Chapter V

It was a miscellaneous collection of men who stood around the ship. Three of them were very well dressed and looked like business men. Others, mostly in flannel shirts, were slim, hard-faced, youngish fellows. Several were foreigners. The rougher-looking element paid most attention to the great ship, but it was a noticeable fact that all of them spent more time appraising the flyers than they did in satisfying their curiosity regarding the bomber.

“How do you do, gentlemen, and just where are we?” inquired Graves calmly as he removed his coveralls.

There was a few seconds pause as everybody took in his uniform. It was garnished with several rows of ribbons across the front of the blouse, the flyers noticed.

“This is in Farran County--nearest town Elm Hill,” returned a burly, hard-faced man who was wearing a coat over his flannel shirt, and loosely tied necktie. He was somewhat older than any one else there except the three men who were dressed so meticulously.

“How far is Elm Hill from here?”

It was Broughton who asked that question.

“Twenty miles. What’s the matter--have trouble?”

It was the hard-faced man again, and he glanced from face to face quickly as he asked the question. Two of the other men had walked to the end of a wing, inspecting the ship. The eyes of the others were constantly flitting from the ship to its passengers, and they listened closely.

“Yes. This ---- engine here went flooey on us. We’re lucky to get down alive,” replied Hinkley.

Both flyers were trying to pick Hayden out of the dozen men who surrounded them, but somehow none of them seemed exactly to fit their mental pictures of the noted criminal. Several of the crowd were conversing in low voices.

“Where were you going?” inquired one of the well-dressed men on the edge of the circle. He was small, wore glasses, and his thin face had a fox-like look about it that gave him a subtly untrustworthy appearance.

“Inasmuch as it seems necessary to throw ourselves on your hospitality for a while, it may be well to introduce ourselves,” Graves said quietly. In some uncanny way his dignity and competence seemed to radiate from him, increased by the prestige of his uniform. Both the airmen felt its influence.

“I am Colonel Graves, of the United States Army Air Service. These are Lieutenants Broughton and Hinkley. We are flying from Langham Field, Virginia, to Dayton, Ohio, on important army business. I trust that we will not trespass on your hospitality too long, but I fear we will have to dismantle the ship and send it home by rail. We can’t take off out of this field. We are lucky to have had such an experienced pilot as Lieutenant Broughton to land us. We did not expect to find so many people in this deserted place.”

A portly, fleshy-faced man with small eyes set in rolls of fat shoved his way forward. He had been talking to the fox-faced little man.

“Just a little fishing party up here,” he said with an attempt of heartiness. He was dressed in a rich-looking brown suit, and a huge sparkler gleamed from his elaborate silk cravat. He was smoking a big cigar.

He darted a warning look from his small eyes as two younger, roughly dressed men in the background allowed their heretofore guarded voices to become a bit too loud. One man caught the look, and ceased abruptly.

“It certainly is a good country for it,” replied Graves pleasantly. “I trust we will not impose on you too much----”

“Not at all, not at all,” the stout man assured him, but the looks of the others belied his words.

Groups had drawn off a little way and were conversing in undertones. All the men seemed to have poker faces--there was no hint of expression in them, although both flyers, as they removed their coveralls, caught disquieting as well as disquieted looks thrown their way. Graves continued to converse with the fat man. The tough-looking customer who had originally joined the conversation stood by himself, meditatively chewing a blade of grass. His huge right hand, which had been in his coat pocket at the start, was lifted to his jutting, prize-fighter’s chin, while his expressionless gray eyes dwelt steadily on the airmen.

“Quite some ship, eh? It’s a big reskel!” The dialect of a New York east-side Jew came familiarly to the flyers’ ears. It was a small, hook-nosed, black-haired man, whose shirt, tie and putteed legs all gave an impression of personal nicety even here in the wilderness. His face was somewhat pasty, and his lips very thin. He did not look over twenty-five.

“It sure is,” Hinkley assured him, throwing both pairs of coveralls into the cockpit of the ship.

Neither of the flyers wore a blouse, but were arrayed in O. D. shirts, breeches and boots. Both wore a sagging belt and holster, with the butt of a Colt .45 protruding from each container. Their garb and general appearance fitted the wildness of their surroundings perfectly. Graves had his automatic out of sight, in his pocket. The sight of the guns the flyers wore caused additional low-voiced conversation on the part of the onlookers.

The hard-faced American turned and started for the cabin without a word. Hinkley and Broughton walked over toward Graves.

