Boy Scouts of the Air in Indian Land

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  The Boy Scouts of the Air in Indian Land

  Boy Scouts of the Air Books

  BY GORDON STUART

  Illustrated by Norman P. Hall

  The Reilly & Britton Co. Chicago

  COPYRIGHT, 1912 By THE REILLY & BRITTON CO.

  THE BOY SCOUTS OF THE AIR IN INDIAN LAND

  They crept, wriggled and crawled toward the machine. Theair was stifling and they could hardly breathe, but, groping in thesmoke and darkness, Carl finally got his hands on the truck.]

  CONTENTS

  I A RIDE AND A RUNAWAY

  II THE DESTROYER

  III THE LEGEND OF THE THUNDER BIRD

  IV AN AVIATOR APPEARS

  V AT THE B. P. RANCH

  VI WINNING AN AEROPLANE

  VII IN THE MOUNTAINS

  VIII THE STORM

  IX A STRANGE MEETING

  X THE PATROL BECOMES A FACT

  XI A SURPRISE FOR MR. PHIPPS

  XII THE THUNDER BIRD ATTACKS

  XIII AT WORK ON THE AEROPLANE

  XIV THE FIRE

  XV REPAIRING THE PLANE

  XVI THE FIRST FLIGHT

  XVII IN SIGHT OF THE ENEMY

  XVIII SUCCESS AT LAST

  XIX JUMPING A PEAK

  LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

  They crept, wriggled and crawled toward the machine. The air wasstifling and they could hardly breathe, but, groping in the smoke anddarkness, Carl finally got his hands on the truck.

  "Now, scouts," said Mr. Hawke, amused at their excited exclamations,"we'll put this together, and I'll show you the model of the 'ThunderBird Aeroplane.'"

  Carl stopped short. In front of him stood a tall, stately, blanketedIndian. His whole face was hideously painted in various colors, and hiscountenance was set and expressionless.

  The struggle promised to be a long and hard one if Carl were left tofight it alone. But this the other boys did not propose to allow, andthey immediately began to cross on the rope ladder.

  Boy Scouts of the Air In Indian Land

  CHAPTER I

  A RIDE AND A RUNAWAY

  "There she comes," exclaimed a boy, one of a crowd awaiting the eveningtrain in the hot little box of a depot at Silver City, New Mexico. Aspeck of yellow had suddenly appeared far down the light, worn rails tothe east. Fifty loungers moved forward. The evening train was coming atlast.

  "If mother don't look out," added the speaker, who was a tall, slenderyoung chap with strikingly black hair and eyes, "she'll miss the trainan' the folks that are coming. Mother seems to like to be late--always."

  "Don't get excited, Jerry," broke in a second boy, this one with bigshoulders, a square determined face with a winning smile, and, his chiefcharacteristic, a big mop of yellow hair. "I think Ike and your motherare coming right now."

  While the headlight was yet only a growing star on the far-away plain, amilitary hack, drawn by two nervous horses in charge of a coloredsoldier in uniform, dashed up to the now lively depot in a cloud ofdust.

  Those awaiting the arrival of the train made a fair picture of thepeople living in that part of the half-desert Southwest. There wereminers, soldiers, sheepmen, freighters, loafers not easily classified,and the usual mixture of Mexicans and civilized Indians. The arrival ofthe train meant little to any of these except that it brought the dailymail, strangers in the shape of prospectors, or drummers who might spenda few dollars, and nearly always some one going to the Fort.

  All soldiers know Fort Bayard. It isn't a real fort any more, although afew cannon sit idly about the big white stockade and new brickbuildings, but the tired and sick soldier in the Philippines, inCalifornia or in New York, knows that here, when all else fails, he maybe sent to find rest and new health. Uncle Sam has selected the old postas the best place in the United States to put new life into his ailingsoldiers.

  That's why, the Indian and his troubles having disappeared, andconsequently the need for armed militia, that old Fort Bayard has beendismantled, new buildings put up, and the old structures repaired andwhitewashed and put in charge of a medical staff.

  Here, at the time of this story, Captain H. Wilmot Crawford was incharge of the Post, he and his under officers and the medical staffliving apart with their families in their own homes. This made the Postquite a settlement. The Fort was six miles from Silver City. Every footof the intervening military road climbed upward to the big plateau, highand dry, and looking in all directions toward the still higher mountainranges. The Post was an ideal home for the officers detailed there.

