Suddenly, without warning, he jumped to his feet.
"I must get the money out of my room," he cried, lurching forward, but fell back again limp.
The boys looked from one to the other. For the first time since the fire began they remembered that Carl's room was over the shop, and by this time, was completely ruined.
There was no time to be lost. Dr. Rivers and Mr. Giles carried Carl to the latter's home, where he lay in a semi-conscious condition the rest of the night, talking incoherently about going to college, saving his money, being robbed of it, and calling now and again for the old squaw who had given him his charm and had told him the story of his father's death. At intervals he would break out with fierce denunciations against the mysterious redskin.
Meanwhile, satisfied that their brave friends had been taken care of, Fred and Dunk ran back to the shop, which was now enveloped in smoke, flames shooting out of the upper story. As they reached the opening, near which the plane stood, several threatening creaks warned them of the danger of entering.
"That roof's going to fall," exclaimed one of the soldiers.
"Hey, are you crazy!" shouted another. "Don't go in there!" But before they could be detained the two boys darted into the smoke. They were just in time to escape the restraining hand of the captain and Mr. Phipps, who were running a few yards behind. There was a moment of terrible suspense, then a crash, and the plane pitched forward into the parade grounds.
The captain and the ranchman, in a tremor of apprehension, started into the smoke, but a soldier's voice arrested them.
"They're under the machine," he shouted.
Quickly tipping the plane back into position, the men found the boys, who had been pinioned under it. Their clothing was torn, and covered with mud, but the boys, fortunately, were unhurt.
"Is it safe?" gasped Fred, jumping to his feet.
"Is it all right?" was Fly's first question.
But there was no time to inspect the machine carefully for damage. It must be hauled into the hangar as soon as possible. The draft-fed flames were shooting hungry, livid red tongues skyward, and the almost deafening noise of falling bricks and timber too well foretold the fate of the building.
"Here, everybody lend a hand," said Herb, perspiring from the intense heat of the fire.
"Pick the machine up on your shoulders," Mr. Phipps ordered several of the idlers.
"And get away from this building quick, before the side wall falls," commanded the captain. This note of warning served to send all the onlookers scurrying to a safe distance.
Soon the precious aeroplane was safe in the new shed.
"Suppose there's two weeks' repairs on it," lamented Fly.
"Never saw such luck," complained Herb, but added quickly, "We ought to be glad, though, that nobody got hurt."
They turned from their task of lodging the machine, just in time to see the walls and roof of the shop cave in completely. A choking mass of thick smoke rolled out of the debris. The blaze was soon extinguished, but the building was a complete ruin.
"Now, how do you suppose that fire started?" asked Dunk, when, an hour later, and long past midnight, the tired boys started for their homes. All was quiet at the Fort now; everybody had gone to seek their long deferred rest, except Dr. Rivers, who had taken the fire fighters back to Silver City.
Before the rising sun had gilded the mountain tops, Dunk and Fly, tired but too restless to sleep, were again at the feebly smoking ruins.
They were soon joined by Herb Phipps, his father and Tender Gray, who had remained at the Fort overnight.
"Too bad about Carl," reflected Fly.
"He was saving that money so long too," continued Gray.
"Wish't I'd thought of it," said Dunk; "I'd risked my neck to get it."
"Just shows what Carl is," added Herb. "He went in after that plane and never thought about his own stuff."
"I'll make him let me put up for it," put in Mr. Phipps. "The boy deserves it for his bravery."
"How is he this morning, Dunk?" asked Gray.
"He's all right now. I left him eating his breakfast in bed. He wanted to get up, but father says he might as well take it easy for a half a day or so until he gets stronger."
"Hello, fellows," greeted Jerry heartily. "What do you think of the heroes?" The aviator, paler, but smiling as ever, accompanied young Crawford, and they both jokingly demanded the reward of the brave.
"You deserve it too, and no kiddin'," observed Herb seriously.
"Well, let's take a look at the plane," said Hawke. "Wonder how much damage there is."
"Right upper wing pretty badly jammed on the left side," he said, after he had given the plane an inspection. "These wires will have to be restrung. Oh, I guess we can fix her up in a couple of days."
"That's lucky," said Fly. "Thought we'd have to take her all apart."
"Lucky thing Ike didn't bring that engine over to the shop," commented Dunk. "We never would have gotten that out."
"Pretty good luck all around," responded Hawke, optimistically. "So cheer up, and let's get busy right away this afternoon repairing theThunder Bird. If we're goin' to chase thieves we've got to get at it soon."