Every one but the fat man started to walk around the ship, examining it with interest. Broughton started to walk toward the lower edge of the clearing. He had an idea that he wanted to verify by pacing off the distance and examining the rim of trees on the lower end.

Graves was talking casually to the fat man, describing the flight, when a loud exclamation and a sudden burst of conversation caused him to turn. The machine guns had been noted for the first time.

“You fly well armed,” said the tall, stooping Jew nastily. Every one else was silent, awaiting Graves’ reply.

“The ship is from Langham Field, where all the planes are equipped for bombing and other tests against battle-ships,” was the easy reply.

Hinkley, who had been wondering whether Graves would think of that excuse, smiled admiringly.

“Doesn’t miss many bets,” he told himself. The fat man’s careful geniality was suddenly gone. While the knot of men who were now clustered close to the rear cockpit of the ship engaged in further low-voiced conversation his little eyes roved from nose to tail of the ship, coming back to rest on Graves’ untroubled face.

The man who had gone to the cabin came back over the hill. Another man was with him--a powerfully built fellow who towered over his companion. Every one became suddenly silent, as they came nearer. Hinkley knew instinctively that this was Hayden.

* * * * *

His deeply lined, somewhat fleshy countenance could have served as a model for the face of a fallen angel. The wide, cruel mouth, high forehead and square jaw all indicated strength, and yet suffering and dissipation were graven there. His eyes, as he approached the ship, were in direct contrast to the rest of his face. They were large and bright--the eyes of a dreamer, and they almost succeeded in counteracting the cruel force of his face. Hinkley had a glimpse of the man’s magnetism in those eyes.

“How do you do, colonel?” he said quietly.

His voice was deep and rich. He removed the slouch hat he wore, revealing thick black hair sprinkled with gray. It strengthened the impression that he had Slav blood in him, for his complexion was dark and his eyes liquid black.

“We dropped in on you unwillingly, but we are fortunate to find people here. My name is Graves.”

“I am glad to know you.”

He did not offer his hand, Hinkley noted. He stood quietly, looking at the ship. Broughton came back at this juncture, his eyes taking in the massive figure of the newcomer with slow appraisal.

There is an unconscious respect and curiosity engendered in even the most unemotional person by any man who is noted--or notorious. A great criminal, a great artist, a champion chess-player, the survivor of a widely heralded accident--anything unusual draws its meed of attention. Hayden, without the benefit of his reputation, was an arresting man. With it, he repaid study.

“I am very sorry, colonel, but we have but little food here--scarcely enough for our party. I will have some one guide you down to Elm Hill, where you will be more comfortable,” Hayden said at length.

“We have a little food in the ship. It’s getting late, and we’ll just sleep out here under the wings,” returned Graves quietly.

Suddenly a devil peered forth from Hayden’s eyes. The softness was gone, and savagery was there instead.

Graves looked into that queerly demoniac face without emotion. Apparently he did not feel the sudden tenseness that had every one in its grip. All felt the battle of wills going on there--that there was something underneath which did not appear on the surface.

“I think I’ll turn the ship around and head it into the wind,” came Broughton’s quiet voice.

It broke the tension. Graves turned to Broughton and Hinkley.

“I think it would be best. We’ll give you a hand on the wing--it’s a narrow place to turn in,” he remarked casually.

Hinkley primed both motors from underneath, and Broughton got into the cockpit. As soon as the motors were running Hinkley and Graves set themselves against the left wing. With the right motor full on they succeeded in turning the ship until it was headed down the slope, pointing toward one corner.

“If you don’t turn ’em into the wind the controls are liable to get flapping,” Hinkley explained to all and sundry. “With a smaller ship, wind sometimes turns ’em over, getting under the wing, too.”

Larry was wondering whether Broughton was planning to try a take-off. It looked like suicide to him, but Broughton was the doctor, Hinkley shrugged his shoulders at his thoughts, and then looked goodnaturedly at the lowering faces about him. He was enjoying himself.

Without another word Hayden walked toward the cabin. The others followed slowly.

“I’ll be back in a moment,” announced the fat man. “If there’s anything you need----”

“Nothing, thank you,” returned Graves.

“We are as welcome as rain at a picnic,” remarked Hinkley after the man had got out of earshot.

“Just about,” agreed Graves as Broughton returned. “To tell you the truth, I expected that we would get away with things a lot better than we seem to be doing. Those three well dressed men are undoubtedly some of the higher-ups in Hayden’s organization--the man that went after him is Somers. He is the only one I know. Somers served ten years in jail for killing a man when he was a radical leader. It was a strike affair. His specialty used to be salted mines and that sort of stuff--he’s a rough customer who can take care of himself. I’m surprized to see him all dressed up out here--if he’s working the city end of Hayden’s scheme he’s rather out of his element. We believe he’s the actual leader on the robberies themselves. That little Jew, Meyer, is the only other man known to me personally. He’s a New York gangster--good with a gun.”

