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

By close application he was able to see a figure bending over the ledge of the cabin window, apparently scrutinizing the queer combination of mangrove patches and crooked water passages between. The plane was rushing down a steep slant in a clever dive, or glide, so that with the passage of each second the chances for the pilot to make a discovery increased.

“Gosh! but ain’t this the life, though?” muttered the watcher, thrilled to the core with what was hovering over his head yet not so much as making the slightest movement that would attract attention. If discovery must come, Perk was determined that no act of his would hasten it along and no responsibility for the tragedy–if such there followed–could be laid at his door.

He had discovered some time back that the rival crate resembled their own, in that it was in the amphibian class–could hop-off either from the land or when on the water.

Really he had taken it for granted that such would turn out to be the case, since occasions without number must arise when, for instance, the smugglers wished to take alien Chinamen from some schooner or speedboat by means of which the first part of their journey to the Promised Land had been carried through, when it would be necessary for the plane to drop alongside the boat from Cuba or other foreign ports and make the transfer.

The prospect was far from displeasing to Perk–he felt positive that it would be the first time on record when one of Uncle Sam’s Secret Service men fought it out with a taxiing seaplane on the subtropical waters of the great gulf.

The outcome of course was hidden behind a haze of mystery–one, or both of those engaged might never live to tell the story but then that sort of uncertainty had been his daily portion during his thrilling service on the French front and its coming to the surface again after all these years of less arduous labor only made Perk hug himself, theoretically speaking.

Now the flying ship was passing directly over his place of concealment, although at rather a high ceiling. Would the Argus-eyed pilot make any suspicious discovery, or, failing to do so, continue his scrutiny along the many leagues of similar mangrove islands stretching far into the south?

Perk saw him pass the spot, which caused him to imagine the game was all off, and he would have nothing but his trouble for his pains. Indeed a sense of heavy disappointment had even begun to grip his heart when he saw the other suddenly bank and swing as though meaning to come back again.

“Zowie! kinder looks like he did glimpse somethin’ that struck him as wuth a second scrutiny,” chuckled the anxious watcher, that delicious thrill once more sweeping over his whole frame.

Indeed, it was a moment of more or less suspense, although Perk was telling himself he did not care a particle whether the smuggler pilot discovered the mast of the sloop, with its camouflaged deck below or not.

He was only hoping that the other might not take a notion to fly overhead and try to drop some sort of a miserable bomb down upon the spot where things looked a bit suspicious to him. Possibly Perk still seemed to get a faint whiff of the tear-gas that had drenched the smugglers’ boat at the time he himself hurled those two bombs with such deadly accuracy and the possibility of being himself made the target of a similar attack was anything but pleasing for him to contemplate.

This time the Curtiss-Robin sped past not much more than three hundred feet above, so that he could plainly make out a head, with its protecting helmet, earflaps, and goggles, that was projected from the cabin.

“Darn his nerve, if he ain’t wavin’ his hand to me to say, ‘I see you little boy, you’re it!’ Spotted me, danged if he didn’t, by ginger! an’ now the fun’s a’goin’ to start right along. Wow! this is what I like, an’ pays up for a wheen o’ lazy days. How the blood does leap through a feller’s veins when he feels he’s in action again. Oscar, old boy, here’s wishin’ you all the compliments o’ the season an’ I hereby promise to send back whatever you throw me. Go on and do your stuff, old hoss–I’m on to your game okay!”

He found further cause for congratulation when he made certain that the plane was now headed for the smiling surface of the little bay close by, showing that the pilot intended to make his little splash, and take a look at the hidden sloop with its illicit cargo of many cases that had been so mysteriously snatched from the hands of those with whom he was in close association.

This was as Perk would have it if given any decision in the matter. Once the amphibian started to taxi toward him and they would be placed on the same footing, each with a machine-gun to back him up and former experience in handling such a weapon equally balanced. Could anything be fairer than that, Perk asked himself, preparing for business at the drop of the hat?

