long, tumbled-down building. Through the open door could be seen a pile of furniture, and as they watched, Gordon returned to the room where he fell to work piling the stuff into a deep hole at the further end. That done, the young man covered it with burlap, earth, and finally snow so that it looked as if it had been undisturbed and that the drifts had come down through the broken sections of the roof.

“What do you know about that!” The boy exclaimed in astonishment, but Don Haurea was occupied with something at the further end of the room and made no reply. Keenly interested, Jim continued his observation, and at last he followed Gordon into the old root-house where Summers had made his headquarters. The sheriff’s assistant was nowhere near the spot, and Gordon gave it an indifferent inspection. He hurried to the end, moved the partition, and quickly stepped inside. He went at once to the wall, which was later blown out, removed a section cleverly covered with dirt, and then stepped hastily into the strange vault-like room, where he pulled out numerous record books, ran his fingers through them as if in search for something, which he did not find. He examined the wall, then proceeded to tear the papers.

At this point the picture changed and Jim found himself watching a group of men who were apparently in some part of Don Haurea’s laboratory. They too were interested in observing Arthur Gordon’s actions, but that part of the record moved to another point in the laboratory, where two men were busy before a huge piece of machinery, with a complicated looking set of dials and wheels. One of the men who had been watching Gordon came close to them. He seemed to be giving some directions, and Jim saw a pointer set, other wheels turned, then a small tube of liquid was poured into a grooved opening, and the men waited. Again the scene changed and Austin saw the new airplane land on the cliff, and he watched with interest every move which he knew the four of them had made right up to the minute when they left the dug-out with Carl and Jute running on ahead. Their own part in what followed was cut off; the picture showed the men in the laboratory and as they stood before the mysterious machine they were observing the inside of the dug-out.

Gordon was coming stealthily out of the small armoured room. He stopped to listen at every step, then he heard an odd whirring and jumped forward as if he recognized the sound as a warning, or as if he had stepped on a powerful spring. He leaped furiously to the partition, sprang out, raced through the room, his hand pressed over his face, then came the rumble, the place shook, the further end boomed and heaved convulsively, while the young fellow ran for his life until he reached the cliff, tore madly toward the plane, stopping barely an instant to fire at Kramer. In a moment he was jumping into the cock-pit, but Jute caught his ankle. With an oath, Gordon kicked out and fired, started the engine and the plane leaped into the air. The Indian was in a heap on the snow but he crawled painfully between the crevices.

“Oh, now I know why you examined those crevices.” The Don had joined him and he nodded quietly.

“I thought the Indian would have a camp in the woods somewhere and would get to it, but I decided to make sure before we left last night.”

“Then the place was exploded from here?”

“Yes. Gordon was ready to leave and he had a bomb which he was setting. He intended it to go off while Summers was alone so the young fellow would be blown to pieces. Unfortunately we had to wait until you boys and Mr. Kramer were a safe distance away, then when we disturbed the bomb, it made a slight noise, which Gordon recognized, so he ran for his life and managed to save it. He rigged up the explosive earlier in the day and was going to start it while Carl was making his rounds, so we decided to let the destructive thing be his own undoing; it seemed the surest way of getting him.”

“Did you tell the sheriff he was there?” Jim asked.

“No. In order to do that we should have to explain how we knew the fellow was there and it isn’t wise to reveal to the layman something he cannot understand. We did hope to trap Gordon in such a way that he could be captured, but when he showed the determination to kill young Summers, we had to act quickly,” the Don explained, then added, “I am very glad that your airplane has been found.”

“So am I. We miss the bird no end.”

“Well, now you understand exactly what took place, shall we turn our attention to aeronautics?”

“Yes, sir, and I’d like to watch those chemical experiments.”

“Very good.” Presently the boy was seated in his own corner of the great laboratory, a huge book on the table before him, and a collection of shiny instruments and test-tubes waiting for use. He glanced at the array affectionately, gave his head a little shake as he thought how much he wanted to accomplish, then he set grimly to work, forgetting everything else in the world. It wasn’t until Don Haurea touched him on the shoulder to remind him that the hours had passed, that he glanced away from his work.

“Zargo will run you home,” he offered.

“Thank you, sir.”

The next two days were uneventful, although they were full of suppressed excitement because they were the last before Christmas, and on every huge ranch great preparations were going forward for the holiday. Kramer improved rapidly, and so did Jute, and at last the great date arrived. Homes were decorated with greens, extra bells were attached to harnesses, and cooks were putting the last touches on feasts which were to be spread in homes and bunkhouses. The repaired plane had arrived from the shop early Christmas Eve, and the Flying Buddies went gleefully off to Crofton for newspapers and mail, to say nothing of packages which had accumulated at the post office. They came back as laden as a pair of Santa Clauses, and the entire evening was spent in preparations for the next day. No word had come from the sheriff, so the boys knew that young Gordon had made good his escape. Not even a trace of the parachute had been discovered.

