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

“Can you tie that?” burst out the grinning Perk, who seemed more tickled at hearing these words of praise than was the blushing recipient himself. “I kinder guessed my best pal was topnotch ’long them lines when I watched him adoin’ his stuff. So Jack, in case you ever do get knocked out o’ the cloud-chasin’ game, plenty o’ time left to climb up the ladder in the surgical ward.”

Jack hurriedly left the room, although it would have been only natural for him to feel a little thrill at being thus praised by a professional man whom he had already begun to hold in high esteem.

Perk joined him outside, but was kept from doing much talking by the necessity of carrying out a number of needful errands. They did not expect to waste any unnecessary time hanging about the post – the trail was already cold, and it was essential that they get on the move as speedily as possible. Jack well knew what difficult, and perhaps even sanguine work still remained to be accomplished, and as usual was eager to get it all over with.

“We can’t hang fire in this business,” he was telling Perk, who perhaps did not look at things in quite the same light, since his nature differed from that of his companion; “and until I see our man trussed up, to await our pleasure in hopping off for the border, I’ll not have a peaceful moment. From now on this has to be a whirlwind campaign, and no mistake – get that, partner?”

“Huh! pleases me okay, ol’ hoss,” the other told him, nodding his head vigorously; “I’m in the game up to my neck, an’ with me it sure is ‘Pike’s Peak – or Bust!’”

“We’ll take a little time to look over our stuff,” suggested Jack, the always wise worker, who seldom left the slightest thing undone, and consequently, like other cautious sky pilots, seldom had a real accident overtake him. “Make sure you’ve got plenty of cartridges for your gun, and than add another belt for good measure, because you never can tell what may happen, and it’s best to be on the safe side – as a fire insurance agent once said on his advertising cards, it’s ‘better to have insurance, and not need it; than to need insurance and not have it.’”

“Yeah! I know it, Jack, boy,” admitted Perk, “even if sometimes I do get caught nappin’, an’ have a peck o’ trouble ’count o’ my carelessness. I’m set to carry along every shell I fetched up here with me – this is the job they’re meant for, an’ why be a miser ’bout it?”

“That’s the ticket, partner,” Jack told him, apparently quite satisfied he had started his companion on the right road – Perk sometimes had to be “shown,” and then he would follow to the bitter end.

Red Lowden had also been making sure nothing was forgotten, so far as he could tell. Of course he was somewhat in the dark as to just what means Jack meant to employ in order to bring about the success of the undertaking; but in the short time he had known the young Secret Service detective he had realized the capacity the other exhibited for handling just such intricate cases – if it were not so the astute Head of the Organization at Washington would never have entrusted this difficult problem to his hands.

Of course, from this time forward it would be Sergeant Lowden who would take the lead, since he knew the country, and it was all a puzzle to Jack – even Perk would not be half as well acquainted with the ground as the one who for a dozen years had been going over the entire district for a radius of probably fifty miles in all directions.

Then, too, should any difficulty arise they could put their heads together, and find a solution to the problem, since many hands make light work, according to the old saying.

While Jack and Perk were doing other things Red had taken a look at the tracks left by the raiders. Luckily no rain had fallen since they galloped away from the plucked post, and hence the imprints of their animals’ hoofs could still be plainly located.

Besides this, Red was depending considerably on certain secret information lately drifting in to Colonel Ascot, to help him out – as yet he had not said anything to Jack and Perk concerning this matter, but anticipated taking them both into his confidence before long, as it was essential they should understand just what resources he was banking upon in order to run the wolves to their secret den, the whereabouts of which had so long been unknown.

And so, about an hour after arriving at Frazer’s, the trio again rode forth, to bring about the finishing touches of their campaign.

Even Perk seemed sobered by the desperate character of the duties now devolving on the little party. Outnumbered at least two to one, possibly with even greater odds against them, they would surely need all the boldness and strategy with which they were endowed, in order to bring about a successful finish to the invasion of the enemy’s stronghold.

Sometimes they were compelled to go single-file on account of the narrow trail, alongside which great masses of mighty rocks were piled up; but in other places it was possible to ride three abreast; and these were the occasions when Jack and Red consulted, clearing up any foggy spots, so that they could work in unison when the time came for action.