In the afternoon, Carl, whose active spirit chafed under the restraint put upon him by Dr. Rivers, broke bonds and escaped from the sickroom. The boys were industriously working on the plane when he appeared, a little haggard and hollow-eyed, at the hangar.
"Hello there, old scout," exclaimed Herb heartily. "Glad you're out."
"Was she much smashed up?" asked the Indian, smiling rather forcedly.
"Not much, we can mend her up in a couple of days," responded Hawke.
"Too bad we went under before we got her clear out," continued Carl, "but I'm glad it isn't damaged worse than it is."
"Guess I'll take a walk over to the cliffs," added the Indian, reflectively. "There's enough of you working on this."
"The cliffs?" echoed Fred interrogatively.
"Yes, I'm going to see if I can scare up that confounded Indian," responded Carl, shutting his lips rather tightly, a light in his eyes which the boys had never seen there before.
"The strange Indian?" repeated Jerry uncomprehending.
"Sure thing. He's the fellow that's done all this," said Carl. "And he's going to meet me on the warpath for it too."
"Better not get mixed up with him, Carl," advised Hawke, seeing that the boy was rather excited and fearing that his savage nature might assert itself. "Wait till he turns up here and we'll all get after him."
Carl did not reply, but, turning, walked away in the direction of the mountain trail.
"Maybe it was the old scout," reflected Dunk. "You know what Carl said the very afternoon of the fire."
"And we bumped into him snooping back of the barracks right after the fire started," continued Fly.
"He's after the Thunder Bird, too," went on Gray. "Say, I'll bet he did it, all right."
"Dad went in to see Carl this morning," said Herb; "wanted him to let him make up the money he had lost, but Carl wouldn't hear to it. Maybe he'll come 'round in a day or two, when he has time to think it over."
"Say, fellows, did you see in the paper that Chance, the big New York aviator is going to fly over this way in a week or so?" asked Hawke, changing the conversation.
"No—haven't looked at a paper to-day," responded Fly. None of the other boys had heard the news.
"My, that'll be great," exclaimed Jerry. "What's he coming this way for?"
"We're on the route. You know, he's in the contest for the $10,000 longest distance record," answered Hawke.
"Is he the guy that won the highest altitude prize," asked Dunk.
"That's the one. He's gone into teaching lately in New York City, and charges $500 for four hours."
"Whew! I'll take a minute and one-eighth," laughed Gray.
"Do you know him?" asked Fred.
"Yes, met him once in New York. Fine chap. Nerves like cast iron," answered Hawke.
"Gee, can't you write and ask him to stop here," asked Fly.
"He's going to make a stop at Albuquerque, according to the newspaper account, so I don't suppose he'll drop off here."
"Wouldn't it be sport to meet him with our plane!" exclaimed Fly.
"Maybe we can," said Hawke. "We might run him a race for a mile or so."
"Jiminy, that'd be great," cried Jerry, almost dropping his hammer.
"Hope I can fly by then," commented Fred.
"Me too," eagerly exclaimed Fly. "Wonder if I'll ever be tryin' for a record," he added wistfully.
"Can't tell," laughed Hawke.
That evening when Carl returned he reported that he had been unable to find the Indian, and that he had not been seen around the cliff dwellings for several days.
"Tommy says the last time he saw him he told him he was going up into the mountains to look for the Thunder Bird," said Carl. "That's the bee in his bonnet, all right."
"So long as he don't come 'round here making bonfires out of ourThunder Bird, we'll leave him alone," commented Jerry.
Though Carl visited the cliffs every day after that, the Indian either religiously avoided him or had previously disappeared.
Three days later the aeroplane was again in first-class condition, and Monday, the first week in August, was set for the try-out day.
The news was noised abroad, and people for miles around were planning to be present at the event. Great excitement prevailed at the Fort, where the boys and their handiwork became the center of interest.
A group of curious spectators stood around theThunder Birdopen-mouthed and wide of eye.
"You tell me that thing go up—up high? No!" expostulated one of the Mexicans with a gesture of skepticism.
"Da boys make him fly," said another, grinning, and showing an even row of milk-white teeth.
"Na, not da leetle boys?" protested a third, mopping his perspiring swarthy skin with a red bandanna handkerchief, for the day was a warm one and the sun had almost reached the middle of its daily course.
"Funniest lookin' thing I ever seed," put in a lame soldier, hobbling around the machine and scrutinizing it doubtfully. He had, like a number of his comrades, spent the last decade or so in and around the fort, hearing little of the outside world.
"Who's goin' to shoot it up?" asked a sheep herder, with some notion of a sky rocket. He had begged the day off in order to be present at the first flight.
