Chapter II: Part 2

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.