  The lady in the hack that had reached the station just as the trainarrived was Mrs. Wilmot Crawford, wife of the Post commandant. She wasalso the mother of the first boy speaker, Gerald Crawford, commonlyknown as Jerry.

  The interest of Mrs. Crawford and the two boys in the approaching trainwas due to the fact that on it Mrs. Windham of Cleveland and her sonFred were passengers. Mrs. Windham was coming to visit Mrs. Crawford,her old schoolgirl friend, and, as her son was with her, it meant a boyto join the Post quartette of kids. That his coming was eagerlyanticipated by the boys at the station was indicated by the actions ofthe latter.

  "I s'pose Windham won't think this is much of a place," remarked a thirdboy as Jerry Crawford sprang to attend on his mother. "After living in abig city like Cleveland, I reckon he'll think this is rotten," went onthe boy. "I hope he ain't stuck up, Dunk. It wouldn't seem just right totake a fall out of Jerry's guest."

  "Say," answered the boy addressed as Dunk, grabbing the speaker by thearm. Then Dunk stopped, thrust his hands deep in his pockets and said,with emphasis, "If I were you, Fly, I wouldn't fret about our new friendliking us or the place. He ain't visitin' to our houses. It's up toJerry to entertain him an' keep him right. But, as far as that goes, hemay take to it like that New York kid who's over to Brett's ranch.Graystock just took one look at a cow pony and the mountains and gave itout cold he didn't care whether he ever went back to New York. And NewYork's a heap sight bigger than Cleveland."

  "I ain't looking for trouble," protested the boy addressed as Fly. "ButI hope he's all right. The summer's pretty long down here, and theyain't many of us. So, what there are of us ought to be right if we'regoin' to pull together."

  Little did any of the boys think when they heard that a Fred Windham wasto arrive from Cleveland, what a whirl of events was to arrive with him!Mrs. Windham's doctors had advised her to go to New Mexico. Jerry, Dunkand Fly had driven over in a four-horse freight wagon from the Post.Mrs. Crawford had come to Silver City earlier in the day to do someshopping. As Mrs. Crawford dashed up to the station, the dusty but wellappointed hack, the spirited horses and Mrs. Crawford's half western,snappy costume indicated that life at the Post was probably not withoutpleasures of its own. In fact, an invitation from one of the Postfamilies to spend a few weeks at Fort Bayard in the summer was generallyconsidered a special favor.

  With a growing rumble and spreading glare of light the swaying train atlast stopped before the station. Jerry darted from his mother and withhis two companions was at once lost in the crowd. Mrs. Crawford remainedin the hack awaiting her old friend. There was so much confusion on theplatform that, at first, the expected guests were not seen.

  Jerry separated from his crowd, but, not knowing the Windhams by sight,he had not much hope of recognizing them. However, seeing a ratherundersized boy before him, he raised his voice without hesitation.

  "Say, your name Windham?"

  "You bet!" The other's face broke into a smile. "You
're Crawford? Gladto meet you. Here's my mother, Crawford."

  "Come right along," laughed Jerry, after shaking hands. "My mother'sright over here."

  He led them out of the crowd, and a moment later the two ladies greetedeach other while Jerry introduced his friends to the northerner.

  Fred Windham was small for his age, but this was offset by a strikingface. High forehead, twinkling gray eyes with flecks of brown in them, amouth and jaw like a steel trap, and quick, firm handclasp won him aplace at once among the other boys. Fly seemed satisfied.

  Mrs. Windham met the boys; then the two ladies entered the hack.Evidently Mrs. Crawford's guest expected her son to follow her.

  "Oh, he'll drive with the boys," laughed Mrs. Crawford, "unless he'safraid of the jolting."

  "Sure I will!" grinned Fred. "If it's all right with you fellows?"

  "What do you think we're here for?" responded Dunk, vigorously.

  "Go ahead, Ike. We'll load up the trucks and be right behind."

  The hack started off with lighted lamps, while the four boys got theWindham trunks and piled into the waiting freight wagon on top of them,Jerry taking the reins.