"Da leetle kids," replied a fat, indolent-looking Greaser, spitting a generous supply of tobacco juice. "I na believe it," he added, with a foolish grin which was intended to betoken shrewd disbelief.
"That so," laughed the soldier. "What you think, John?" he asked another.
"No sabe," responded the Mexican, spreading out his palms. "Spak no Angloise." He turned his attention to the machine which he had been inspecting with childlike interest.
"I'd give a dollar for a cool breeze," sighed a soldier, skimming off the moisture that had gathered on his face and neck.
Grouped about Hawke were the aspiring young aviators—the Fort Bayard bunch and the two from the Bread Pudding ranch. Their bright faces were rosy with excitement, and Hawke's was flushed with eagerness.
"Suppose it shouldn't work," whispered Fly, breathlessly, afraid to sound aloud the unconfessed fear which he did not share alone.
"Forget that noise," reproved Jerry. "Just leave it to Hawke. He says she's going to."
"Dry up, old man," chided Dunk. "Didn't we make it—then it's all right."
"You bet it's goin' to work," confidently assured Herb, unwilling to allow himself a moment's doubt.
Perhaps Hawke himself was a little anxious, for his habitual cool demeanor had given place to a rather apparent agitation. He continually plowed his hands through his damp hair as he went about giving the machine a final examination.
"Is she all right?" inquired Dunk, when the aviator, seemingly satisfied, straightened up and discontinued his examination.
"As slick as a whistle," returned Hawke cheerily, springing lightly into the plane.
A touch of his hand and the motor was buzzing impatiently.
"Fine day for a try-out," he observed. "Not a breath of wind stirring."
Fred and Dunk were instructed to hold the tail at the start, and Jerry was to turn the screw that set the machine in motion.
"I'm ready now, any time," said Hawke, with perfect composure.
"Clear away, everybody," commanded Captain Crawford, but it took both him and Mr. Phipps to force the crowd back against the buildings surrounding the parade grounds.
"When I fire, up she goes," laughed Herb, rather nervously, gripping the revolver which he held in his hand. He almost hesitated to fire the shot that should decide the fate of their earnest labors.
Hawke, however, had regained his natural calm, and sat waiting, composed and confident.
"Let 'er go," he commanded, taking hold of the lever with a sure and steady hand.
"One, two, three—bang!"
A puff of smoke—then the whirr of the propellers, creating a sudden wind which blew hats off and left the bystanders breathless—and the man-made bird was running swiftly over the smooth parade grounds like a low-flying bird.
There was a murmur among the crowd, a straining of necks and eyes, and an unconscious leaning forward. Then, as the aeroplane, with an almost imperceptible slant, challenged the air and gradually ascended, a shout of spontaneous admiration arose, gaining in volume and reaching such a thunderous climax that it seemed to call forth an echo from the distant mountains.
Again and again the skillfully guided plane swept gracefully over the group of buildings, its circle constantly widening as it rose, and, finally, shot above the tall flag pole. On and up it went, swift as a hawk, gracefully taking higher and higher altitudes, until the crowd, realizing the height attained, began to gasp almost with fear, their heads strained back painfully, their hands shading their eyes.
At last the plane, with rhythmic undulations, began to descend, its purring music growing louder as, accomplishing slow circles, it came nearer and nearer, until, amidst a hush that was almost deathlike, it skimmed the ground and lit, a few feet from the starting point.
Again there was a mighty yell, and hats went up as Hawke leaped joyously upon the firm ground.
Faces alight, the boys pressed around him, almost speechless with delight. The first joy of real success was upon them all. They had attempted a splendid task, and they had won!
The crowd, refusing to be held back longer, streamed to the center of the grounds, like water surging over a suddenly opened dam.
"Marvelous," exclaimed Mr. Phipps, the first to find his voice.
This single word opened the flood gates, and a babble of voices ensued. The boys shouted excitedly, pranced like long-imprisoned colts enjoying their first freedom, hugged one another, and threw up their hats and handkerchiefs. Soldiers talked excitedly and endeavored to edge nearer to the structure which fascinated and compelled their admiration. In spite of its performance, they still looked upon it in skeptical wonder. The Greasers, with unfeigned admiration, rubbed their dark palms caressingly over the cloth-covered wings. Several Indians, their blank faces for once expressive, stood fearfully on the outskirts of the crowd, and finally slunk away, breaking into a dogtrot as they took the trail to the cliffs.