Not a single incident occurred to take their attention from the fact that they were carrying their lives in their hands. Now and then the guide would pull up in order that he might make use of the binoculars (which Jack had taken pains to bring along) some suspicious clump of rocks such as would afford a most effective spot for an ambush needed closer observation; and Red was too cautious a ranger to rush into a trap when it could be avoided.

As they progressed Jack noticed how their guide gradually slowed down; from which circumstance he judged they must be nearing the hidden retreat of the plunderers. It gave him increased confidence in the sagacity of the Mounty sergeant, whose disposition corresponded more or less with his own.

Coming to a delightfully cold spring that bubbled up close to the trail, Red called a halt.

“A short rest will breathe the hosses,” Red was saying, after he had taken a good look at the trail beyond the wayside spring; “and by the same token I think it’s high time I told you both about a little trick of luck that came my way just a week or so back; ’specially since it’s got so much to do with the carrying out of this surround, and hoped-for haul.”

XXVIII

DODGING THE LOOKOUT

Perk looked eagerly at his old pal when Sergeant Red made that interesting disclosure. The three of them were sitting close to the spring at the time, engaged in passing a collapsible metal cup from hand to hand, and quenching their thirst from the clear water that came forth in apparently inexhaustible quantities.

“Huh! I kinder guessed now, Red, ol’ hoss, that you had a trump cyard up your sleeve all this while – reckon I ain’t forgot a trick you used to play on us boys long ago, springin’ a nice little surprise just when the game looked the bunk, an’ we reckoned we was up a stump. Hit it up then, an’ tell us what sorter good luck it was you run smack up against, that’s got somethin’ to do with this here racket o’ ourn.”

“I was riding slowly back to the station, after taking our mail to the nearest settlement, where it could go on its way by a carrier, when I chanced to hear what sounded like a groan. Of course I first of all suspected it might be some sort of slick trap to get me off my mount; but after riding on a bit I dismounted and fastening my hoss, crept back.

“Turned out to be no fizzle after all, for I found a miserable looking man lying on the ground, half starved, badly wounded in an arm, and looking like he’d been in the river that was close by.

“I reckoned he might be one of the crowd that worked with the Hawk – had an idea I’d seen him before in bad company; but he was a tough looking sight, and I just felt sorry for the bloke. So I fed him, and looked after his hurts, what with a heap of bruises, and a bullet through the fleshy part of his left arm.

“Then I got him on my mount, and carried him all the way to the station. The colonel took charge, and had him put to bed, with Doc. Hamilton looking after his troubles. He got better right away, and on the third day said he must be going. Then he confessed he had been a member of that Hawk gang and that his name was Gene Hotchkiss, though we both reckoned it was one he’d tacked on when he came up here to keep out of jail.

“He went on to tell us that he’d been fool enough to defy the Hawk when full of hard stuff; and how the other had flashed a gun to shoot him through the shoulder; then knocked him down, kicked him in a passion; and finally, when he was mighty near senseless, ordered two of his men to pick him up and throw him over a cliff into the river.

“How he managed to keep from being drowned when so weak and sore he couldn’t explain – all he remembered was managing to pull himself out of the water when an eddy drew him in close to a shelving rock. Later on he tried to make his way along in the direction of Frazer’s post, meaning to get out of this country, for his life would not be worth a pinch of salt if ever the Hawk learned he hadn’t been put out of the way.

“He claimed to have a brother down in Winnipeg, and swore black and blue he was going back to him, so as to try and redeem himself. Colonel Astor encouraged him, feeling that what he spoke was the truth. Well, before he pulled out, going in company with a trapper chancing along right then, the chap was so grateful for all we’d done for him he up and told us a few things about the Hawk, such as we’d been crazy to learn for seven coons’ ages.

“He described the location of the secret haunt of the gang, so we couldn’t miss finding it when ready to pounce down on them. More than that he drew a sort of diagram, or chart, showing us how there was a back-door way of gettin’ in, case they barricaded the main entrance – so far as he knew not a single guy of all the pack knew about this same rear door except himself; and he’d only found it out by sheer accident, keeping quiet, since he even then had a sneaking notion he’d have to pull out on the sly, if ever it came to a show-down between himself and the Hawk.”

