The Sky Pilot's Great Chase; Or, Jack Ralston's Dead Stick Landing

The Sky Pilot's Great Chase; Or, Jack Ralston's Dead Stick Landing
Ambrose Newcomb

The Sky Pilot's Great Chase Jack Ralston's Dead Stick Landing

CHAPTER I

THE CLANG OF THE FIRE BELL

“Well, I kinder guess now this here little ol’ ho-tel in Salt Lake City’s got our experience in Cheyenne knocked all to flinders. Good room, twin beds that keep you from hoggin’ all the covers on a cool night an’ as to eats, say it’s sure prime stuff, though mebbe I ain’t no judge ’long any line ’cept quantity. How ’bout it, Jack, ol’ hoss?”

The happy-go-lucky speaker was an old friend of ours, one Perk, and the companion to whom he addressed his question was his bosom pal, Jack Ralston of the U. S. Secret Service. Nevertheless, it seemed that Perk was now known as Gabe Smith, a woods guide of wide experience who in the course of his wanderings had managed to pick up a smattering of aviation, a particularly useful thing in these air-minded days.

And Jack, whenever there was a third party within hearing, was always referred to as Mr. John Jacob Astorbilt, a wideawake young millionaire sportsman always seeking novel thrills hunting big game by means of the latest type airship.

All this had a good and sufficient reason back of it, which will be placed before the reader ere we have gone deeply into this log covering the latest undertaking of the two redoubtable sky detectives.

“Oh! things suit me okay, Perk,” was Jack’s rather indifferent reply, as he smiled at his companion’s grinning, enthusiastic face. “Somehow I don’t seem to set quite as much store by my meals as you do but I’ll say the food is pretty decent – better than the restaurant stuff we used to eat three times a day over in old Cheyenne.”

“Hot ziggety dog! I should say so. But what tickles me most of all, partner, is the dandy ship Uncle Sam turned over to us after we climbed out o’ all that hot stuff down on the west coast o’ Florida. She’s a genuine cloud-chaser, boy, an’ don’t take any guy’s dust – am I right ’bout that, Boss?”

“I’ll admit she’s a prize boat and no mistake. Able to drop down on land or water and with skis in place could do the same on a frozen lake or the deepest snow the Northland ever saw. Yes, it would be hard to beat our ship, Perk.”

“Right up to date she is. Look at the shiny aluminum pontoons an’ rubber tired wheels peekin’ out from the bow ends. The Hamilton propeller that does its stuff to the dot; a real Hasler Telmot Flight Meter; aluminum oil tanks so light and yet so strong; earth-inducter compass next to infallible; Eclipse Starter – gosh amighty, if there’s a single thing worth its salt that our ship ain’t got I’d like to hear ’bout it.”

Jack laughed. He had a whole-souled laugh that did any one good just to hear it – kind of gave you a warm feeling and seemed to draw you into friendly relations with the clear-eyed young aviator.

“Just one thing lacking, partner, in the round-up if you stop to think of it. We felt the need of it on our last jaunt[1 - See “Wings Over the Rockies.”] when in the midst of the most dreadful fog-belt either of us had ever struck, we climbed to a ten thousand foot ceiling only to have ice begin to form on our wings. Haven’t forgotten that, eh, Perk old fellow?”

“Ginger pop an’ the weasel! I guess now I ain’t. You’ve crabbed my game, buddy, that’s what you’ve done. But as we ain’t, so far, been sent to the South Pole to help get an explorer out o’ his bad fix in the ice, I kinder guess we don’t need that ice meltin’ device much. Got to draw a line somewhere you know, Boss, else the ship’ll be so loaded down with new contraptions there won’t be any storage room for the grub-pile!”

“And sure enough that’s where the shoe would pinch, Perk. Grub, and plenty of it is the real necessity to have aboard. It bobs up just three times a day right along and with mighty long waits between according to your way of looking at it.”

“You said it, partner! I’ve tried goin’ shy on the eats but it don’t seem to work worth a red cent. Right away there’s a mutiny breaks put under the midship hatch an’ I jest got to surrender. But, to change the subject, I’m botherin’ my poor brain tryin’ to figger out which way we’ll face when the orders come breezin’ along?”

Jack chuckled as he lolled back in his comfortable easy-chair for they chanced to be sitting in their third-floor hotel room while engaging in this little confab.