But it mattered not to the boys what the crowd might think or say—they were elated beyond the influence of the opinions of others. They suddenly felt themselves grown to manhood—for they had done what men were doing—and, without exception, they felt inspired with a dauntless determination to master the thing which they had made, and learn to control it as Hawke had done.
"Take us up! Take us up!" they cried at once, pressing around the aviator, who, though nearly exhausted from the strain under which he had been laboring, and choking for air, in this tight circle of humanity, was smiling happily. He too felt the intoxicating joy of triumph surge through his whole being, and forgot all external conditions.
"You must rest," protested Mr. Phipps.
"Yes, come right over to the house. We'll have something cool to drink, and a light lunch," seconded the captain.
"Guess we'd better not try any more for to-day," said Hawke to the boys. "Just before I landed, one of the guy wires snapped."
"Put her in the hangar then," suggested Herb, willing to sacrifice his desire to the comfort of the aviator.
"Sure, you've done enough to-day," put in Fly, not wishing to be selfish, although he would have given a good deal to take a turn in the machine beside Hawke.
With the aid of the bystanders the plane was put back into the shed. Ike was left to watch it until the crowd should disperse.
"We'll have another demonstration soon," said Hawke, noticing the disappointment depicted on the faces of the onlookers as they divined the intention to discontinue flying for that day.
"The plane has succeeded almost beyond my hopes," Hawke said, as after luncheon he sat with the men and boys at the Crawford residence. "My equalizing device has to be tested, but I'm sure it's going to be entirely adequate to carry at least six passengers at a time."
"Well, you see you have a band of crack workmen," laughed Mr. Crawford, taking the boys in with a gesture.
"That can be said with all seriousness," replied Hawke earnestly.
The week was spent in trying out the machine, Hawke and the boys making several test flights each day. At the end of that time, they knew beyond a doubt that they could trust theThunder Birdto do anything they wished. Hawke and five of the boys had ridden in it with safety for four hours, putting it to the most severe test.
With unfailing patience and ready good will, Hawke took them, by ones, and twos, and often filling the machine to its capacity, explaining to them the principles of successful flight. It was impossible, however, in this short time, for all of the boys to become masters of the machine. Fly, however, showed unusual proficiency, and by Saturday night was enthusiastically begging to be allowed to take the machine up alone, a request which was of course persistently refused by his anxious father and mother.
"I'm astonished, though, at the ability the boy shows," Hawke told Mr. Giles confidentially. "They're all first class, but Fly has the inborn instincts of a successful bird-man. He takes hold instantaneously, thinking, as it were, with his muscles, and handling his levers automatically, with the precision of an expert. All the boys have steady nerves and are going to acquire the poise and control of good fliers, but your son has unusual intuition."
"But you wouldn't let him go up alone yet?" said Mr. Giles, skeptically, though he might have altered his refusal at this assurance from Hawke if Mrs. Giles had not protested anxiously.
"Well, no. Better wait until after the hunt. That'll give them a good working basis," advised Hawke.
"Oh, please, please, please," pleaded Fly, whose anxiety to sail once, only just once, alone and unaided, up into the inviting blue clouds, and feel that he had at last achieved his great ambition, prompted him to repeated entreaty that the privilege might be granted him.
"Time enough, my son," said Mr. Giles indulgently.
But the time came sooner than any of them dreamed.
The following Monday morning, Herb telephoned that the marauder had again appeared at the Phipps ranch, and had killed off three of the fold, carrying one away.
It was decided, therefore, to proceed at once with the hunt, and, when the capture of the thief had been accomplished, to continue the instruction of the boys.
"Dad thinks the best way to begin is to watch around the fold at night till the thing appears," said Herb.
His suggestion was adopted, and that night the Fort Bayard boys and Hawke flew at dusk to the Bread Pudding ranch. It was not their first trip to the B. P. in the new plane; in fact, it had become quite a matter of course to drop in on Mr. Phipps, and, as the latter expressed it, "tie the bird outside."
The full moon had waned and should a chase be necessary they would be obliged to rely entirely on the acetylene lamps which, however, had been well tried out. They were not to be lit, however, until needed, lest the light should frighten away the enemy.
Hawke, Herb, Gray, Fred, Fly and Jerry remained near the plane, which was stationed just inside the wire fence enclosing the sheepfold. Carl and Dunk went to the other side of the pasture, while Mr. Phipps and one of his herders took up their position near the entrance gate. Between them all, they hoped to get a glimpse of the unwelcome visitor. If Hawke or his companions sighted him first they were to give instant chase in the plane, if they could not shoot him, which would be practically impossible in the dark. The others agreed to wave their lanterns if they were the first to come in contact with the mysterious sheep stealer. The plane would then be put into use.
Quietly but anxiously the pursuers watched, until, about nine o'clock, Jerry began to despair.
"Bet now we're ready for him the old guy won't turn up," he said, disappointedly.
"Don't worry," assured Herb. "Like as not he won't come 'round till midnight. That's his usual calling time."
"Regular New York swell," commented Gray.
"Wonder what kind of a thing it is," said Fred.
"I'm beginnin' to think it's a witch—never comes around in daylight, and nobody ever can get a peep at him," responded Jerry.
"We'll soon find out," returned Herb. "Least, I hope so."
"How near's Chance now?" suddenly interrogated Fred.
"He's within a couple day's run of us," responded Hawke. "Ought to pass over here Tuesday or Wednesday."
"Gee, bet it'll take a fall out of him to see another plane bobbin 'round here, won't it?" said Herb.
"We'll surprise him, all right," laughed Hawke. "He'll lose his bearings when he sees us put in our appearance. I'll find out the time he's comin' and run him a race."
"He's clippin' off a good record," commented Fred, who had been reading the papers. "Goin' to make it, I guess."
Talking thus the hours sped by until it was after eleven o'clock. The night descended thicker and blacker as time passed, and in the tense silence, broken now and then by a tuneful bleat, the boys huddled closer together and talked in hushed voices.
"We sure could hear the flutter of a wing," reflected Herb.
The next moment they were on their feet, scarcely suppressing a yell. Something had rushed directly over them, fanning the air like a propeller, but with less noise. Quick as thought they were in the plane, the lamps were flashed on and they had mounted into the air.
A huge flying bulk was just in front of them, and, as it swooped downward toward the sheep, a shout from Fred apparently startled it, for it rose again, and, whirling, circled rapidly above the fold.
"It's some kind of a flying monster all right," whispered Herb excitedly.
Hawke had made a rapid semicircle and was flying swiftly in pursuit, but, as he had lost time in turning, the object had become a part of the darkness and he could only steer in the direction in which it had seemed to be flying.
"Carl's waving his lantern," exclaimed Herb. "Must be over there."
Hawke veered quickly. The lamps, while shedding a bright glow for some distance around the machine, did not throw their light very far ahead.
"There is it, under us," cried Fly. They could see a huge, black, floating mass, just beneath them.
Circling again and again it was with the utmost difficulty that they kept it in sight. At last, however, it struck a straight line for the cliffs.
"We can't get an aim if he keeps on swerving," said Herb.
"Steady, fellows," warned Hawke, for they had moved about, twisting in their seats, to get a sight of the game. The plane was mounting steadily higher, and Hawke had reduced his speed, pursuing the enemy as well as he could, for it had adopted a zigzag course, flying to right and left and dipping up and down.
"I'm going to try a shot anyway," said Herb.
The others unconsciously left the shooting to the southerner, who, it was naturally and rightly supposed, would be glad to bag the animal that had given his father so much trouble.
Young Phipps took aim at the first good opportunity, and shot three times. It seemed to be without result, for the huge shape moved on, though its course became more uncertain than ever, and, although it seemed heading toward the mountain ranges, its flight was uneven and hap-hazard.
"We must be over the mountains now," said Fly, after a time.
"We're about 1,800 feet above level," responded Hawke.
At that moment the bird resumed its swift circles, flying downward. Pointing the nose of the plane toward the earth, Hawke followed it, making a thrilling spiral descent.
"Why, there's the old tower," cried Fred, when the plane had dropped far enough for its lights to play upon the surface below.
"And he's circling down for it," cried Fly.
"That's his roost, I'll bet," exclaimed Jerry.
"Then it must be the Thunder Bird Carl told about—the one you saw when I tried to take that picture—the one that raised the storm," jabbered Fred disjointedly.
"And the one the old Indian is after," put in Gray.
"Let him roost, and then we'll get him," suggested Herb.
But Hawke had altered his course, and was making swiftly in the direction of home.
"Where you going?" shouted Fly in surprise. It had been necessary for them to raise their voices considerably, for the mountain torrents were distinctly heard below, while the noise of their own machine added made hearing difficult.
"We've got to get right back," responded the aviator, throwing on top speed.
"What—what for?" yelled Gray. "We nearly had him."
"There's a wind rising, and I felt a splash of rain," returned the aviator. "We can't take chances over these peaks in a storm."
As if to corroborate his statement there was a distant rumble.
"Thunder," gasped Jerry breathlessly, for the speed of the machine almost shut off his wind, and like the other boys he was clinging tightly to his seat.