“That sounds like something well worth while,” Jack remarked, after Red had apparently reached the end of his little yarn; “always provided what he told you was the truth, and not a fairy story invented to hoodwink you until he got out of touch, and could make his getaway.”

“I believe it was backed by solid truth,” Red stoutly affirmed; “and the colonel was of the same opinion. We were only waiting until several of the boys returned to the station after having their vacations, when we figured on pulling the roost, and closing out the whole bunch. Then you hit our place, and he made up his mind to let you have your day, backing you up when the posse arrived after their wild goose chase, sent on a false information that the gang planned to raid the little settlement at Frog’s Neck down the river fifty miles or so.”

Acting on Jack’s request, Red explained (by means of the rude chart made by the so-called Gene Hotchkiss) just where the retreat was located; and also what course they would have to pursue if necessity compelled them to attempt to break in through the back door.

“If that stacks up against us,” Jack finally decided, “we can go over this thing again and get our bearings – it may not be necessary if we have a decent share of luck. And now, boys, let’s move along, and start something.”

“When we get to a certain point,” further advised the Mounty guide, “it’s going to be necessary for us to leave the trail, hide our hosses, and take to the rocks.”

“You reckon then they’ll have a lookout posted to command the approach, and get wind of any threatening danger?” Jack asked.

“That Hotchkiss guy told us they never left anything to chance,” Red explained; “he said that day and night a vidette is kept posted on a lookout point, where, unseen himself he can discover if even a fox comes along the only approach to the cave. He even said they had dynamite planted, with a wire running up to the den, so the whole works could be knocked into flinders if so be the Mounties came along. We’ve got to find that wire, and disconnect it first thing we do.”

“Je-ru-sa-lem crickets, I should say so!” Perk chattered; “I ain’t so set on doin’ my flyin’ in pieces that I’ll cotton to any dynamite cache.”

Then, as they were once more compelled to go single file on account of the rocks narrowing the trail, the consultation came to an end, and they continued to move ahead in utter silence save when a hoof chanced to strike the solid rock and made a subdued sound. Each rider, however, tried to keep this from happening whenever possible, by skillful guidance with the bridle.

Perk kept watching the mountain that reared up its lofty peak thousands of feet above. It might be he was wondering what would happen should the guide through some mistake overlap the range of safety, and their coming be noted by the ever vigilant vidette posted in some eagle-like eyrie far up the slope.

Would their first warning of this fact be when a frightful explosion rent the atmosphere, and the massive rocks went flying in every direction, carrying themselves and their unlucky mounts along in sections? It was not a very cheerful subject to entertain, and Perk might be pardoned for feeling a little cold chill creep up and down his spinal column, when for instance he suddenly caught a rumbling sound, like an earthquake in its first throes. It however turned out to be simply a land-slide, such as frequently took place, as Perk himself very well knew, with great rocks, and a shower of loosened earth slipping down the slope with increasing momentum.

“Gosh a mity! that one near got my goat!” Perk told himself, with a nervous little laugh; and as he brought up the rear just then neither of his mates saw his brief spasm of alarm, for which he was thankful.

Suddenly Red threw up his arm. They had for some little time been walking their horses, and this warning signal brought them all to a complete standstill. Jack shoved up alongside the leader, and they exchanged looks.

“Here’s where we got to leave our mounts, and go on afoot,” was what Red explained, speaking in a low tone that added to the thrill of the occasion, at least so far as Perk was concerned. “See this red-looking rock that cuts out halfway across the trail – that Hotchkiss critter warned me not to pass it by – if we rode fifty feet further we’d come in line with the sentry up yonder.”

“I guess now an inch is as good as a mile,” Perk observed, grinning as though he had uttered some “wise crack” that did his discretion credit.

Looking around they soon found an opening in the wall on their right, through which the horses could be led. Red was particular to take the animals quite some distance away, so that in case one of them took a notion to neigh, as horses are apt to do at unexpected times, the sound might not be heard by the man on the lookout post, or by any one chancing to be passing along the trail.

So far so good; and yet the extra hazardous part of the undertaking was but beginning to loom up ahead.

XXIX