The plane had made contact with the water and was floating there like an enormous aquatic fowl of some unknown species. Now the pilot was making a right turn as though meaning to come down on Perk with the western breeze–his motor was keeping up more or less of a furore, which told Perk that shrewd though these up-to-date contraband runners might be, at least they had slipped a cog by failing to keep up with the inventions of the times, for undoubtedly this pilot had no silencer aboard his craft to effectually muffle the exhaust of his engine.

However, this was no time to bother about such minor things when the main issue was whether he was destined to “get” the ex-war ace, or the other put him out of action when the battle was on.

Perk shifted his gun so that its muzzle kept following the moving seaplane in its advance. Let Oscar but make a start in his projected bombardment, and Perk stood ready to answer with a similar fusilade that must rather astonish the other, for as yet he could have no assurance that the concealed sloop was manned–doubtless he would figure the seized craft had been hidden here and temporarily abandoned until such convenient time as the captors could return with recruits and run it to some port where the confiscated shipment might be turned over to the proper authorities.

Just the same Oscar Gleeb might think it good policy to make sure of his ground by spraying the boat’s deck with a round or two of searching missiles before attempting to board it.

Whatever way the cat was going to jump, Perk knew the issue was bound to be joined before many more seconds slipped past, and he held himself ready.

CHAPTER XIII

WHEN GREEK MET GREEK

The seaplane had stopped short, although its engine still rattled away as vehemently as ever. Perk understood the reason for this–Oscar may have been a hot-headed youngster away back when the great war was on, but apparently his later experiences had cooled his blood to some extent and he did not mean to be too rash.

Doubtless he could by this time plainly make out the sloop which was so skillfully concealed, especially from the air above, and there may have been a sufficiently menacing air about it that called for caution. He was not such a fool as to blindly walk into what might prove to be a clever trap, set by a bunch of those despised Government workers to catch him napping.

Accordingly he considered it good policy to hold off and pepper the sloop from stem to stern before taking any further steps at doing any boarding and seizing it for its rightful owners.

Then again, in order to get the best work from his firearms and have his hands free, he knew he should fix matters so he could drop the controls and pay strict attention to his other job.

Perk was lying low, holding himself in readiness for action. He believed he would be amply protected by the logs he had piled up, but just the same he did duck his head involuntarily at the first crack of the machine-gun the pilot of the Curtiss boat was handling so lovingly, as though it might be an old and valued “baby” in his estimation.

But just the same Perk could not allow any misunderstanding to keep the other in ignorance of how matters stood–he had sent out his impudent challenge, and Perk was quick to accept it.

So the din was further increased by a second barrage, chiming in with perhaps its notes ranged along a little higher key, but on the whole playing skillfully and merrily its own part in the mad chorus that reigned.

How the chatter of those two rapid-fire guns did carry on, with the splinters flying every-which way as the missiles tore them loose from the logs and the coaming of the sloop’s deck.

Perk was compelled to do most of his work while keeping his head down, lest he be potted in that rain of bullets the other fighter was pouring in on him. Consequently he could hardly be expected to do himself full justice. Perhaps Oscar on his part was working under a similar disadvantage, for he really had little in the way of a barricade to intercept the shower to which he was being subjected.

Lucky for him he had shown the good sense to stop his advance with considerable distance separating him from the hidden sloop–had they been closer there was not one chance in ten that some damage would not have placed his seaplane out of commission, even though the pilot himself escaped death.

Then suddenly a white flag shot up from the sloop’s breastworks. Oscar, with the gallantry such as had ever distinguished the air fighters on both sides in those days that tried men’s souls, ceased firing.

“Give up?” he was bawling, as the rapid-fire guns both became silent, while their hot barrels cooled off a bit.

“Not so you could notice it,” Perk shouted. “Jest wanted to exchange a few words with you, if you’re Oscar Gleeb, an’ it’s true that you was a live-wire over there in France an’ the Argonne–say, is that all to the good, Mister Pilot?”

The other did not answer immediately. Plainly he must have been considerably astonished at the queer turn the engagement had taken; and then again possibly he did not exactly like the idea of being compelled to acknowledge his identity, fearing it might be only a trap to ensnare him in the meshes of the law he had been defying so flagrantly.