"I felt rain then, too," shouted Herb.
Another rumble, louder than the first, sent thrills down their backs.
"It was the Thunder Bird all right," yelled Fred. "I told you I saw him that day."
"We know where he lives now, though," returned Fly.
But they were dashing through space at such a terrific pace that speech became impossible. Hawke was bending every energy to beat the storm. Already the wind had risen considerably, and he was obliged to concentrate his whole thought on the control of the machine.
"Make for the B. P.," requested Herb. "Dad'll be anxious to know how we come out. We can—"
But the rest of his sentence was lost in a deafening roar, while a flash of lightning split the darkness and revealed, below them, the stretches of pasture belonging to the Bread Pudding ranch.
While they had been obliged to give up when victory was within easy reach, the boys were more pleased than otherwise at the adventurous turn things had taken. The flight by night, so eagerly anticipated, was becoming more exciting than they had expected.
Before they realized it, they had skidded down and stopped in front of the ranch-house. But they could only pause long enough to allow Herb and Gray to dismount, for it was necessary to reach the Fort as quickly as possible and lodge the plane in its shed before the storm, whose threatening voice was growing constantly louder, broke upon them.
The boys had no chance to exchange words with the rancher before, Carl and Dunk having taken the place of Herb and Gray, they were whisked upward again. And, though anxious to learn the result of their companion's flight, the Indian and his friend were obliged to wait until, just in time, they had shoved the plane back into the hangar and rushed to the Crawford residence. They had scarcely reached the veranda when the fury of the tempest was upon them.
"Whew!" ejaculated Hawke, breathing a deep sigh of relief. "That was a record run. If I had made that at an aviation meet I'll bet they'd have awarded me some kind of a medal."
He spoke lightly, and the boys never knew how wonderfully well he had made that flight. Not one aviator in a hundred would have been able to accomplish it with such coolness and accuracy as Hawke had displayed. Perhaps, after they had themselves learned to fly, they realized the precarious condition in which they had been that night and how much they owed their safe return to Hawke.
They were greeted cordially by the captain when they arrived at the Fort, who listened, with unfeigned interest, to their rapid recital of the evening's events.
"But we're goin' back to-morrow," said Fly, "and get him. For we know where he roosts."
"Yes," said Hawke. "We must lose no time. We have the drop on him now, and I'll run you all up there in the morning. You can let Herb and Gray know."
"Telegram for Mr. Hawke," announced Ike, appearing, dripping but smiling, at the screen door.
"Well, what do you think of that!" exclaimed the aviator, his face suddenly growing grave as he read the wire, and handed it to the captain, who was quickly surrounded by the boys.
"'Mexican insurrectos threaten invasion of Texas,'" read Jerry's father. "'Come immediately. Take charge aviation corps. Urgent.'" The message was dated from Juarez, and was signed by General Marley, commander of the border troops.
The next day was a blue one for the boys. Apparently all their plans had been knocked sideways. The hunt, for which they had worked and waited all summer, had been nipped in the bud at the moment of success.
"Let's scout it, anyhow," suggested Fred that evening, as the downcast group huddled together on Jerry's veranda.
"What d'ye mean?" asked Dunk, uninterestedly.
"Well, make a trip up into the mountains and see what we can do," continued the easterner.
"How you going to get across that ravine?" disparaged Fly, who had been moping all day. "It's too wide even to throw a rope across."
"I could get across if you could span it with a rope ladder," said Carl.
"Maybe Herb wounded him so badly he's dead up there somewhere," Jerry went on. "You know he told us over the phone that he and Gray found some feathers about where he shot the other night."
"Whether it's a bird or not, it's got wings," said Carl. "But if those feathers are as long as Herb said they were it can't be an eagle."
"Don't care nohow," responded Fly, shoving his hands deep into his pockets with an air of dejection as he rose to his feet. "Hawke maybe can't be back this summer. Didn't even have a chance to say good-bye to the B. P. bunch. And mother just won't let me run the plane alone. Aw, I'm going home," he continued thoroughly disgusted. "Good night."
"Wait a minute—here comes your father," said Fred.
"Just got a letter from Hawke," announced Mr. Giles, walking up to the veranda.
"What does he say?" exclaimed Fred eagerly, the faces of all the boys brightening at once. A faint hope of the aviator's early return sprang into their minds.
"Don't get too excited if I tell you," said Mr. Giles mischievously.
This only served to make the boys more anxious, of course.
"Well, he says he thinks Fly's pretty steady and could handle the machine all right alone. So we've decided to let you continue the hunt. We owe it to Phipps anyhow," he added.