Every man working at the Cross-Bar and the K-A was at headquarters for the festival, and because of the tenderfoot guest, a special party was being arranged--a real wild-west affair with rodeo exhibitions such as only real wild west men can put on successfully. The Austin family, even if there were no little members, were up betimes, and Mom insisted that breakfast be eaten before presents were opened. Everybody was in high spirits, and the air was filled with shouted greetings which lingered in the clear atmosphere. The meal was barely finished when from somewhere came the familiar drone of a racing motor. The Flying Buddies glanced at each other, then by one impulse ran out to see who might be arriving by airplane. It took only a moment to locate the tiny speck in the blue which they watched as interestedly as if they were a pair of small boys. Cap Rock was too far west for them ever to see the air-mail-men, and pilots flew their planes over that section very rarely.

“Gosh, she’s a bird,” Bob exclaimed.

“Looks as if she’s pure silver,” Jim added, and in the bright sunshine the plane did look exactly like that, highly polished. She was rapidly getting nearer, but as yet they could not make out her pilot. However, they did not think much about that for the machine was two thousand feet up and the man was probably protecting himself from the cold. Without diminishing her speed she came straight toward them and in a moment they decided that she was going to pass over, but to their surprise she executed a wide graceful curve, dipped as if she were making a salute, banked, zoomed swiftly, curved again, dived and began to descend in narrowing spirals.

“She’s decorated like a Christmas tree,” Bob laughed. “Somebody’s coming to our party.”

“Somebody is a lucky guy if he owns that machine,” Jim gasped in admiration. The motor had stopped and the beautiful plane was dropping lightly into the clear space only a few feet away from the house. With one impulse the boys leaped across the veranda, slid over the frozen snow, and stopped at the same moment the plane did. Then they stared at the stranger, and at length, stared at each other.

“There isn’t anyone in her,” exclaimed Jim incredulously. They were standing by the fuselage, the cock-pit had a special transparent cover, but no one was seated before the controls.

“See in the back.” There were two cock-pits, the machine was a four-passenger, or three-passenger beside the pilot, and the Flying Buddies walked around her, but the back was as empty as the front. They even glanced at the rigging expecting to discover someone hanging on, but not a soul did they see.

“Tell you what, bet somebody lost her. Remember, that’s the way our plane came down, or it came something like that,” Bob declared.

“Sure. Well, we can soon find out about her. Gosh, isn’t she a beauty, Buddy!”

“Boys, bring your guest inside,” Mom called from the veranda. “You haven’t your big coats on.”

“Be with you in a minute,” Bob answered.

“By George, she looks as if she might have been made for Lindbergh.” It took them only a moment to find a pair of small latches on the outside of the cock-pit cover, but before they lifted it, Bob exclaimed.

“I say, if anyone jumped out of this he was mighty particular to close the roof after him.”

“That’s so, but perhaps it snaps shut.” They lifted the cover, much as they would lift the hood of an automobile, and they saw that the main section folded into a long narrow space. Everything about the plane was brand new. The seats were heavy shiny brown leather with lighter shade trimmings. In front of the pilot’s seat the control board looked, at first glance, like any other machine’s, but on closer inspection they found it was equipped with several extra dials and indicators. On each side of the cock-pit were a pair of long slender glasses. There was a radio, for receiving and transmitting, speaking tube, hamper for the traveler’s convenience. The mirror was the shape of a globe and it had a reflector to cut off any part, or act as a protection for the whole sphere. It looked to the boys as if the altitude meter registered not only the height above the sea level, but it would automatically change according to the nature of the territory over which it would fly.

“Why, Buddy!!!” Jim discovered a long white envelope hanging on one of the parachute buckles and he detached it carefully.

“Does it give the chap’s name?”

“I’ll--why Buddy!” That was all Austin could say and he held out the envelope, which he had turned over. “Look!” Caldwell stared, and read mechanically.

“‘Merry Christmas to the Flying Buddies’--Flying?--Why Jim, that’s--great guns--it can’t be our--Say, what’s inside that envelope?” Jim was already opening it. He took out a folded sheet of heavy paper that looked like some sort of parchment. Swiftly he scanned the lines, then he jumped ten feet into the air and gave a whoop which bounded and rebounded like a ball. Bob caught the sheet from his hand and read.

“Flying Buddies: Christmas

Gentlemen:

I hope to find a place in your hearts and that I shall be permitted to serve you through many happy excursions above the world. No man of your race has ever ridden in such a plane, but I am built so that you will miss none of the pleasure of good piloting. If you will be seated and replace the cover, it will be my pleasure to show you something extra in joy-rides.

I have no name, so I can only sign myself, at your service!”

“Come a-hopping, Buddy,” Jim shouted. He jumped into the cock-pit, but Bob hesitated.

“What is it?” he demanded.

“You haven’t a coat on.”

“The cabin is as warm as toast. Hustle, me brave lad, you are retarding progress, which is sinful.” Bob took the second seat, which was adjusted exactly the right size and shape, and Jim swiftly closed the cover. The motor began to purr gently, like a dozen contented lion cubs, and the plane lifted, spiraling in close circles until it reached a thousand feet, then the nose was turned north and she shot forward at a speed of nearly two hundred miles an hour. Austin was busily examining the paraphernalia on the board before his eyes, while Bob was simply too puzzled to do anything more than sit back and wonder if he was experiencing some sort of fantastic dream. In ten minutes the machine was dropping lightly in the Haurea front yard, where the Flying Buddies saw Zargo and the Don waiting for them.