“How do things look to you?” inquired Broughton.

“The whole bunch is too ---- suspicious,”

Graves returned unemotionally. “Part of this gang are simply down here for a visit, I imagine, to consult with Hayden. He isn’t taking a chance on getting within miles of a big city policeman. I imagine that most of the men who do the actual robbing are here, too, hiding out until the next one is pulled. Probably the prosperous-looking men are the birds who help get rid of the securities Hayden gets hold of.”

There was silence for a moment. Graves paced up and down slowly, his head bent in thought.

“I’m going up to the cabin on the excuse of getting some water to see what I can see. We’ve got to work fast, I can see that. Hayden is audacious and brilliant, and suspicion is enough for this gang to work on.”

“The old boy seems to amount to something, all right,” was Hinkley’s tribute.

“He is a wonderful man. If he did not have that perverted twist in him, he might be almost anything. I would suggest that one of you fool around with this supposedly missing motor, and the other one walk around and find out as much as possible about the guard system. We’ve got to be planning how we are going to get out of here. If you can do it without suspicion, you might see what they have along that lane there.”

* * * * *

Graves started for the cabin as he finished speaking. Hinkley strolled carelessly over toward the lane which led away from the cabin into the woods. Broughton climbed up on the motor with a wrench in his hand and commenced tinkering with the valves.

The cabin door was open, and Graves could hear a conversation in which many low-pitched voices took part. He walked in calmly. All conversation ceased as he entered.

“Could we borrow a pail of some kind and get some drinking water?” he asked, taking in his surroundings with a single lightning-like look around.

There were eight bunks, built double-decker, against the four walls of the cabin. Each was occupied now by a cigaret-smoking man. Hayden stood in a doorway which apparently led into a small lean-to at the rear. Somers was sitting on a rude stool. There was one small table, littered with candle grease and cigaret butts. There was only one window, close to the ceiling. A sort of half-darkness made it difficult to make out the features of the men lying on the bunks.

He waited fully a half minute before receiving an answer. Then the fat man got to his feet.

“I’ll get you one,” he said.

He had darted a quick look at Hayden, Graves noticed, before saying anything.

He saw nothing but suspicion in the faces of the men about him. He surmised that few of them lived there, but were there for a meeting with their chief. Perhaps that might account for their attitude of extreme suspicion, which did not seem justified under the circumstances. Then there was always the possibility that some one of them might know him.

“How long do you think it will be before you get the plane out, Colonel?”

It was Hayden’s deep, rich voice.

“Several days, I imagine,” returned Graves, watching his man narrowly.

“I should think that unless your headquarters were notified where you were----”

It was a half question.

“We will wire from Elm Hill tomorrow. If we do not, they will have forty planes out looking for us,” Graves explained.

He caught several meaning looks passing between various of the men at his last statement.

“I should think it would be a very difficult job to locate a plane that was really wrecked in these hills. Of course in your case you’re in a clearing and it would be easy.”

Hayden’s voice was smooth and his words almost pleasant, but there was nothing in his eyes now to give the lie to his face. He was the personification of power and ruthlessness.

Graves’ sixth sense, developed by years of contact with the world of crime and intrigue, warned him now. His mind probed behind Hayden’s apparently casual words, and what the government man thought he found made him look at Hayden with new amazement. He thought back over the things he knew of the man before him.

For years he had been a thorn in the side of enforcers of the law all over Europe and America. A dozen times big coups--jewel robberies, bank robberies, huge swindling schemes--had been laid at his door, but never yet had he been caught dead to rights because of his genius for organization and leadership. There was a South American revolution which star chamber gossip of the secret service said that Hayden had conceived, promoted, and finally cleared a hundred thousand dollars on. When supposedly he had left the country, police and secret service alike had drawn long breaths of relief.

There was bigness and sweep about Hayden, and Graves knew that what he suspected of the man’s plans concerning himself and the two flyers was by no means too audacious for Hayden to contemplate. He would order it with no compunction, and it would be a mere trifle for those men lying around the room to execute.

These thoughts raced through his head as he relighted his cigar.

“Traveling by plane is queer business,” he remarked casually as he threw the match out the door. “We often have trouble with people, strange as it may seem. Moonshiners through this state, Tennessee and Kentucky always think we’re after them if we have a forced landing anywhere near by. Miners and hill-billys and their sort always figure army men and an airplane are there for some purpose. Consequently we always go on a trip well prepared with food, and heavily armed.”

He watched the effect of his words on his listeners. He was disappointed. His explanation of the artillery the Martin carried, besides what he had said about the ship being from Langham Field, apparently had no effect in lightening the heavy suspicion that he could feel in the very air about him.

“Well, if you’ll be good enough to give me the pail and show me where the water is I’ll go back to the food,” he said.

The fat man led him outside and around the corner to a small tent which sheltered a stove. A plank table with benches was beside it.

A young Italian who appeared to be the cook gave them a pail.

“The spring is right down the path. You can’t miss it,” said the guide.

His small eyes did not meet Graves’ regard for more than a second.

The government man got the water and went back to the Martin. He found Hinkley already there.

“Find out anything?” he asked as he set down the pail.

“There’s a tent and three men on the top of a steep cliff right above the road. They all seem to be foreigners. And you ought to see the cliff on the lower side of the road. Anybody that stepped off that would have time enough to say his prayers and make a will before he hit bottom. Those three men could hold that road against an army if they had a machine-gun. I came near getting shot myself. They said they were camping.”

“It sure looks like a musical comedy war,” remarked Broughton, sitting cross-legged on the motor.

“There may not be so much comic opera stuff about it, at that,” stated Graves, removing the cigar from his mouth. “It’s bad.”

He told them briefly of his experience, and then went on:

“The size of the matter is, gentlemen, that those men are up to big things. They’re so big and Hayden is in such a predicament that in my opinion he will take no chances. It was only the luck of having an operative over here who happened to be very familiar with Hayden that caused us to know he was here. In view of the questions he asked me about the difficulty of finding a wrecked plane in these mountains, plus what he is, I believe he plans to kill us, burn the plane, and then bury the motors or something. I expect that if I am right it will happen tonight.”

His words were as calm and precise as though he were discussing the weather. He replaced the cigar in his mouth and puffed it slowly.

“Somehow or other I can’t believe they would go that far on suspicion,” said Hinkley. “They----”

“Are playing for big stakes, lieutenant,” Graves cut in. “And you cannot figure them as normal. Somers has killed men--he was in jail ten years. Hayden would sanction anything necessary for the success of his project. What are our three lives to them, compared to the prizes they are playing for, or the results of their being run down?”

“Lots of people will have seen our ship passing over,” suggested Broughton. “They may figure that the army will just say another wreck and let it go, but an investigation might be embarrassing.”

“They could kill us in such a way that it would look like a wreck,” said Graves. Burn our bodies with the plane, or something like that;”

Both airmen nodded.

“Well, what are you going to do about it?” Hinkley inquired.

“If you’ll pardon me, Mr. Graves, I have a scheme that might work,” announced Broughton. “It’s no better than a fifty-fifty shot, but I believe that you’re right, the more I think of it, and in that case I believe our chances of ever getting Hayden and getting out of here are about as good as the old snowball in ----. I’ve got a crazy idea we could take off here.”

Hinkley was not greatly surprized, but Graves was.

“You really think so?” he inquired with the nearest approach to eagerness that the flyers had ever seen him show.

Broughton nodded.

“On account of the slope, only half a load of gas and oil now, and the fact that even if we stall completely getting over those trees that the mountainside is so steep we can nose down and get up speed. What do you think, Larry?”

“Just about fifty-fifty,” was Hinkley’s reply. “Of course I don’t know a great deal about Martin bombers--I’m a pursuit man and Jim here is the big-ship expert. It’ll be a hair-raiser, with everything to lose and pretty nearly everything to gain. Inasmuch as these yeggs are so suspicious, I don’t believe we’d have a Chinaman’s chance to get Hayden and get out of here----”

“Except by strategy they won’t understand,” Broughton cut in. “You see, Mr. Graves, I figure it this way. If you tell them we’re going, they’ll lose some of their suspicion. Probably half the reason for killing us would be to prevent our telling anybody about their funny rendezvous up here, plus the plausible reason for our death if anybody gets nosing around. The ship gives them that----”

“And any of them who are afraid of the police through their past reputations could disappear while some unknown tells the army all about the wreck,” Graves suggested.

“Exactly,” agreed Broughton. “They’ll lose their suspicion, and will think that we see nothing unusual in this place. When the motors start they’ll all be out for the take-off. By some hook or crook we ought to be able to get Hayden near enough the ship and a little away from the others so that we can knock him on the head, chuck him in the back cockpit, and give the old ship the gun.”

