Eagles of the Sky: or, With Jack Ralston Along the Air Lanes

“Just what it was, Perk,” agreed his chum, pressing close behind the holder of the lantern, “lift the light a bit, I think I can make out something stretched out flat–yes, it must be a man, I’m certain.”

“Kinder guessed we’d run across one or two o’ the scrappers knocked out an’ left behind in the getaway rush,” commented Perk who had drawn his automatic before starting to explore the lower regions of the rum-runner, not knowing what they were apt to meet there.

He continued to advance, and presently they were bending over a dismal looking object, undoubtedly a man who might be a member of the crew, judging from his rough sea clothes and his bare feet.

There could be no question but that he had been in the fight, since his face was bloody and his general appearance betokened rough treatment. Undoubtedly he had been senseless at the time the tear-gas penetrated every part of the small vessel, and was only now coming to.

Jack lost no time in examining the pitiful looking object while Perk waited to hear what his verdict would be. After all the old fighter bore no malice toward any of these reckless men who were so assiduously engaged in breaking the law of the land by running contraband goods into Uncle Sam’s domains and he was just as willing to bind up the wounds of this luckless adventurer as if the other had only been an ordinary sailor in sore trouble.

“Nothing serious, it seems,” was Jack’s decision. “He has had a pretty hard knock that started the blood from his nose and as like as not laid him out here senseless for there’s a fine big lump on his head.”

“So we’ll have one prisoner to fetch in after all,” chortled Perk, as if pleased by the prospect of being able to produce a witness to testify to the work they had just accomplished.

CHAPTER VIII

THE SPOILS OF VICTORY

“Take hold, Perk,” continued Jack, without losing any time. “We’ve got to get this poor chap out in the open air for it’s pretty bad down below here, and bothers my eyes more or less.”

So between them they managed to carry the wounded rum-runner to the deck, where he was laid down, still groaning, although showing no other signs of life.

“Step lively, brother, and see if you can run across any fresh water, so’s to pour a little down his throat,” Jack went on to say. “I can dip up some salty stuff by reaching down over the gun’l and mop his forehead so’s to fetch him around.”

“Okay, boss!” snapped the ever ready Perk, “kinder guess I spied a barrel with a faucet–hope now she don’t hold spirits instead o’ water. Watch my smoke, that’s all.”

He was indeed back in what he would term a “jiffy,” bearing a battered and rusty tin kettle in his hand which proved to contain something that might, with reservations, be called “drinking” water though it proved to be lukewarm and possibly full of “wigglers,” as the larvae of mosquitoes are called.

Jack raised the man’s head, which he had succeeded in washing to some extent, and forcing open his mouth allowed some of the contents of the pannikin to drain down his throat.

This set him to coughing and so he came to, showing all the signs of bewilderment that might be expected after going to sleep in the midst of a most clamorous battle with the reckless hijackers, and now waking up to find strange faces bending over him, heads that were encased in close-fitting helmets and the staring goggles of airmen.

“You’re all right, brother,” Jack assured the man, on seeing how alarmed he appeared to be. “Your crew skipped out and deserted you, but we’ll stand by. Consider yourself a prisoner of Uncle Sam, although you’ll not be punished any to speak of if only you open up and tell all you know about the owners and the skipper of this smuggler craft. What’s her name and where are you from?”

The man had by this time recovered sufficiently to understand what was required of him. Jack’s manner was reassuring, and he came out of his half panic so as to make quite a civil reply to the questions asked.

So they learned that the sloop had been known as the Cicade, which Jack knew to mean a locust and that her home port was in the Bahamas, hot-bed of the smuggler league, Bimini, in fact, being its chief port of departure.

“What’re we goin’ to do with this chap?” Perk was asking. “We don’t want him to give us the slip, since he’s the on’y prisoner we got, do we, partner?”

“I reckon not, brother, and to make certain that doesn’t happen we’ll have to tie him up or fasten him to the mast here while we finish looking around. I hope to run across the ship’s papers, if they’ve got any such things aboard.”

“Leave that to me, Jack, I’m some punkins when it comes to splicin’ up a prisoner o’ war, so he can’t break away.” Perk proved himself a man of his word by securing a piece of rope, wrapping it several times around the ankles of the seaman, and finishing with a succession of hard knots such as would require the services of a sharp knife blade when it came time to liberate the captive.

The man was a pretty tough looking customer, thanks to the treatment he had met with in the merry time the rival parties had had aboard the sloop, but at least he knew when he was well off and something in Jack’s manner as well as his voice told him these strangers would go easy him if only he gave them as little trouble as possible.

So once again the pair set out to finish their exploration of the object of their latest “strafing” feat when a battle had been brought to an abrupt close with all hands in full flight simply by a dextrous movement of Perk’s arm and the tossing of a couple of innocent looking tear-bombs into the midst of the warring factions.

This time it was Jack who made the discovery. Perk saw him step over, while they were still on deck, and lift a ragged tarpaulin that seemed to cover some bulky object toward the stern of the sloop. After that one look Jack gave the well-worn covering a hitch and a toss that sent it flying revealing something that caused Perk’s eyes to stick out with astonishment, not mentioning a sudden spasm of delight.

“Wow! what’s this I’m seein’ partner?” he yelped joyously. “A reg’lar engine or I’m a crocodile from the Nile! Why, this must be what they call an auxiliary craft, fitted to use canvas or hoss power, whichever fills the bill best. You c’n ditch me if this ain’t what I’ll call luck. An’ heaps of it.”