  The boys in the freighter escorting Fred Windham up the mountain road toFort Bayard were members of the Post quartette. The fourth member of thegang, however, although a constant comrade and companion of the threewho had gone to meet Windham, was an Indian--an Apache boy known asCarlito. The other lads were Gerald Crawford, son of the Postcommandant; Duncan Rivers or "Dunk," son of Lieutenant Rivers of thePost staff, and Art Giles, known as Fly for reasons that will soon beapparent. There were other boys in the neighborhood, however. One ofthem was Herb Phipps, the son of the owner of the big B. P. ranch fivemiles east of Fort Bayard, and another was his cousin Howard Graystock,already mentioned by Dunk. Art Giles was not the son of an officer; hisfather was post mechanic, and the boy, brought up with little schooling,had known no life but that of the West. He was straightforward,impetuous and full of enthusiasm. His red hair was no untrue index of asunny and lively disposition. More than one boy's share of freckles wasdistributed over his bright, frank face.

  Jerry's four horses were headed toward the Post plateau with itspicturesque mountains and deserts to the north and west. The road wasrough. It was now pitch dark, for there was no moon, and a slight hazesomewhat obscured the brilliant stars. Jerry soon caught up with thelights of the hack, and then his team jogged along a few yards behind.

  "Say, Windy," began Dunk, giving Fred the most natural nickname thatoccurred to him, "it's all in the family now, so just wise up that I'mDunk, Gerald's Jerry and Art's Fly."

  "Much obliged," said Fred pleasantly. "I'm used to Windy, but why theFly?"

  "Oh, those boneheads know I've been studyin' aeroplanes," answered Art."Say, I clean forgot to tell you guys that Tender Gray called up thisafternoon and we're all going over to-morrow."

  "Aeroplanes?" repeated Windy, the newcomer impolitely ignoring themessage from Tender Gray. "How can you study aeroplanes way down herealmost out of all creation?"

  "Easy," answered Fly. "I've never seen a real flying machine but I guessevery boy's got some angle. My father takes a big English magazine aboutflying machines."

  "And Red-head's gone crazy over them," exclaimed Dunk. "You ought to seethe fine little machine he made a couple of months ago. He made it justfrom reading about them in books, and it was a dandy too. Of course itwouldn't fly, but it looked just like an aeroplane."

  "I'd rather see a real one than find a silver mine," announced youngGiles promptly. "But nothin' doin' in airships on this plateau."

  "They're great," broke in Windham. "I've seen a lot of them. Who'sTender Gray?" he concluded with boyish curiosity, recalling that Fly hadmentioned another lad.

  "Oh," answered Dunk Rivers, Jerry being busy with the horses, "he's acousin of Herb Phipps. Mr. Phipps is the richest man in this part of thecountry. I guess he's a millionaire. They live over here about fivemiles east on the big home ranch. Mr. Phipps goes in for sheep you know.But he's got a lot of sheep ranches, and mines too. They call the oneover east the B. P. ranch. That's the brand too. Of course it meansBrett Phipps, Mr. Phipps' name. But we all call it the Bread Puddingranch."

  "What's the cousin's name?" went on Windham, pulling off his light strawhat to keep it from blowing away as the big freight wagon rolled upwardon the mountain road.

  "Oh," answered Dunk, "he's Tender Gray. His name's Howard Graystock. Wecall him Tender Gray because he's what they call a Boy Scout up there inNew York."

  "Boy Scout," almost shouted Windham. "Why, I'm one of them myself. Iwant to know Graystock, you bet."

  "That won't be hard to do," broke in Fly. "Him and Herb are over to thePost about half the time. And anyway, we're to go over to the B. P.to-morrow."

  "I suppose you call him Tender Gray because he's a tenderfoot scout,"remarked Windham.

  "I reckon," chuckled Duncan. "That or because he's tender on the subjectof Boy Scouts. He's sure a bug on that question. But you'll like boththe B. P. kids. Herb goes to college every winter."

  "You say you're a Boy Scout, too," called back Jerry over his shoulder.

  "Yes, I'm a Boy Scout, first class, and I've got the badges to prove ittoo."

  "What are they?" inquired Dunk eagerly.

  "One's for athletics--basketball's my game--one's for handicraft, andthe other--" Fred paused an instant with a smile--"the other's foraviation."

  There was a gasp of surprise, then Fly stuck a hand across the trunks."Shake old man!" he cried. They shook hands solemnly.