“You did not fear to accept the invitation,” Don Haurea smiled as Jim shoved the cover from over the cock-pit.

“Not so that you could notice it,” Jim declared. “Wow, what a bird.”

“Glad you like it.”

“Who wouldn’t! Golly, Don Haurea, it’s a wonderful present, but it’s pretty steep--”

“Don’t you like it?”

“Crazy about it.”

“My son and I both feel that the several services you Flying Buddies have rendered us certainly warrant some token--”

“Token, great heavens, Don Haurea--oh, but she’s a beauty. How did you send her over and bring her back?” Bob demanded.

“A very simple little instrument. You will notice one of the dials is a little different color from the other controls. It is now set, in time as it were, with a section of our plant here, and was controlled from the laboratory. You have demonstrated that part; we will show you the ordinary method of plane piloting in a very few minutes. One thing I shall ask is that you do not mention the fact that she is equipped to operate from a central power-control. There are five stations in the world from which she can be directed, and in an emergency, even though she ran out of gas she could be kept up. I’d suggest that you keep the dial turned to the lowest notch, that will tune-in whenever you are flying, and in case of accident it may save you some trouble.”

“Jinks,” Bob whistled.

“May I ask where the power control comes from? but I suppose it comes from here,” Jim said.

“It did for today’s demonstration. There are five stations in the world; four beside this one of mine. One is in South America, one in India, one in China, and the other in England.”

“I suppose there are more planes like this one,” remarked Jim.

“A few.”

“Well, jinks--I don’t know how to thank you.”

“Just the same, we do think it’s mighty good of you--”

“That’s all that is necessary. Now, I must go inside. Zargo will tell you how she works, then I expect, although I regret that you cannot pay me a visit this morning, that you would better get back, for you are A.W.O.L., and Mrs. Austin will be anxious.”

“She sure will, and Jim, they are waiting to open the packages,” Bob reminded his step-brother.

“We’ll hustle.” It took Zargo only a few minutes to point out the different parts and explain their use. At last the two were again closed in the snug little cabin and Jim was in the pilot’s seat. He had no difficulty getting home, but when they dropped down by their own house, the elder Austins were looking for them.

“See what Santa Claus brought us,” Bob shouted. Then the gift had to be admired, and although the two grown-ups thought it was a pretty extravagant one, they could not protest against its acceptance.

“It looks to me as if I shall certainly have to learn to fly if the other plane is neglected for I expect that you boys will scorn my purchase,” Mr. Austin told them.

“We do not scorn your purchase, Dad, but learning to fly isn’t a half bad idea. While Mr. Kramer is here, why not have him give you lessons? He’ll be glad to.”

“And Mom, too,” Bob added.

“That is an excellent idea,” Mrs. Austin agreed heartily. “I have read of women doing remarkably well and I should like to try.”

“Hurrah for you,” the boys shouted.

“We still have unopened packages,” she reminded them, so they trooped into the house, and presently were having a gala time as gifts were distributed by Bob, who was rather glad that he was the youngest member of the family, therefore entitled to that privilege.

After the feast early in the afternoon, they wrapped Mr. Kramer warmly in blankets so he couldn’t possibly take cold, then he was seated on the fence of the corral from which vantage point he could have a first class view of the rodeo put on by the men of the K-A and the Cross-Bar ranches. Jim brought him some peanuts, so it would seem like a real circus, and the young man from the north announced when the last horse had made his bow, that it was the best he had ever witnessed.

“Seeing a horse do stunts like that makes me admire them no end, but it also makes me feel that I am more at home in a plane. They do not buck and snort--”

“They don’t,” Bob interrupted. “I say, where did you learn to fly? In a kindergarten? The ones Buddy and I were taken up in did more kinds of fan-fishing, and jumping than any bronc.”

“Well, of course they do put you through a course of stunts,” Kramer grinned.

“And you have to do that for Dad and Mom,” Jim announced.

“I shall be very glad to do so.”

VII

Parts Unknown

During the two weeks which followed, the elder Austins, under the able tutelage of Mr. Kramer, and the additional assistance of their sons, became remarkably proficient in flying the ranch plane, also, the Sky Buddies became thoroughly acquainted with the “Lark,” which was the name of their own super-machine. Then the salesman removed himself to Crofton, where his firm had a new plane waiting for him and he expected to demonstrate it for prospective purchasers. Already the sheriff was watching its performance with keen interest and it looked as if that worthy might become the possessor of one of the birds. Although the boys spent a good deal of time in the air, neither of them neglected his studies with Don Haurea, and Caldwell could hardly wait until spring came in order to put some of his information into practice. One afternoon, Mr. Austin came out of his office with a letter which had come in the morning’s mail.

“Oh, Jim.”

“Yes, sir.” The boy hurried to learn what was wanted, and presently they were seated at the big desk.

“I may go to South America,” the man announced thoughtfully.

“Golly, what a trip that will be, Dad,” the boy exclaimed. “Be gone long, sir?”

“I do not know. It’s a matter of business and I was rather hoping that my part of it could be transacted from here, but I have received a confidential letter in which one of my associates urges me to come personally and look after my interests,” he answered thoughtfully.

