CHAPTER VII.
THE SIGNAL FIRE.
THE SIGNAL FIRE.
THE SIGNAL FIRE.
“I’ll tell you what it is,” Jimmie said, as the boys sat in a little restaurant on Fourth street, discussing the situation, “if we turn back to New York now, we’ll be off the beat. Havens told us to go out to Monterey, didn’t he?”
“He certainly did!” answered Carl.
“Well then,” continued Jimmie, “we ought to go on to Monterey. Look here, kids,” he went on, “we don’t know what took place in New York after we left. We don’t know that Havens didn’t disappear from that stateroom for the sole purpose of getting out of the way of the fellows who tried to burn his hangar. What do you think of that idea?”
“It appears to me to be a sound one,” Ben responded. “Mr. Havens may have met with members of the gang we are fighting. In that case itwould be nothing strange if he managed a mysterious disappearance for his own protection. Would it, now?”
And so, after canvassing the subject thoroughly, the boys decided to go on to the Pacific coast. It was decided, too, that they should leave that very night and travel at an altitude which would render collisions with uplifting summits impossible. They were on their way in an hour from the time the decision was reached.
The boys speak to-day with reverence when referring to that all-night ride. At first the clouds hung low, and they seemed sailing through great fields of mist with neither top nor bottom. Then a brisk wind scattered the moisture in the air, and they sailed for a time under the stars. Later, there was a moon, and under its light they sailed lower, watching with excited interest the lights in the towns they passed, the shimmer on the water they crossed, and the incomparable light reflecting on the smooth green leaves of the forests they shot by.
At daylight they came down on an eminence from which the landscape for miles around could be seen. Below the slope of the hill lay a verdant valley in which nestled a small settlement. At the summit where the machines lay there were great wide stretches indicating the action of waves at some far-distant, prehistoric time.
The boys were well-nigh exhausted with their long ride. As is well known, the endurance record is not much longer than the time the boys had spent in the air. Besides being cramped in limb and heavy from lack of sleep, the boys shivered because of the altitude at which they had traveled.
When the sun rose it shone with generous warmth upon the ridge where the boys lay, and they basked in its light with many expressions of joy.
“Here’s the place where we sleep!” exclaimed Carl. “We can watch the sky and the surface of the earth for miles around,” he added, “and can finish any ordinary sized nap in peace.”
“I’ll watch,” promised Ben.
“You’ll not!” exclaimed Jimmie. “You watched night before last.”
“And came near getting the machines blown up, too,” Ben commented.
It was finally arranged that Jimmie and Carl should remain awake for a couple of hours each, after which a hasty breakfast was prepared and the boys settled down for a long rest. Ben and Jimmiewere soon asleep, and Carl, sitting on the ground near theLouisewas feeling like going to bed himself when a small red head was poked over the edge of the summit and a shrill voice cried out:
“Hello, Mister!”
“Hello, yourself!” answered Carl.
The boy, a mite of a fellow not more than ten years of age, fully as freckled-faced and as red-headed as Jimmie, now approached the aeroplanes cautiously, his wide mouth breaking into a grin as he advanced.
“Them your machines?” he asked, pointing with a dirty finger.
“Sure they are!” answered Carl. “Ever see one before?”
The boy shook his head while his eyes sparkled with excitement.
“Give me a ride!” he demanded.
“Not yet,” replied Carl with a laugh. “We’re going to remain here for some little time.”
“If I stay, can I go with you?” the boy asked.
“I should say not!” replied Carl. “What would your folks say if we should take you away in a flying machine?”
“I ain’t got no folks!” was the reply.
“Where do you live?”
The boy pointed down toward the little settlement in the valley.
“Do your parents live there, too?” asked Carl.
“I done told you I ain’t got no folks!” insisted the youngster.
“Well, where do you sleep and get your eatings, then?” demanded Carl.
“Sleep in barns!” was the reply. “And don’t get many eatings. That’s what makes me so little and thin!”
“Do they sell gasoline down there?” asked Carl.
“Yessir!” was the short reply.
“Well, I’ll tell you what I’ll do,” Carl proposed. “If you’ll go back to the store where they sell it, and get the boss to bring us a sixty gallon barrel, I’ll give you a dollar.”
“Quit your kiddin’!” exclaimed the boy.
“Sure, I’ll give you a dollar,” promised Carl, “and I’ll give it to you in advance. Can they get up on this hog’s-back with a wagon?” he added.
“They sure can,” was the reply. “There’s a road that climbs the hill out of the valley, and I guess they can gee-haw their old delivery wagon along the ridge, all right.”
“Well, go on, now,” Carl exclaimed. “Go on and order the gasoline.”
“Where’s the dollar?” demanded the youngster.
Carl tossed him a silver dollar with a laugh, and saw the boy’s bare feet twinkle as he disappeared down the slope. As a matter of fact, he had little hope of ever seeing the boy again, or of having the message delivered. Still, the little fellow looked so ragged, and forlorn, and hungry, that he would have given him the dollar if he had known that the boy would neither deliver the message nor return.
In an hour or so, however, the boy poked his red head over the summit again and came bounding up to where Carl sat.
“It’s coming!” he cried. “The wagon left the store at the same time I did, and I beat ’em to it! Say,” he added with a chuckle, “the driver made an awful row about coming along this ridge, and I told him you’d be apt to give him a dollar extra. Goin’ to do it?”