“I had a sneaking suspicion we’d run across something like this,” confessed Jack, who nevertheless seemed just as well pleased as his comrade over the find. “It’s taking too big a chance to ship a cargo as rich as this one in a tub like this with only rotten sails to speed the craft if she happened to run afoul of a revenue cutter or one of those new sub-chasers the Coast Guard’s been fitted out with. And now the problem’s been solved, just as we hoped it would be.”

“Meanin’ we c’n get somewhere without tryin’ to tow the rum-boat behind our crate, and making a long and tiresome job o’ it, eh what, partner?” Perk suggested, with considerable animation.

“Take a look at this engine, Perk, and tell me if you reckon you could run the thing if it became necessary.”

Accordingly the other investigated and it was not long before he ventured to give his decision.

“Seems okay to me, Boss. Course I can’t jest say for sure till I tries it out, but the chances are three to one she’ll work for me.”

“We’ll soon have a chance to put that to the test, for it’s our only way to hang on to our spoils and have something to turn in for the night’s work.”

“I’m laughin’ to see how things keep happenin’ jest to suit our crowd, old hoss,” Perk went on to remark, still chuckling at a great rate. “Do we tow the ship behind the sloop, partner?”

“Not that you could notice,” he was informed. “I aim to have you stick to the rummy, while I get up a thousand feet or so and kind of play the part of an aerial scout, just like you’ve told me you used to do when you were running one of those war sausages, known as blimps in these up-to-date times. No objections, have you, Perk?”

“What, me? I should guess not,” the other exploded. “Why, it’ll be jest a rummy time with this kid, runnin’ off with the old sloop and a prisoner on board to boot. I’m tickled pink to know we’re right in action at last, after waitin’ so long, an’ ding-dongin’ around till we both got stale. But how ’bout draggin’ that ere mudhook up off the ground–think we c’n tackle the job between us, Jack?”

“Oh! That can be put through without much trouble, I reckon,” Perk was assured by the confident one. “I think if you investigate you’ll find they’ve got some sort of winch, a bit like the old-fashioned windlass we used to wind up whenever we pulled the old oaken bucket up from the country well. Let’s take a peek and make sure.”

It took them but a minute to have Jack’s guess verified, for there was a winch, with the rope of the anchor attached; all that would be necessary was to start winding and by main strength the anchor must be hauled out of the mud and lifted to the vessel’s bow, there to hang until needed again.

“No use of our stickin’ ’round these diggin’s any longer, partner,” Perk suggested. “The canvas is all clewed up or reefed, whatever they call it, so we won’t have it flappin’ around after the ship gets under way. Say the word, Boss, an’ leave the rest to me.”

“But nothing has been said as to what port we’re meaning to strike out for,” observed Jack, “and that’s a matter of considerable importance. First of all it would be apt to queer our business some if we sailed openly into Tampa, St. Petersburg, or even Key West; for some of those smart newspaper reporters would be bound to get on to the facts and like as not we’d have our pictures printed in all the papers. A fat chance we’d stand to do any more work ripping this contraband conspiracy up the back, after they got through telling things.”

“Well, I guess now that would queer our game, wouldn’t it, partner?” bleated the annoyed Perk, then brightening up as he eyed his chum in a suggestive fashion as though anticipating further interesting remarks along that particular line, he went on to add: “S’pose I’m let into the plan I know you’ve got all fixed up for us to foller.”

“All things considered,” began Jack, thus urged, “I reckon it would be the best scheme if we managed to get the rum-runner anchored back in that big bunch of mangrove islands on the outer edge of which we lay low with our crate so nicely camouflaged. For that matter we could cover the deck the same way, since it’ll be from the air most likely the danger is bound to come–through Oscar Gleeb, the German ex-war pilot.”

“Sounds good to me, buddy!” snapped Perk, grinning.

“I’ll swing around overhead, and have my eye peeled for any sign of trouble,” continued Jack, “and also keep tabs on you while on the trip south. Of course we don’t know just what speed you can coax out of that rusty old engine, but even at a minimum of six or eight miles per hour, we surely ought to get in hiding before sun-up.”

“Easy enough, Boss, and mebbe long before,” Perk agreed. “Didn’t you get the far away grumble of a marine engine working just when we climbed aboard this junk–I didn’t say anything at the time, but I guessed as how it might be that second tub turnin’ tail an’ puttin’ for the shore.”

“I made up my mind that was what it stood for,” Jack told his companion. “They listened to all that terrible racket and just made up their minds it was too hot out this way for them to make the riffle. Oh, well! two may be company, but three’s considered a crowd and we might have found we’d bitten off more than we could chew, so what does it matter?”

“We’ve gathered in the booze,” Perk was saying proudly, “or most of it anyway, together with the rum-runner, and one o’ the crew to turn State’s evidence, so what else could we wish for–I for one don’t feel greedy. Plenty more where this one came from, and the smuggling season is long. What we got to pay most attention to is liftin’ the lid, so’s to find out just who the big guns are, backing this racket an’ chances are we’re on the right road to doin’ that this very minute.”

“That’s correct, Perk, but let’s get a move on and be going.”

CHAPTER IX

ENGINEER PERK ON DECK

Everything else being in readiness Jack and his muscular comrade started to work the deck winch in order to get the anchor “apeak,” as Perk called it, being desirous of showing off with his limited knowledge of things nautical.