“Taking Mom?”

“I do not believe I had better. I have no idea the sort of places I shall be compelled to visit and I do not want to take her where she may not be comfortable. There is always a risk. If it were earlier in the winter, I should not hesitate, but it is a long trip, will take weeks, and while I can rely upon my men to look after things here, I do not see how I can get back before very late spring,” he said, as if he were thinking the matter over instead of discussing it.

“Why don’t you go by airplane?” the boy asked. “Goodness, Dad, no sense in wasting weeks.”

“Humph. That is a good suggestion, but I do not know that the air service will help me. Although, come to think of it, I read recently that they are running trips to the southern part of Chile--perhaps I can get some information on the--”

“I say, Dad, what’s the matter with you? We have two planes right here on the ranch. Furthermore, you can fly yours--”

“After a fashion. I should not think of attempting anything so--”

“No, of course not. I was just thinking that you could help out some of the time. You aren’t like a tenderfoot in the air. We’ll take you in the “Lark”--and it will be a grand lark--”

“Well, I don’t know about that,” his father hesitated.

“Didn’t we go traipsing all over the United States and Canada?”

“You did, and got into all sort of things,” Mr. Austin chuckled. “This would have to be a very serious trip, few stop-overs, and return home just as soon as I conclude my business. I don’t know about taking you away from your studies.”

“We can take a couple of books along with the luggage. Now, Dad, don’t be a kill joy. This business deal is important, isn’t it?”

“Very important to all of us,” the man admitted.

“All right, then, let’s all of us get at it as fast as we can. Nothing can beat the “Lark”, and with two pilots--why Dad, Henry Ford hasn’t a thing on you,” the boy urged.

“I guess I’d better talk the matter over with Mother.”

Such a project could not be undertaken without very serious consideration and preparation. When the idea was presented to Mrs. Austin, she, too, hesitated about letting the Flying Buddies pilot such a trip, but she did understand the importance of her husband’s arriving at Cuzco in Peru just as quickly as possible, and that the shortest time by boat was eighteen days. Usually it took longer; depending upon the weather conditions. Added to that must be the time necessary to get to the nearest port, securing reservations at a season of the year when ships sailing to southern points were booked up full before leaving the north. By airplane it would take at least two weeks less, which was a big item. Bob added his voice to the plea that he and Jim be permitted to go.

“Goodness, Mother, didn’t we go all over the country, find our way and come back without so much as a broken wire?”

“Yes, you did, but you got into so many adventures. Of course you didn’t have anything serious happen to you, but you were in your own country, or Canada, which is almost the same, and you did not have to travel over long stretches of water,” she persisted.

“It’s just as safe over water as land, Mom. We’d stop at some port to be sure that everything was ship-shape before we started to cross, and it can be made in several hops, not all at a clip, as Lindbergh did. His mother didn’t object, so you be a good sport, please.”

“His mother must have had some awful hours. I’m sure that every minute of them seemed like a life time,” she sighed in sympathy.

“Perhaps they did, but we’ll be just as cautious as Lindy was. We’ll have everything in proper order, and take good care to keep it that way,” Bob assured her. “Besides, if Dad can get there ahead of time, and those fellows are planning to put something over on him, we’ll get him there early and he can give them the laugh. Then, we’ll be home in time to start things this spring.”

“It won’t be like when we went alone,” Jim added. “Dad will be along and he will see that we do not go butting into any mischief.”

“Well--” She looked at her husband. “What do you think about it?”

“The more I think about it the more it appeals to me, my dear, but I do not want to influence you unduly. As Jim says, I shall be along, it’s a business trip, no sky-larking adventure, and I rather feel that our Flying Buddies will be thoroughly reliable. They must both realize that it is a serious undertaking--”

“Sure, Dad, we do; we aren’t kids any more, we’re grown up--” The two real grown-ups smiled at this, and although they did not dispute the argument, neither of them could agree that seventeen and sixteen were exactly mature.

“Well, probably--since we have planes and pilots it is wisdom to make use of them and not delay needlessly,” Mrs. Austin finally announced.

“Atta girl!” Bob shouted. He picked her up in his arms and swung her off the floor just to prove how big he really was.

“Robert!” His mother protested, so he sat her down again.

“Gosh, Mom, you haven’t called me that since I put the cat in the frying pan,” he grinned.

“Did it jump into the fire?” Jim drawled.

“It did, and after Mom got through with me, I felt as if I had been sitting in it. Wow, she did wave a wicked palm! It makes me warm to think of it,” he laughed.

“Dismiss such unpleasant memories. Come on, I’m going to the Bar-Z. Probably Don Haurea can give me some valuable information about air-currents and other jams.”

“Flap along by yourself, Old Timer. I’m going to the Cross-Bar to look at my new hotbeds. I want to be sure I have them in order to leave, and I’ll get one of the boys to look after them.”

“Shall I take you along in the “Lark”?”

“No, thanks. Dad isn’t using the freighter, so I’ll take that, and carry some pots back,” Bob answered. The “Freighter” was the name the Flying Buddies had named the ranch plane.

“I think it isn’t very respectful to call the plane Dad and I use a freighter--are we the freight?” his mother demanded with assumed indignation.

“Nope,” he answered quickly, “but she’s a slow-boat compared to the “Lark”, Mom, and before we leave, I’ll clean her up spick and span for you.”

A bit later the two boys took off from the open corral, and the difference in the two machines was immediately evident. The “Lark” rose, like the bird from which her name was borrowed, while the other plane went into the air at a more gradual ascent, and by the time Bob had reached sufficient altitude to set his course, Jim was becoming a speck in the distance. It did not take him long to reach Don Haurea’s and leaving the bus with one of the men. He proceeded to the laboratory where he knew he would find the Don busy at work.

“Good afternoon, my boy, something I can do for you?”

“I expect you can, sir. Fact is, Dad has to go to Peru, place in the southern part called Cuzco--”

“Cuzco?”

“Yes sir, do you know it?”

“Rather.”

“Well, we persuaded him, Buddy and I did, to let us take him in the “Lark”, and I thought I’d ask you about--well, the best route, and the sort of air we are likely to hit, or get hit by.”

“How do you expect to go?”

“Haven’t had time to consider it much, but I thought of going to Southern California and down that way, or shooting across Mexico,” Jim told him. The Don pressed a button and one of the men appeared.

“Bring me the atlas, if you please.” Presently an enormous book, its pages of fine quality paper, and the cover of light wood, which held the sheets together with clamps, was opened before them. The maps were the best the boy had ever seen and as he examined them he saw that land, water and air were all carefully charted so one could tell the depths of the sea, the proprieties of its surface, whether it was rugged or comparatively smooth, the direction of tides and under-water streams, also the force of the various winds and their usual course. Each section of the world was recorded in the most complete detail, and air currents marked clearly.

“Golly, what a set of maps,” he exclaimed in wonder.

“They are exceptionally fine and were compiled after years of the most careful study. Now, let me see, going directly across Mexico would seem like the better course, but I advise you to go to Miami, over the Keys, to Havana, to Belize in British Honduras (you’ll have no trouble finding people with whom you can talk), then to Panama, across and down the coast line to Lima. Cuzco is inland.”

“That sounds like a good route.” Jim examined the map carefully. “It gives us plenty of places to come down.”

“Yes. A part of the way the N. Y. R. B. A. air lines have mail and passenger service.”

“That’s the New York, Rio and Buenos Aires line!”

“Yes. I’ll have one of the boys make you an itinerary so that you can be over the water during the daytime unless you get in too big a hurry. May I ask why you are going?”

“Dad and some friends of his are interested in a project down there with some other business associates. One of his friends wrote confidentially that my father better be on the ground. He’s making quite an investment,” Jim explained.

“I see. I take it you expect to go and return as soon as possible.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Well, this route will really be the better one, and with two pilots you can stay in the air as long as you like. I have been in Peru, and don’t forget to take light clothing. It is very hot, unless you get back into the mountains. Cuzco is two hundred miles from Lima and is more temperate than places west of the Andes.”

“Thank you.”

“Now, you better leave the “Lark” here until you are ready to start. Our men will put her in order for you, and I’ll see that she has one or two extra conveniences. She is built to withstand acids--”

“Oh, we don’t expect to get into any trouble,” Jim laughed.

“Of course not, but if your father is planning to give his associates, some of them, a surprise, you want to be prepared. Men of this age are frequently particularly vicious if their financial plans are threatened. This is something you want to remember, and so, do not take any chances.” The Don spoke so earnestly that Jim was sobered.

“It’s kind of a wild country down there isn’t it?”

“Parts of it, certainly.”

“Not very thickly settled.”

“It isn’t always the isolated spots where the greatest evil is committed. Be on your guard all of the time. I do not mean for you to be stupidly fearful, but be precautious.”

“I understand. Thank you, Don Haurea, and you bet I’ll be glad to have all the trimmings that the “Lark” will carry.”

“All right. You might study these maps while you are here, and later I’ll send Zargo home with you, unless you will dine with me. I have not had young company for some weeks.”

“I’ll be glad to stay, but jinks, I’m in working clothes.”

“Never mind that. Is the plane here?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I’ll have the boys set to work on her at once. When do you expect to leave?”

“Not for a couple of days anyway. I know that Dad can’t start before that.”

“Fine. Now, I’ll get back to my observations.”

“I thought I could take some lessons with me,” Jim remarked.

“We’ll have some prepared.”

Jim bent over the maps, made a memorandum of the route the Don had suggested, a rough sketch on which he marked various items of importance, and when the man came to tell him it was time to go to dinner, the boy could hardly believe it. Half an hour later they were seated in the cheery living room, and the meal was being served. Through the first course they discussed this and that, then suddenly Jim remembered that Don Haurea had said he had been in Peru.

“It must be an interesting country, down there, sir. Did you like it when you were in Peru?”

“Very much indeed.”

“We studied its history in school, and I read some extra books about the Conquistadores. Most of the writers soft peddled the old duffers, but I got a hunch they were a pretty hot lot. Pizzaro and his brothers--they were half brothers. Only one of them got back to Spain, and he spent twenty years in prison. The Marquis Francisco was assassinated, one brother was killed by the Indians, and the other was hanged. Rather a come-down from being chief moguls, but I wasn’t a bit sorry for them, they were a--” Jim saw Don Haurea’s face flush and was filled with dismay lest he had said something personal.

“South America, particularly Peru, has stood for hundreds of years as a monument to those men, whose ignorance, cruelty and avarice caused them to commit crimes which constitute one of the greatest blots in the history of the world,” the Don said. His eyes rested on his plate, then he looked up with his usual pleasant smile. “No doubt you have guessed that my regard for the ‘Marquis’ as they called him, his brothers and also partner, Almagro, is not very high. They were all low born men, except Hernando Pizzaro, who was the legitimate son of his father, and as you say, the only one to return to Spain alive. It must have been galling to him to return to his native land and be treated as a criminal; he had sailed away as a great hero, had known the riches of kings, but he died in comparative poverty.”

“He had it coming to him,” Jim declared. He was no end relieved that he had not embarrassed his host, and he did wonder a bit why Don Haurea, who was usually so perfectly calm and self possessed, should feel so deeply about the fate of Peru and her neighbors. “I thought it was too bad Spain didn’t take a tumble to herself sooner, she might have saved something from the wreck.”

“She might have.”

“Buddy and I were talking about those countries, those old ones. Spain had all South America, Central America, Mexico, part of the United States, Portugal, and goodness knows what else, and now she’s one of the least significant countries in the world, almost. Alfonso, he’s not half bad and of course he can’t help what his predecessors did, but I should think it would make him want to bite nails when he thinks, if he dares to, what his country might have done in all these years.”

“Probably the history of his heritage does not constitute his happiest reading,” the Don answered.

“Some of those chaps had brains enough to see that the system was a blamed poor one, but they couldn’t do much until the worst was over.”

“A few of the men who went or were sent out were the finest of their time, or any time. They were keen enough to see that their country must lose instead of gain by the ruthless oppression of a race which was intellectually superior to their own. The destruction of public works as great as any in Spain, and the wrecking of a government under which men lived more happily than any country before or since; could only react like a boomerang against them. At the time the Pizarros invaded Peru, there was no poverty among the people of the Yncas; there hadn’t been a beggar in the land in hundreds of years; every man, woman and child was trained as few were trained in the old world. There were no rats, comparatively little disease, the travelers on the great roads were guests at the depots--inns--the Spaniards called them, and there was no oppression. The poor were cared for; everyone, from the greatest to the least, worked, did his share and had plenty. They worshipped the Sun--it was their God--and they had ceremonies in their beautiful temples--but the conquerors called them heathen, destroyed the wonderful works of art--destroyed them so effectively that the world still wonders how the work was done. The great buildings were razed, the gold ripped off. One man’s share was a huge gold sun, several feet in diameter, of the purest quality, and he lost it with a throw of the dice.”

“Jinks, I never read that,” Jim gasped. “Wow.”

“It is quite true. The gold and silver workers had made marvelous vases, all sorts of pieces of service and statuary. When you are in Cuzco you can see the remains of a temple. How the stones were brought to that spot, put together, and worked, still is one of the world’s mysteries. Depots were built in every province; a whole army on the march could be supplied at a moment’s notice, and if disaster over-took one section of the land, it could be re-supplied very quickly from another. Runners traveled the road from one end to the other, men who were swift of foot, and news was passed back and forth in an incredibly short time.”

“It must have been lovely. I read somewhere that the roads were much more marvelous than the ones built by the early Romans,” Jim said.

“They were. They went over desert and Mountains, were wide and smooth, with beautiful shade trees and seats. The land was irrigated by a system which is still a mystery. In years, ten or fifteen millions of people were butchered without rhyme or reason, vast flocks of llamas were almost wiped off the face of the earth, the highways were hacked to pieces, and the guide posts set across the deserts were burned for firewood.”

“The Ynca gave them a room full of gold as a ransom.”

“And they strangled him in spite of their promise to set him free. He was not a particularly good man, but he was better than his captors. During the weeks of his captivity he learned Spanish. He could read, write and speak it, could play chess well, and cards. Several men who surrounded him realized that he had a fine mind. A few like Ferdinand De Soto, were greatly opposed to his death, but they were sent off to another part of the country, and while they were gone charges were trumped up against the Ynca. They killed him because they were afraid. Had those men gone to the land, expressed a desire to trade with the Ynca’s people, sent Christian missionaries if they wanted to, they would have been kindly received, welcomed, and the Spaniards could have made themselves richer than their wildest dreams. The world in general would have been better and Spain might now be a great country instead of a backward, poverty-stricken one. When you are in Cuzco you will see Lake Titicaca, one of the highest in the world. It is about half as big as Lake Champlain and very beautiful. I am sure that you will enjoy seeing the country; the Andes are marvelous.”

“They must be. But, jinks, I guess I’ll feel a bit as you do, Don Haurea. It was a rotten shame those people got such a raw deal,” the boy said earnestly.

“Don’t let what I have told you prejudice you or spoil your trip. Remember, the whole land is free now, and it was through the leadership of some of the descendants of the Yncas that the different sections managed, one by one, to shake off the yoke. You’ll have a marvelous experience, and remember that when you are flying safe and high, those sixteenth century men traveled horseback or on foot through leagues of unbroken forests.”

