The Boy Aviators in Record Flight; Or, The Rival Aeroplane

By the time Hank Higgins concluded his narrative the glare of the fire had spread over the whole sky, and the sounds of excitement in the town could be clearly heard. Perhaps this was what prevented the men in the waiting auto hearing the approach of another car till it was close upon them. At any rate, the other auto, which did not have any lights, was close up to them before Luther Barr exclaimed triumphantly:

“Good; they got it.”

“Is the aeroplane destroyed?” was the first question Reade asked.

“Did you get the man?” was Luther Barr’s eager query.

“One at a time, one at a time,” growled Wild Bill Jenkins, “we’ve had enough trouble to-night without answering a dozen questions at once, ain’t we, Noggy?”

“That’s right,” grumbled Noggy Wilkes, who was driving the auto, “and I’m none too skillful now at driving a buzz wagon, although once I owned one.”

“Well, I reckon you see that we set the fire all right,” remarked Wild Bill Jenkins, “and the joke of it was we could hear the kids warning that old fool of a mayor about the attempt we were going ter make ter attack ’em all the time we was settin’ the fire and putting kerosene on it.”

“Ha, ha, ha,” laughed Noggy Wilkes, as if an immense joke had been related.

“Now, tell us, what about the aeroplane?” demanded Reade.

Now Wild Bill Jenkins and Noggy Wilkes had agreed to make all they could out of the deal they had undertaken, so when Fred asked this in an eager voice they responded:

“Oh, she’s all burned up. Nothing left of her.”

“Good,” exclaimed Reade, passing over a fat roll of bills, “now, we can go ahead just as slowly as we like when we get to the mine at Calabazos. If we can file the claim to it it will be worth a lot more to us than winning the race.”

“Speaking of the mine,” put in Luther Barr, “where have you got Witherbee?”

“Right in the tonneau, guv’ner,” responded Wild Bill; “he made a lot of trouble and I had to give him a tap on the head to quiet him, but he’ll come to all right.”

“It’s just as well,” approved Luther Barr, “it will keep him quiet. Have you searched him yet?”

“No, not yet; we wanted to get out of town before those kids found out we’d swiped the auto. They can’t get after us in anything faster than an old buggy, and we’ll be far away by the time they pick up the trail.”

“Well, as you haven’t searched him, you might just as well leave him where he is till we get to the place. You know that we are not going to Pintoville.”

“Not going there, guv’ner!” echoed Wild Bill amazedly.

“No, I said we were at Pintoville for a blind. You never know who may be listening. Instead of going there we will make for White Willow. We’ve got the aeroplane there.”

“Say, guv’ner, you’re a smart one.”

“That’s how I made my money,” grinned old Luther Barr.

“Then, you’ve not been in Pintoville at all?”

“No, not for a minute. We had to land at White Willow; there’s something gone wrong with the engine of Slade’s ship. They are working on it now.”

“That’s why we were so anxious to have the boys’ aeroplane disabled, so that we could take our own time,” put in Reade. “You are quite sure it is burned up?”

“Sure; why, I saw it with these here eyes,” declared Noggy Wilkes. “Do you think we’d have taken your money if it hadn’t bin all destroyed, Mr. Reade?”

“What do you think we are – thieves?” demanded Wild Bill Jenkins, with what sounded like real indignation.

“Come, come, let’s be getting on,” urged old Barr. “They may pick up our trail, you know.”

As he spoke and the autos started, there was a low growl of thunder. One of the rare thunderstorms that occasionally sweep over the desert where it adjoins the mountains was coming up.

“Not after the storm they won’t,” laughed Hank Higgins confidently, “the rain that that will bring will mighty soon wash out our trail.”

As they speeded along a few minutes later the rain began to fall in torrents.

“Good-bye, boys, you’ll never catch us now,” exultingly cried Luther Barr.

A short time later they rolled into White Willow, where, on account of the size of the party, a whole house – of which there were many vacant in the half-abandoned settlement – had been engaged. As the autos drew up the downpour ceased and the growls of thunder went rolling away in the distance.

“Say, that feller’s bin mighty quiet; we’d better have a look at him,” suggested Frank Higgins; “maybe you tapped him too hard, Wild Bill.”

“Not me,” laughed the other. “I’ve stunned too many of ’em for that, but he fit so hard I had to wrap him up in a blanket.”

“He throwed it over him so sudden I didn’t even see his face,” said Noggy admiringly; “he’s a quick worker.”

“Well, that makes no difference; I knowed him the minute I seed him,” confidently declared Wild Bill; “you gave me a good description – gray whiskers, tanned skin and a gray hat. Here he is as large as life.”

He drew back the blanket that had covered a figure lying in the tonneau of the big car. As he did so, Luther Barr and the others who were crowding round with a lantern gazed on the still features with a howl of rage.

“You fool,” fairly shrieked Barr, springing at Wild Bill in his anger, “that’s the wrong man!”

CHAPTER XVIII.

WIRELESS

“What is to be done?” It was Frank who spoke, and there was a note of despair in his voice.

The boys had finished breakfast with what appetite they could and were seated on the porch of the hotel discussing plans. It seemed impossible that they could get away from Gitalong, as, without the escort of the auto to carry the necessary supplies for an emergency, it would have been futile to think of navigating above the desert in an aeroplane. The dirigible, of course, could carry her own supplies.

“Wall, now, thar ain’t no use givin’ up hope,” consoled Bart. “Why, once when I was up a tree with a b’ar at ther foot of it, I thought I’d never git away, an’ what do you think happened – why, ther b’ar jes’ turned up his toes and died.”

Even this anecdote of Bart’s pard did not cheer the boys up, however, and in a disconsolate group they walked down the street to look over the Golden Eagle, which still stood where she had been left. Quite a crowd was clustered about the machine, and as the boys came up a hail of questions was poured in on them.

One of the questioners, a wild-looking fellow, with long, drooping black mustache and a wide-brimmed hat, round the band of which were nailed silver dollars in a row, was particularly curious. After asking questions about every part of the machine, he started in on the wireless. Indicating the aerials he remarked:

“Say, that’s a right pert little conniption, ain’t it? Kin you really send messages out sky doodling through ther blessed atmosphere with it?”

“We can if we’ve got any one to send them to,” rejoined Harry; “but I don’t suppose there’s any one around here who has a wireless outfit.”

“Wall, now, that’s jes’ whar yer wrong,” was the astonishing reply. “There’s an old feller, I reckon he’s crazy or suthin’, anyhow he used ter be some sort of electrical engineer. Wall, sir, on top of his shack at White Willow I’m blamed if he ain’t got things like them wires that’s strung on top of your air ship. Yes, sir, an’ claims he can sind out messages, too, if thar was any one but coyotes and rattlers to git ’em.”

“Whereabouts is White Willow?” asked Frank interestedly.

“Why, it’s right near to Pintoville,” was the answer; “a piece this side of it, I rickin.”