“What’s that matter to you?” he finally yelled testily, so that Perk began to suspect he must have touched up the other with one of the bullets that struck the seaplane.

“Oh! nothin’ much,” sang out the complaisant Perk, cheerfully, “on’y I wanted to let you know I was over there in the same line and had the good luck to send down a few o’ you Hun pilots in a blazin’ coffin. Wondered now if me’n an’ you mightn’t a had a private scrap o’ our own in them bully times. Allers did hanker to have a talk-fest with you, sense I heard ’bout you bein’ one o’ them bloomin’ hot Junker pilots.”

A hoarse laugh greeted this amazing sally of Perk’s.

“Say, what sort of a crazy gyp are you to want to talk things over while we got this scrap on?” bellowed the helmeted man in the shot torn cabin of the amphibian. “That’s our boat you’re standin’ on, and we need it in our business, see? Give you three minutes to clear out, for I’m comin’ aboard. Get that, Kamarad?”

“Sure thing, Oscar old hoss, but when you do it’ll be feet first, for I’m fixed to fill your carcass so full o’ lead it wouldn’t need any cannon ball to sink you if you died at sea. So mind your step, Mister Pilot–jest been gettin’ my hand in so far, but what’s comin’ next’ll be a whole lot different, bet your boots!”

The other did not show the white feather but immediately set to work once more with his weapon. No sooner was its chatter “on the air” than Perk started giving his own gun a chance to show its worth. This made it lively again and once more those aggravating splinters began to scatter, worrying Perk not a little, for strange to say he dreaded lest one of them find lodgment in his anatomy and this troubled him much more than the possibility of being struck by a speeding bullet.

It was quite warm while it lasted, but presently Perk realized that the opposition had suddenly ceased. Being a polite man and always pleased to meet his antagonist on even terms, Perk also stopped firing. If Oscar had decided to advance once more and try conclusions at close quarters where it would be give and take, he, Perk, could prove himself a most accommodating chap.

Sure enough the engine of the amphibian had started up with increased vigor and Perk, cautiously lifting his head, saw that the plane was really in motion. But it was also veering to one side, which action might mean either one of two things–that the other had had quite enough of this exchange of hot fire and was pulling out, or else that in his crafty German way he was meaning some sort of flank attack in hopes of carrying the fort.

Faster and faster was the taxiing airship rushing through the water and Perk continued to hold his fire, realizing that the fight was over.

“Go to it, Oscar old hoss!” he burst out, as he grasped this clinching finish of the strange engagement with the rival gunmen separating after a hot exchange of compliments, each apparently able to move off under his own steam, “Beat it for all you’re worth while the goin’ is good. There, he’s lifted his crate in one big pull an’ I kinder guess he ain’t hurt much either, else he couldn’t show so much steam. Wall, here Perk’s been left in possession, after all that bluff he put up. But it sure was a dandy jig while it lasted.”

At that Perk began to laugh as though the true perspective had flashed before his eyes for then, and later on, too, he was ready to declare that a more ridiculous as well as unprofitable battle had never been waged between two rival pilots of the upper air lanes.

Now the fleeing ship had mounted to a fair ceiling and was rushing off in a roaring zoom but Perk noticed his late foe was heading due east as though bent on picking out an entirely different direction from the one he had used when coming with an impetuous rush to investigate the mysteries of the mangrove islands.

“Huh! that strikes me as a bit queer,” Perk was telling himself as he gazed after the ship, now growing smaller and smaller as it placed miles between them. “Looks like Oscar might a remembered a mighty important engagement he ought to keep. Oh well, I’ve had my little shindig, and it’s just as well we both came through okay–them as ‘fights an’ runs away, may live to fight another day,’ that old sayin’ has it which is sure a true thing. Hey! what’s this mean–seems like I didn’t come through as soft-like as I figgered I had–blood on my hand, yep, an’ on my face ditto. Guess one o’ them nasty zippin’ bullets must a creased my ear, and fetched the juice a little. Shucks! nothin’ to bother about I’d say.”

He took his old red bandanna and dabbed at his right ear with many a grunt as well as chuckle.