“If they’re all too near, one of us can get in the back, fiddle with the machine gun, and then suddenly announce that we’ll mow down the crowd unless Hayden gives himself up,” said Hinkley amiably.

* * * * *

Graves was almost excited at the hopeful vista suggested by the flyers. His pace was a little faster than usual as he covered a path twenty feet long over and over again. A fresh, unlighted cigar was clamped in the extreme corner of his well-chiseled mouth.

“Of course I am in your hands as far as flying is concerned,” he said as though talking to himself. “I don’t know how many of them will be armed, but the chances are that in the excitement the shooting will not be very accurate.”

Every one was silent for a moment. Then Broughton made another suggestion.

“They will be back of us, sir, and if we can get in the front cockpit fast the bomb compartment, which is as high as our heads, will protect us from shots while we are taking off. They’ll ricochet off the steel runway, I believe, at the angle of fire they’ll shoot at. Besides, they’ll hold their fire at first for fear of hitting Hayden.”

Graves threw his untasted cigar away.

“We’ll do it,” he said calmly. “There are men with field-glasses over on that mountain there keeping watch. If we fail, all hope of getting Hayden alive and without publicity will be gone, but no man up here will get out. All the routes are blocked, if they only knew it. It will mean a lot of men killed capturing this party, and our swoop on Hayden’s gang all over the country will be incomplete, but we’ll have done our best.”

“Let’s get the motor started then, right away,” said Broughton. “It’s getting dark already.”

The western sky was red as fire still, but the sun itself had dipped behind the mountains and the valleys were filling with purple shadow.

The motors were started without trouble. The roar of them brought every one out of the shack. Luck was with the flyers, for only three men came close to the ship--Hayden, Somers, and little Meyer. All the rest of the men stayed near the shack, fifty yards away from the Martin. The machine-gun holdup appeared to be unnecessary. The three men stopped about ten yards away.

Graves walked up to them.

“We have the ship fixed, and have decided to try a take-off,” he said.

The comfort this brought to the three agitators was obvious. Graves looked around and beckoned to Hinkley, who strolled up casually. Broughton was idling the motors, now, and preparing to climb out.

Graves went a few steps to meet the flyer.

“Get close to Meyer and disarm him when I give the signal. Tell Broughton to do the same to Somers--knock him on the head if necessary. I’ll get Hayden, and then the three of us can heave him in the back cockpit and get in before that gang up there can get their guns. I don’t believe any of them carry revolvers.”

Hinkley grinned delightedly.

“Fast work, partner,” he breathed.

The three were standing quietly, talking in low tones, when Hinkley and Broughton came up.

“Well, good-by,” said Graves, extending his hand to Hayden. Broughton and Hinkley watched him closely.

His fist shot up like a flash of light, carrying all his weight with it. The big man fell like an ox. At the same time the two flyers leaped in, revolvers in hand, and crashed the butts down on the heads of their respective victims. It was such a complete surprize that the ruse was funny in its effectiveness.

Somers and Meyer were disarmed in a trice. Before the astonished henchmen of Hayden had recovered from their surprize and covered half the distance between the cabin and the ship the three government men had heaved the unconscious Hayden into the rear cockpit and were scrambling forward over the bomb compartment.

Without waiting for belts to be adjusted Broughton jammed on both throttles. Bullets sang close to them; the gang had held their fire at first for fear of hitting Hayden, and now the bomb compartment shielded the flyers completely. Their heads did not show above it.

By the time the marksmen had realized this and had veered to go around the wing the ship was in motion. For a few seconds two men wrenched at the rudders in a mad effort to disable the plane, but the sturdy controls held. Then the Martin was moving so fast that the men had to let go.

For twenty-five yards Broughton ruddered the ship straight down the slope. It was extremely steep there, and the heavy ship picked up speed amazingly. Then Jim swung it slightly to the left, to get the benefit of the extra yards that would give him.

The trees rushed nearer with terrible swiftness. There came a quivering bounce, and then, with a feeling of infinite relief, he felt the ship leave the ground. He pulled the wheel back as far as it would go.

The Martin made it. There was not an inch of margin, for the elevators and rudders swished through the trees and the nose of the ship dropped in a stall. For two hundred feet Broughton had all he could do to keep it from dragging in the trees on that nearly sheer mountain side. Then it picked up speed, and with both Libertys still running wide open turned eastward through the thickening shadow, streams of fire from the exhausts trailing behind like banners of triumph.