"What!" yelled Fly, scarcely comprehending the good news at first.
"Hurray!" shouted several of the boys.
"Keep cool," laughed Mr. Crawford, but Fly was unable to contain himself for joy, and singing gayly, began hopping around first on one leg and then the other.
"I knew it would come out all right," said Dunk, although his attitude of a half hour before had not betokened very strong optimism.
"We'll go right over to the Phipps ranch in the morning," announced Fly, when he became calmer, "tell Herb and Gray, and start right out. Maybe Herb can go up with me," and he turned another handspring.
"I'd like to see a trial flight first," said the father.
"Just give me the chance," retorted Fly.
The next morning, before a skeptical audience composed of Mr. and Mrs. Giles, Captain Crawford and his wife, Mrs. Windham and Lieutenant Rivers, Fly practically repeated Hawke's performance of the first day.
"My, it's great!" he exclaimed after the flight, his eyes shining and his face flushed. "I could do it with Hawke, and I knew I could do it alone."
The older ones were satisfied, and Fly was permitted to start out for the B. P. to get Herb, if his father would allow him to go. It was planned that the others should ride, and going as far as they could with their horses, climb up to the spot near the tower.
Mr. Phipps was at first reluctant, but a telephone conversation with Mr. Giles and Captain Crawford, strengthened by eager coaxing on the part of his son, finally gained his consent. Gray started off to meet the other boys with his pony.
Fly and Herb remained at the B. P., for a while, to give the plane a thorough inspection, and to make a rope ladder they had previously planned to use if possible.
About midway in their way they experienced some difficulty with the engine, and were obliged to make a landing in a pasture and remedy the difficulty. This took the better part of an hour.
"I feel that we're goin' to get him to-day," said Herb, as Fly once more lifted the plane above the green meadowland. It was one of those rare, quiet, contented summer days, when even the bee's buzzing sounded noisy. The mountains, with all their towering majesty, seemed challenging the young aviators, who, calm and confident, rose steadily upward and forward, the fresh air blowing cool and sweet against their faces. It was a day such as fills the veins with a joyousness of life, a willingness to undertake anything, and a confidence that bespeaks success.
They were soon passing swiftly over the rugged mountain's face, its huge irregular boulders, tufted here and there with stubborn plant life, rapidly receding. The tall majestic firs, which, as the boys looked down from their superior height, dwindled to miniature Christmas trees with the morning dew still upon them glistening like toy candles, and the foaming torrents rushing down the time-scarred and waterworn ravines.
Above all they could see, as they mounted higher, the gloomy old tower lifting its dark head to the sunshine, and rising out of a mass of rock, stone and dense growth.
"Look! Look!" panted Herb when they at last circled above the mysterious dwelling.
Fly looked down through the mica window at his feet and saw, crouching between the four walls of the roof, a monstrous feathered shape, apparently headless, its wings folded. Like some gorged dragon it lay there, contentedly wallowing in a bed of bones, skeletons, sheeps' wool and meat still red, the remains of many an ill-gotten feast.
Startled by the noise of the propellers, it drew out from under its wing its great shining black head, disclosing a vicious hooked beak.
Meanwhile, the rest of the party had arrived on the other side of the ravine. They shouted at the boys in the air, but the tremendous noise caused by the roaring water and the whirring propellers, drowned their voices completely. Herb and Fly had seen them, however.
"Scare him out," suggested Fly. "Then they can all see him and have a shot."
"I hate to shoot an enemy in the back," said Herb. "But he deserves it." And he fired down into the roost. But the plane was going at such a speed that his aim was not true. The bullet struck the side of the structure, throwing up dust and mortar. The creature fluttered and stirred, moving its head about perplexedly, but remained in its nest.
Herb shot a second time, just grazing his mark, picking off some of the feathers on the monster's back. At this time the crouching shape sprang upward with a sharp cry of anger, almost completely hiding the top of the tower from view, so enormous was the spread of its wings.
"There it is! There it is," exclaimed several of the party on the back of the ravine.
"An eagle," gasped Fred.
"The Thunder Bird," panted Carl.
"But what's the matter with him?" cried Dunk. At the same moment, the boys, staring upward with fascinated eyes, gave a cry of alarm.
The great creature seemed flying about wildly, furiously, without sense of, or regard for direction, beating its immense wings against the air, and, instead of attempting to escape, flew straight for the plane, almost colliding with it.
Fly, who had anticipated a chase, now found himself on the defensive, and was obliged to dodge, circle, swoop and whirl in a manner that made his head swim. Although almost near enough to touch the bird at times, the motion of the machine and the strange uncertain course of their antagonist made accurate aim impossible.
Above them it flew, passing like a dark cloud over the machine, then veering down so suddenly that Fly was obliged to concentrate all his energies to get out of its way. It was an equal conflict between nature's great king of the air, and the supreme handicraft of mechanical skill which had been made to conquer it in its own element.
"It must be blind," said Herb, remembering that Carl had told them the Thunder Bird was sightless in the daylight. "If I could only get a line on it!"
The boys below dared not shoot, lest their bullets go astray and strike their friends. The monster seemed possessed by an insane rage, throwing itself about in the air with blind recklessness.
"Now!" exclaimed Fly, as the wily native of the air rushed below them. Herb, with the quickness of an experienced hunter, did not waste his chance. There was a loud report, a shrill blood-curdling cry, such as they had heard on two other occasions, and the creature's inert bulk whirled to the earth, landing heavily almost in front of Jerry.
It was not yet dead however, and the boys made for a safe distance, as the monster, in its death struggle, furiously beat the ground with its powerful wings, springing upward again and again in a desperate effort to recover itself, each time falling back.
"Finish him," implored Fred. "It's a shame to have him suffer."
A second later a shot from Dunk's rifle stilled the great bird's fluttering form forever. Its frightful beak opened and closed, its beastlike talons sought to clutch support, its owl-like eyes became glazed and fixed. The Thunder Bird had killed his last sheep!
Hushed and silent the boys crowded around the huddled shape. Carl, taking hold of one of its wings, pulled it out to its natural spread.
"About four feet," he said. "Must have a spread of ten. And about five feet from the end of its beak to the tip of its tail."
"Wonder how old he is?" speculated Fred.
Just then something fell in their midst. It was a note from Herb, weighted with a heavy memorandum book.
"We've done the deed. Now for the reward," it read. "We can see something glistening like gold under a shelf in the roof. Ask Carl to get it. We'll drop the ladder."
Carl waved his hat in assent, while Herb swung the rope ladder down, attempting to hitch it at some point on the side of the gorge near the tower. At the third trial, it lodged over a projecting rock, which jutted, hooklike, from the wall of the ravine. Carl caught the other end and fastened it. The crossing did not prove as perilous as it looked, for the rope held firm, and it was an easy trick for an Indian.
After some fumbling among the shrubs, Carl disappeared, and the boys knew he must have found an entrance to the dwelling. They were right, for the Indian, through a low door obscured by shrubs, had crawled into the house of mystery. Though it was dark at first, he soon perceived a thin ray of light percolating through an opening in the roof. He was provided with matches, and lighting a few of these, he scrutinized the walls for some possible handhold by which he could mount. Directly under the aperture through which the feeble light came he struck what seemed to be poles projecting from the sides of the tower.
"A ladder," he thought, and made short work of the climb. With little difficulty he scrambled through the roof-opening to the outside of the tower. A wall about five feet high ran around the edge of the roof, along the four sides of which was a projecting shelf several feet wide. In the center, cluttered with refuse of all kinds, was the abode of the Thunder Bird, to which he would never more return.
Under the shelf in one corner was the shining object the boys had written of. Carl uttered an exclamation of surprise and delight when he found this to be a beautiful bowl, apparently of beaten gold, measuring about fifteen inches in diameter, and set with many semi-precious stones of varied hue.
"The Holy Bowl of the Medicine Men," he said wonderingly, astonished at its seeming newness. Though it must be decades old it appeared to have been recently polished. A vague thought of the mysterious Indian flashed through Carl's mind. He jumped up on the shelf and held up to the admiring gaze of his companions below the brilliant trophy, which glittered with dazzling brightness in the sun.
A shout greeted this sign, and, after looking around without success for further relics, he tucked the bowl under his arm and descended. Again pushing through the thick foliage that had obscured the low entrance, he came out, flushed and excited, holding the prize aloft.
Suddenly the watching boys uttered a warning cry, but before he could comprehend it, Carl was seized around the waist by strong arms and thrown to the ground with violent force. The next moment he found himself grappling with the strange Indian.
Before Carl had an opportunity to recover himself the Indian had seized the golden bowl and was making off with it at top speed. It did not take the lad long to comprehend the situation, however, and springing to his feet, he soon overtook the would-be thief. Wresting the prize from him, and throwing it to one side, Carl met the attack with the strength, ability and skill only found in strong young manhood. But the older Indian was fully a match for him, and the struggle promised to be a long and hard one if Carl were left to fight it alone.