“Of course!” laughed Carl. “Anything you say goes. For the time being, you are the purchasing agent for this outfit.”
When at last the delivery wagon with the barrel of gasoline came bumping along the surface of the hill, the driver leading the horse, the boy began a knowing inspection of the flying machines, as if determined to give the delivery boy the impression that he had already become a member in good standing of the party. This was very amusing to Carl.
The driver unloaded the barrel of gasoline, received his pay and his tip and then stood with his hands on his hips surveying the two aeroplanes critically.
“There’s one of them things lying busted on the other side of town,” he said directly.
“Some one have an accident?” asked Carl.
“I dunno,” was the reply. “Sol Stevens drove in to sell his hogs, a little while ago, and he said he saw one o’ them busted airships lyin’ busted by the road out near the Run.”
“How far is that from here?” asked Carl.
The delivery boy looked over the landscape, as if estimating distances, and at the same time establishing his own importance, and answered that it was not far from ten miles.
Ben and Jimmie, awakened by the rattle of the rickety wagon wheels, now came out of the shelter tent and joined in the conversation. They looked curiously at the boy for a moment, and then turned their attention to the driver, listening intently to his repetition of the brief story of the wrecked aeroplane.
“Well,” the driver said presently, beckoning to the boy, “we may as well be going, Kit.”
“I’m going with the machines!” answered the boy.
Ben and Jimmie looked from Kit to Carl but said nothing.
“Ain’t I going with the machines?” demanded the youngster of Carl.
“What would your folks say?” demanded Ben.
“Huh!” said the delivery boy. “He hain’t got no folks. He just sleeps around and gets his meals wherever he can.”
“I sent him after the gasoline,” Carl explained, “and paid him in advance. He came back all right.”
“Did you think I wouldn’t come back?” asked Kit, indignantly.
Before the question was answered, Jimmie pulled Ben lustily by the sleeve. Carl saw what was in the boy’s mind and remained silent.
“Come on, let’s take him!” Jimmie urged. “He’s all right.”
“I’m willing,” replied Ben. “In fact, I’m getting tired of riding alone in theBertha. The little fellow will be good company.”
The delivery boy departed quickly, and Kit at once began making himself useful, assisting Jimmie in the preparation of dinner.
“Don’t you ever think I can’t cook!” Kit exclaimed, as he sat by the fire watching the skillet of ham and eggs. “Don’t you think I don’t know how to get up a square meal. I’ve helped cook lunches many a time.”
“Perhaps we’d better make you chef of the expedition!” laughed Ben.
There seemed to be something on the boy’s mind as he gave his attention to potatoes roasting in the hot ashes, and after a time he turned to Carl with a puzzled face. His brows were puckered as he asked:
“Why didn’t you ask the delivery boy about that smashed machine?”
“I did ask him about it,” replied Carl. “You heard me.”
“Well you didn’t ask him about the man that got smashed up in it,” continued Kit. “The man who got smashed up in it,” the boy went on, “hid in Robinson’s barn, where I slept last night, and laygroaning and whining with a broken arm so that he kept me awake. This morning, when he saw me, he gave me a dollar to get a doctor there without telling anybody, and I went and got Doctor Sloan. I promised not to say a word about it, but you boys have been mighty good to me, and I think you ought to know.”
“What kind of a looking fellow is he?” asked Carl.
“A monkey-looking fellow, with hunched shoulders and ears like cabbage leaves,” replied the boy. “He don’t look good to me.”
The boys heard the description of the wrecked aviator with undisguised pleasure. At least one of their pursuers had been put out of the running, for the time being. This, they thought, increased their chances of reaching the Pacific coast in advance of any friends of the outlaws.
“Where did the man go after Doctor Sloan set his arm?” asked Ben.
“He said he was going to the nearest railway station and return to Denver,” was the reply.
“Machine quite busted up?” asked Jimmie.
“That’s what he told the doctor,” replied Kit. “He swore awfully while he was talking about it. And look here,” the boy went on, “after he left I picked up a letter which fell from a pocket of his coat when he took it off to have his arm set.”
The boy presented a yellow envelope, sealed but not stamped, as he spoke. Ben took the letter and, without any compunctions of conscience whatever, opened it. It contained a sheet of paper, blank with the exception of four words. Ben studied the writing for a moment and passed the sheet to Jimmie. The boy in turn handed it to Carl.
“At Two Sisters canyon!” Carl read.
“Now what does that mean?” asked Jimmie.
“Why, you boy,” Carl explained, “it means that this busted aviator was headed for a canyon in the mountains known as the Two Sisters. Do you get that? What else would he have this letter for?”
“That’s the first bit of luck we’ve struck since we started out on this journey!” declared Ben. “I guess, Kit,” he went on, “that you must be a mascot. What do you know about that?”
“Oh, I’m a mascot all right!” grinned the youngster.
When the boys started away to the west again Kit occupied a seat on theBertha. Satisfied that they had distanced at least one of their pursuers,and encouraged by the thought that their way might now be clear, the boys made few stops of any length on their way to the Pacific.
Three days later Sierra de Santa Lucia loomed up before them. It was then twilight, and against the darkness rose the flames of a signal fire!