“I will,” Jim promised.

VIII

An Officer’S Plea

Two mornings after the decision to fly to Peru had been made, the Flying Buddies were at Don Haurea’s early, but it was not bright, for it was bitter cold, and more snow was falling, or rather being driven every which way so the air was almost as thick as milk. The boys had beaten their way up against the north wind in the “Freighter” and were now listening while the Don explained the changes which had been installed in the “Lark”. A long roll of waterproof chart was on a tall spool at the left side of the control board and at the other side were small hooks so that it could be stretched across and observed without obstructing the view of the dials and keys. The knob which tuned-in with the central control power was turned half on.

“I did that so that I can keep in touch with you and any time you need help we will be able to give it to you promptly. However, we shall not interfere unless you are in difficulties, and when you are, just sit back and let things alone unless you see a light across the radio.”

“All right. You can talk to us and we can talk with you over the radio, but no one else can pick us up--what we say, I mean, unless we tune down into the broadcasting belt,” Bob remarked in order to impress it upon his own mind.

“Exactly. The little shutter thing like a camera will throw a light two hundred feet ahead of you; but it will not light up the plane in case you do not wish to reveal yourselves. The cabins are warm, and there is a heating system which will dispel ice--prevent it from forming on the wings and weighing you down. You can take moving pictures by releasing this spring, then setting the pointer in the proper direction. The glasses we have attached above your goggles on your helmets will be more convenient to handle than heavy field ones. They have very rare lenses so leave the flap over them except when you are using them alone.”

“It sure beats me how we are to get so much power with so little weight and extra luggage,” Bob frowned. “I can’t get that through my head.”

“I know a little about it,” Jim put in. “We gather up energy as we go along and store all we need.”

“That’s the idea. Here are a pair of caps--they are really gas masks. Slip them over your heads, helmets and all. They are soft now, but the warmth from your faces will give them body and if anyone should attempt to put you to sleep when you want to keep awake, you will be quite safe. Keep them in your pockets and put them on at the slightest provocation. Your parachutes are of dark material instead of light, and will open all around you, like life-belts. You can use them on sea and land. There are two extra ones in case of an emergency or if you should lose one.”

“Good gracious. It’s well Mom isn’t here, she’d think we are planning to get into something awful.”

“We don’t expect to, but we may as well be on the safe side. We can scoot along three hundred miles an hour if we have to, but you think we’d better not do that because it would attract attention,” said Jim.

“Yes. Of course your trip is unheralded, but if anyone noticed the hour you left one point, compared it with the time you reach the next, the “Lark” would immediately become the center of observation. You have a good supply of fuel, dining service if you decide to take your meals in the air, communication with the rear cock-pit; and the man who wants to sleep, if he isn’t in the pilot’s seat, can shove his chair out, tip it back and make himself quite comfortable. I’d suggest that when you get to the warmer temperatures that you fly low so the change from cold to hot will not be too sudden and extreme. That is likely to be very debilitating. I see that you are both wearing the emerald rings my son gave you.”

“Oh sure, why, we’d feel undressed without them,” Bob laughed.

“That’s well. Keep them on, they may be of service. Now, that is all. I trust that you will have a pleasant trip and that you’ll return in good time. We shall look forward to seeing the “Lark” come soaring up the Cap in a very few weeks. Good luck to you all.”

“Thank you, Don Haurea. I guess we’ll hop along. I was just thinking, no one knows about our starting, so we might put on speed from here to Miami and save some hours,” Jim proposed.

“A good idea. So long.”

“So long.” The Flying Buddies hopped into the front cock-pit, adjusted the shelter and themselves. Jim sat before the controls, and Bob was beside him.

“I can see where I have a good nap,” he yawned as he slid his seat forward and lowered the back to a comfortable angle. The engine was roaring, so was the north wind, but no one paid any attention to that. The “Lark” rose swiftly, then, with the gale at her tail she made record time to the K-A where Mr. Austin was already dressed in flying clothes, with suit case and hamper beside him. It did not take long for him to get into his place, while his wife looked on anxiously.

“Zargo will bring the “Freighter” home this morning, Mom,” Bob told her.

“All right, dear, thank you. This is awful weather--”

“We’ll be out of it into a summer land in a few hours,” Jim laughed.

“Don’t stay away any longer than you have to,” she urged, and she smiled bravely, although she didn’t feel one bit comfortable about seeing her men folk flying away from her.

“Not a minute,” they promised. “We’ll send you wireless messages every day, and postcards with the place where we stopped marked by a cross. Be good, Mom.”

Presently they were again climbing into the storm and as soon as they had altitude enough, Jim leveled off, set the course south by southeast, and opened her wide. The “Lark” split through the air like a shot and an hour later had left behind her all sign of winter weather. The two boys were intensely interested in the performance of the plane and as the speed was recorded, they glanced at each other with exclamations of enthusiasm. Before noon the peninsula of Florida was stretched out beneath them, the waters rolling on either side; at one o’clock they glided down to a landing at a private airdrome the Don had recommended. A mechanic came to greet them, and he eyed the plane with unconcealed admiration.

“Some bird!”