“It’s a toss-up I’d say, Perk,” he remarked a bit mysteriously. “You know the whole wide world is our hunting ground as you’ve so often boasted. International crooks breed a like species of detectives. When they take to flying, the Secret Service has to go them one better. Our familiarity with airships helped to rustle this job for us and we’ve got to make good, no matter whether we fly to Japan, India, South Africa or any other old country under the sun.”

Perk displayed the proper amount of enthusiasm as this wide subject came along, for his eyes sparkled, and he grinned broadly.

“You bet, Jack ol’ hoss,” he blurted out, “an’ like’s not the slick way we put through that last deal down on the west Florida coast, fetchin’ the king o’ booze smugglers back with us to the bar o’ justice has made us solid with the Head at Washington.”[2 - See “Eagles of the Sky.”]

“I shouldn’t wonder buddy,” was all Jack said, not being given to blowing his own horn as Perk often did, being only human as he would explain, and knowing a good thing when he saw it.

“We dropped in at this ’ere airport,” Perk continued, “’cordin’ to orders a hull week back, sailin’ under new names to hide our identities an’ here we be, killin’ time an’ waitin’ to make a bee line for any place that happens to be in need o’ cleanin’ up. We’re the boss outfit for that sorter job, on’y I’d give a heap to know what’s what.”

“That’s a weakness of yours, Perk. Now in my case it doesn’t give me one minute’s uneasiness. Whether I’m working in Paris, Cairo or Timbuktu makes no difference, I calculate on getting enough to eat, pick up plenty of sleep and beat the game if its possible. Nothing else will satisfy me, as you pretty well know, brother.”

“When I happen to wake up in the small hours o’ the night, Jack, I just get bothered ’bout the next layout and sometimes wonder if I’m right then an’ there across the Pacific or playin’ a swift game down in Nicaragua f’r instance. Feels a whole lot like we might be reg’lar gypsies, changin’ our camp every night.”

“Well, what of it?” demanded Jack, looking vastly amused. “It wouldn’t be the first time that name was applied to me for you remember when I first broke into this game it was as a gypsy pilot, doing stunts with my ’chute at county fairs and Harvest Homes all around the country. That name always did sound kind of sweet in my ears. I like it to this day, in fact.”

“Mebbe now, it might be that you could give a sorter guess ’bout that job we’re goin’ to have tacked on to us right away? How ’bout it, old hoss?”

“Oh! that doesn’t concern me one whit, Perk. Just hold your horses and take things as they come. There’s a bit of fun being kept in the dark about these affairs. Makes me think of the times we used to have grab-bags at church fairs, when you paid a penny or a nickel and pulled out something queer. Say, didn’t we feel a great big thrill just before making the grab? Take things easy and let the folks at Headquarters do most of the worrying. That’s what I call logic, buddy.”

“Huh! mebbe so,” grunted Perk, eyeing his comrade quizzically as though more than half suspecting that if Jack chose, at least he could give a fairly good guess covering their next thrilling assignment. “But that sorter philosophy don’t cut any figger when I lie awake nights cudgelin’ my slow-workin’ brains an’ tryin’ to get the answer. But then, like as not, we ain’t goin’ to stick to this queer old burg much longer an’ I sure do hope the wire givin’ us full directions in cipher comes along right soon.”

Jack Ralston, as the readers of the three preceding stories in this series of Sky Detective adventures already know, had been building up quite an enviable reputation in the Secret Service of the Government, being entrusted with a number of the most important tasks that were cropping up from time to time.

These necessitated not only a cool head, quick decisions and plenty of nerve, but also demanded a thorough knowledge of aeronautics, since many malefactors in these very modern days were taking to the air in order to facilitate their unlawful operations so that it had become necessary to meet them on their own grounds and go them one better.

His best pal was Gabe Perkiser, whose odd name was usually shortened to Perk. He was fully ten years older than Jack and at the time our country entered the World War chanced to be connected with the balloon corps so that for some time he found himself a manipulator of an observation balloon, better known as a “sausage.”

Tiring of this monotonous life, the active Perk took up aviation. Here he was in his element and few there were during those mad months when the American army was breaking the Hindenburg line and pushing through the terrible thickets and machine-gun nests of the Argonne, who attained a higher rating as a fearless pilot than Gabe Perkiser.