  For some minutes, while Jerry's team lunged ahead and the freight wagonswung like a vessel adrift, Windham and Fly forgot even Boy Scoutmatters. But there was no time for prolonged talk, although each boyrelated what he had studied on the subject of aviation. The exhilarationof the ride was too much.

  "Tell you what," Windham almost shouted, "I'm certainly glad to get outhere. Airships, Boy Scouts and a ranch too--Whoopee! Real cowpunchersand roundups!"

  He paused as a shout of laughter went up.

  "Wait till we put Herb next!" gasped Jerry. "Wow! Ain't that a peachthough. Cowpunchers!"

  "Well, I'll bite," exclaimed Fred. "What's the joke?"

  "Roundups!" shouted Dunk. "Roundups and cowpunchers! Why, Brett Phippsain't got a puncher on the place!"

  "Thought you said it was a ranch," protested Fred.

  "It is," explained Jerry. "Sheep ranch though. All the punchers you'llsee will be Greaser sheep herders. 'Bout a million sheep on the BreadPuddin'--Hello! See that?"

  "What?" cried the others.

  "Look out!" yelled Windham suddenly. Everybody dodged as a great grayand white shape drove down through the air beside them and was gone onthe instant. A shriek went up from the hack in front, followed by a wildshout from Ike.

  "Runaway!" cried Dunk. "After 'em Jerry!"

  The latter needed no urging. He had already caught a glimpse of Ike'sform falling headlong from the hack seat as the two terrified horsesplunged into headlong flight. With a shout of encouragement to hismother and Mrs. Windham, Jerry doubled the reins and lashed his fourhorses into a run, barely missing Ike's body as he passed it.

  "What was it?" called Dunk, between jolts.

  "I couldn't see," shouted Jerry.

  The hack before them was careering madly over the sand and stones. Theglimmering lamps showed the sweating flanks of the two horses that wererunning frantically. The freight team behind gained rapidly, however,and slowly drew abreast of the runaways. Jerry was urging his horses onwith hat and reins when a dark shadow threw itself at the forward team.Something seized the bridles and hung there, dragging down the horses'heads, and Jerry barely managed to draw up his four as the hack stoppedabruptly.

  Instantly the boys were helping Mrs. Crawford and Mrs. Windham to theground. Assured of their safety Jerry and Dunk ran to the heads of thehack team.

  "Carlito," cried Jerry, gripping the shoulder of the slim young fellowwho stood there. "Old man,
I'm--I--darn it all, come on back!"

  "It's Carlito, mother," he shouted, dragging the reluctant young figurewith him. "Carl stopped 'em!"

  The rescuer reached for his sombrero, which had fallen from his head, asMrs. Crawford held out her hand.

  "You are a brave boy, Carlito!" she said gravely, her face pale. "You'vesaved us all, I guess. Mrs. Windham, this is Carlito, one of the finestboys at the Post."

  As their rescuer turned, his face came into the light of the lamps, andMrs. Windham started, for she saw he was an Indian. Quickly recovering,she thanked him warmly.

  "It wasn't much," said Carlito, smiling composedly. "The horses werestopping themselves."

  "Not on your life they weren't!" cried Dunk, hotly. "Jump in and go withus to the fort, Carl."

  "Can't. Going to town," replied Carl, putting his hands to his mouth andemitting a strange sound. There was an answering whinny and he walked inthe direction from which it came.

  "That's the way he finds his pony at night, or when he doesn't know justwhere it is. He certainly can make it loud too, when he wants to,"explained Jerry.

  As Carlito started down the road, he met Ike loping along rather lamely.

  "Anybody hurt," gasped the driver as soon as he was within hearingdistance.

  "No. How about yourself," Jerry answered, surprised and at the same timerelieved to see the darky had not sustained any injury.

  "Oh, I'm tough," grinned the driver, resuming his seat. "Say, what wasdat thing? I heard a rush and somethin' soft give me a swipe in de facejest as the hosses broke, an' over I goes."

  "Was it in the air?" asked Dunk. "Bird mebbe."

  "Bird nothin'," contradicted Jerry. "It felt a heap bigger'n any bird Iever heard of."

  By this time the ladies had again taken their places in the hack and Iketook up the reins.

  "Better come along, Carlito," urged Fly, but the Indian boy shook hishead.

  "See you at the B. P. ranch to-morrow," he said. "Get there about elevenand you'll hear something worth while. So long." And the Apache sprangon his pony and disappeared into the night.