“We think so. Don Haurea suggested that we stop here. We want to go and have lunch, replace the gas we have used, and start off in a couple of hours,” Jim explained. At the mention of the Don’s name, the man looked at them more closely.

“My boss isn’t here but I know that friends of Don Haurea are to be given the works. I’ll be glad to do anything I can for you,” he answered.

“Thank you.”

“Roll her up and I’ll lock her in that small hangar for you. I’ll give you a key and in case I’m not here when you return just help yourself. There is a filling tank in the house.”

“That is very courteous.” They exchanged introductions, a few words of general interest, and when the “Lark” was housed, Mr. Austin joined them. His face wore a frown.

“Didn’t we make rather good time, Jim?” he wanted to know.

“Rather,” Jim grinned, but he made no further explanation then.

“When do we eat?” Bob demanded. “To quote Yncicea, my esophagus feels as if my pharynx was severed.”

“We’d better take you right to the nearest hospital,” Mr. Austin laughed. “I’d say you must be suffering.”

“Right you are, but it’s a restaurant I need,” Bob declared.

“There is a very good hotel, any number of them in fact, but one I think is pretty good about a mile from here. I’m sending one of our men up that way in the car. If you care to go along he’ll give you a lift.”

“That is very kind, thank you so much,” Mr. Austin accepted. It did not take long to get the “Lark” stored and locked in, then the party went with the chauffeur for the drive into the lovely city. The hotel looked most attractive, and the travelers decided it was exactly what they were looking for. Presently they were seated in an out-of-door dining room, and when they had given their orders Mr. Austin again broached the subject of their speed.

“Didn’t we make the trip in rather short order?” he asked.

“Yes, we did, Dad. Don Haurea fixed the “Lark” so that she has extra capacity, but we are not broadcasting the fact. Besides that, we flew high and almost straight.”

“And we didn’t meet a bump,” Bob added. “Holy smoke, winter underwear isn’t so good in Miami.” He began to squirm and the others watched with sympathetic amusement.

“Suppose we buy some lighter things while we are here,” Dad proposed.

“Corking idea,” Bob agreed. “You can’t get them too light for me.”

“You fellows go shopping when we finish lunch, and I’ll go back to the drome. I want to have a look at the “Lark” and fill her up,” Jim told them.

“Come to think of it, didn’t Mom put lighter suits in the bag?”

“Yes, but just suits. She said we might need to buy extra ones and we may as well do it while we are here,” Mr. Austin told them.

By that time the waiter appeared and the three gave their undivided attention to the meal, which was a particularly tasty one. There were a great many people in the place and they looked as if they hailed from all parts of the world. The helmets of the three Texans attracted some attention to their table and a few of the people smiled in a friendly fashion as if flyers were everybody’s comrades. When they were about half finished a party of two gentlemen and a young lady took the nearest places. The girl looked as if she were mighty disappointed over something and Jim heard her remarks.

“I think it’s a shame my brother could not be here,” she said.

“It sure is, Lillian, but the Marines down below us haven’t been given any leave for several weeks. They have to keep right on the job while things look nasty,” one of the men explained.

“Yes, of course, but I did hope Phil could make it. It’s been months since he could get away.”

“He’ll get extra time later. Be a good sport and try to get along with just us. We’re really not half bad companions if you’ll give us a chance,” the man said gravely.

“You are both perfect dears. I’ve been so disgruntled that it’s a wonder you haven’t wanted to drop me into the Gulf. I’ll try and make amends.” She laughed gayly and her companions joined in heartily. After that the three seemed to have a very jolly time, and Jim forgot all about them. He was thinking of Don Haurea and his warning for them to be on the alert, and that was one reason he was anxious to get back to the drome and into the air as quickly as he could.

“I’d better reserve a room,” Mr. Austin suggested.

“Let’s go on, Dad. We can make Havana before dark,” Jim said quickly.

“That’s rather a long stretch of flying, my boy. I thought we would rest here, and go on in the morning.”

“Bob got a nap on the way, so he can relieve me, and the quicker we get off, the better. I don’t want to hang around here if we do not have to.”

“I’m sure that I don’t,” his father admitted.

“It’s unanimous. Let’s hurry and get something that feels like no shirt, and be on our way,” Bob urged. There was no objection to this, so they paid their bill, Jim got a taxi to take him back to the drome, while his father and Caldwell took another to expedite their shopping tour.

In due time young Austin was unlocking the hangar, and he gave the “Lark” a careful examination, then replenished the fuel supply, tried out the engine, and finally rolled the plane down the runway. One of the mechanics offered his assistance, which the boy declined for he didn’t really need help and he didn’t want an outsider to play nursemaid to his bus. Everything was in apple pie order when a taxi drove up with Mr. Austin and Bob, and Jim noticed a third man, who was in the uniform of an officer of the Marines.

“We got a dozen sets of cob-webs, Old Timer,” Bob called.

“I’ll change into mine right away.” The two were coming toward him, and Mr. Austin handed a small package to his son.

“I have the extra suits in another bundle to put with the luggage. Jim, we met Lieutenant Morrow of the Marines. He is in a very unfortunate predicament, my son, and wants us to give him a lift across to Havana so he can join his company. He has been on leave, but he missed the N