He had numerous glorious victories to his credit, having sent down many enemy flyers in blazing coffins but eventually met with a serious mishap that sent him to a field hospital and kept him out of the rest of that frightful campaign.

Recovering in due time, Perk had come back to the States bent on securing some sort of employment that would give him all the excitement his system demanded. This he found when he joined the Northwest Mounted Police of Canada. The fact that one of his parents had been born across the line while the other was a Maine Yankee, gave Perk the opening he desired and his yearning for adventure after that was never left unsatisfied.

But after a while he even began to tire of such a lonely life as his duties entailed and floated down once more to the country of his birth. There by some happy accident Jack ran across him and recognizing a kindred spirit, he induced Perk to apply for a position in the Secret Service.

Still later, when he had been detailed to make use of his ability as an air pilot to carry on with a certain job that had been placed in his hands, Jack remembered Perk. It was essential that he have an assistant aboard his ship and so he negotiated matters so that Perk was ordered to report to him and act as co-pilot for an indefinite length of time, an arrangement that gave both the greatest satisfaction possible.

They were after all a well matched pair. What one lacked the other possessed in abundance. Jack was able to hold his more impulsive comrade in check when safety first became their watchword, and on the other hand when a show of dash and vigor was the order of the day, Perk was apt to take the lead and strike terror in the hearts of the enemy.

Naturally enough inaction became irksome to Perk and he fretted because he loathed remaining quiet when his whole system was calling for accomplishing things.

Jack, of course, was the one who laid out the plan of campaign, he being much better fitted for such essential matters. Perk on the other hand really needed some one above to give him the order and check his impulsiveness on occasion. So they got on together admirably, and worked like a well matched team.

To be sure Jack sometimes knew a bit more than he chose to tell Perk but he always had good and sufficient reasons for holding back such information and his lack of knowledge, until such time as his leader saw fit to take him wholly into his confidence, did Perk no harm whatever.

It did, however, cause him to lie awake nights wondering and speculating as to what would be next on the program. He would try his best to tempt Jack to commit himself but all to no purpose, for the other put him off with one plea or another with Perk returning to the attack time and again.

They had had their wonderfully efficient plane lodged in a hangar out at the flying field where just so often each day an air-mail pilot was scheduled to arrive or depart with the letter sacks of the Post Office Department. This courtesy had been bestowed upon them by a Mr. Spencer Gibbons a private flyer and a man of considerable means who came and went as his fancy dictated.

He had met Jack while the latter, under strict injunctions from the Department, was posing as a young and enthusiastic air-minded millionaire and had given him the use of the single-ship hangar while he, Gibbons, was off on a jaunt that took him down to the Mexican border, but as he was expected back at any time now they had changed the location of their amphibian that same afternoon. It now rested secure in another nearby hangar that happened to be empty and which Jack could hire, being liberally supplied with funds by his generous employer, Uncle Sam.

This was only a minor incident, and yet it was fated to play an important part in the general network of things, and hence to be the cause of many speculations on the part of the two chums.

Perk, acting under the direction of his mate, had taken a vast amount of pleasure in loading up a supply of commodities. These consisted of the ordinary supplies, such as an old and experienced camper would be apt to put down on his list and possibly a few special dainties that particularly appealed to Perk’s appetite and which he meant to spring upon his fellow flyer at some convenient time when both of them happened to be ravenously hungry and there came a chance to build a cooking fire.

Then too, it was always their day by day plan to keep a full stock of fuel and lubricating oil aboard their boat since there never would be much warning given them when the order to hop-off came by telegraph.

They seldom allowed a favorable flying day to pass by without going aloft in order to keep in practice and also be certain the precious ship was in first class condition for immediate service. As they had not had possession of the wonder plane for any great length of time, Jack was always finding out some fresh discovery calculated to increase his admiration for his craft and evoke a volley of expressions from the voluble Perk.

The sun had already set and dusk was beginning to gather, telling them it was about time to descend to the dining room and partake of their customary evening meal. After that Perk would doubtless wander around to the nearest moving-picture palace and allow his feverish soul to have full swing in the excitement depicted on the silver screen.

Just then there came along one of those little incidents that sometimes turn out to have unsuspected potentialities. Perk seemed to catch it first, for he jumped up and broke loose by crying: