The Boy Aviators in Record Flight; Or, The Rival Aeroplane

by John Henry Goldfrap

  CHAPTER XVIII.

  WIRELESS.

  "What is to be done?" It was Frank who spoke, and there was a note ofdespair in his voice.

  The boys had finished breakfast with what appetite they could and wereseated on the porch of the hotel discussing plans. It seemed impossiblethat they could get away from Gitalong, as, without the escort of theauto to carry the necessary supplies for an emergency, it would havebeen futile to think of navigating above the desert in an aeroplane. Thedirigible, of course, could carry her own supplies.

  "Wall, now, thar ain't no use givin' up hope," consoled Bart. "Why, oncewhen I was up a tree with a b'ar at ther foot of it, I thought I'd nevergit away, an' what do you think happened--why, ther b'ar jes' turned uphis toes and died."

  Even this anecdote of Bart's pard did not cheer the boys up, however,and in a disconsolate group they walked down the street to look over the_Golden Eagle_, which still stood where she had been left. Quite a crowdwas clustered about the machine, and as the boys came up a hail ofquestions was poured in on them.

  One of the questioners, a wild-looking fellow, with long, drooping blackmustache and a wide-brimmed hat, round the band of which were nailedsilver dollars in a row, was particularly curious. After askingquestions about every part of the machine, he started in on thewireless. Indicating the aerials he remarked:

  "Say, that's a right pert little conniption, ain't it? Kin you reallysend messages out sky doodling through ther blessed atmosphere with it?"

  "We can if we've got any one to send them to," rejoined Harry; "but Idon't suppose there's any one around here who has a wireless outfit."

  "Wall, now, that's jes' whar yer wrong," was the astonishing reply."There's an old feller, I reckon he's crazy or suthin', anyhow he usedter be some sort of electrical engineer. Wall, sir, on top of his shackat White Willow I'm blamed if he ain't got things like them wires that'sstrung on top of your air ship. Yes, sir, an' claims he can sind outmessages, too, if thar was any one but coyotes and rattlers to git 'em."

  "Whereabouts is White Willow?" asked Frank interestedly.

  "Why, it's right near to Pintoville," was the answer; "a piece this sideof it, I rickin."

  "Pintoville," exclaimed Frank; "that's where Luther Barr said he wasstopping. Say, boys, let's send out a wireless to White Willow and seeif we can raise the inventor there and ascertain if our auto passedthrough."

  "But it was late at night. They would all have been in bed," objectedBilly.

  "Well, it's worth trying, anyhow, so here goes." Frank sat down at thekey of the _Golden Eagle's_ wireless, and began tapping out "WhiteWillow--White Willow--Willow--White Willow," till his hand ached.

  "No good, I guess," he said, discouraged, as, after quite a time, noresponse to his call came.

  "I always thought that old feller at White Willow was loco," remarkedone of the crowd.

  Suddenly, however, Frank held up his hand.

  "He's answering," he cried.

  Sure enough, over the wires came the question:

  "Here's White Willow. Who wants White Willow? For five years I've beentrying to get a call here, and no one ever came. Who are you?"

  "We are the Boy Aviators," tapped back Frank, while the miners andcowboys gazed in awe at the blue flame ripping and crackling across itsgap. "Have you seen two autos pass through White Willow?"

  "They have not passed through. They are here now," was the astonishingresponse.

  The boys saw Frank jump to his feet with an excited yell of "Hurray!We'll get them yet."

  "He's gone daffy, too," exclaimed the men in the group about theaeroplane.

  "Are you crazy, Frank?" seriously demanded Billy.

  "The auto's in White Willow!" shouted Frank, slapping the boy on theback.

  "What?"

  "That's right. The old wireless man--I mean the wireless old man--no, Idon't--oh, what I do mean is that we've got to get over there in jigtime. Come on, Harry, climb aboard. Bart, we'll need you, too."

  "What, me git in that thar thing?" dubiously responded the miner. "No,sir, I've walked like a Christian all my days on the earth, and I ain'tgoin' to tempt Providence by flying at this time of life."

  "Hullo! hullo! what's all this?" came a deep voice, as a big man elbowedhis way through the crowd. "What's all this about flying?"

  "It's the sheriff," called some one.

  In the meantime the big man had made his way to Frank's side as heleaned over testing the gasolene tanks and the amount of water there wasin the radiator receptacle.

  "Here, young feller," he exclaimed, "I don't know if it's legal to goflyin' aroun' in this county. Hav yer got a permit or suthin'?"

  "No," replied Frank; "but if you are the sheriff there are some of theworst men in your jurisdiction right in White Willow now."

  "The blue heavens, you say. Who air they, young feller?"

  "Wild Bill Jenkins, Hank Higgins and Noggy Wilkes."

  "Why, thar's a reward for Wild Bill Jenkins!" exclaimed the sheriff.

  "Well, you can get it if you hurry over thar."

  "Hold on a minute, young feller. How do I know you ain't fooling me?"

  "Because I was talking to a man in White Willow a few minutes ago."

  "What's that? Say, be careful how yer string me."

  "I certainly was, and he told me that the men we are in search of camethere in two autos last night."

  "Say, stranger, the heat's gone to yer head, ain't it?"

  "Not at all. You've heard of wireless?"

  "Yes; but that's all a fake, ain't it?"

  "If you'll jump in and ride with us to White Willow I'll soon show youhow much of a fake it is," rejoined the boy.

  "What! jump in that thar wind wagon? Why, boy, I've got a wife andfamily to look arter. If I went skyhopping aroun' in that tharloose-jointed benzine broncho I might break my precious neck."

  "I'll guarantee your neck," spoke up Harry.

  "Say, boys, ef thar sheriff don't want ter go, I'll go along with yer.Thar's $25,000 reward fer Wild Bill Jenkins, an' I'd jes' as soon take achance ter git thar money. Giv me yer warrant, sheriff, an' I'll serveit fer yer and split ther reward."

  The speaker was a wiry little cowboy, apparently just in off the range,for he held by the reins a small buckskin broncho.

  "What's that, Squainty Bill?" bellowed the sheriff. "I allow Tom Meadeain't going ter allow the perogatives of sheriff tuk away frum him by nosawed-off bit of a sagebrush chawing, jackrabbit of a cattle rustler.Come on, boys, show me how you git aboard this yer atmospheric ambler ofyourn, and we'll git after Wild Bill Jenkins."

  The boys soon helped the redoubtable Tom Meade into the chassis, andwhile the other lads held the machine back Frank shouted for a clearroad. He didn't get it till he opened up the exhaust on the engine, andthey were roaring like a battery of gatling guns going into action. Thenhe got it in a minute. There were four runaways and five cases of heatprostration right there.

  "Let go," shouted Frank.

  "Hey! hold on, young feller," cried the sheriff, starting to scrambleout. Harry seized him just in time, for the _Golden Eagle_ shot upwardlike an arrow under the full power of her hundred-horse engine.

  "Say, young tenderfeet, Tom Meade ain't no coward; but no more of thisfer me if I ever git out of this alive," gasped the sheriff.

  "Oh, you'll get used to it in a minute and enjoy it," laughed Harry."Say, Frank, muffle those exhausts, will you? They make so much racketyou can't hear yourself think."

  Frank cut in on the muffler, and instantly the noise sank to the softdroning purr of the perfectly working engine.

  "Wall, if this don't beat lynching horse thieves," remarked the sheriffadmiringly as the aeroplane rushed through the air. He was muchreassured by the absence of noise that had ensued when the muffler cameinto action.

  "You'll have to be our guide, sheriff," said Frank suddenly. "Where do Isteer for White Willow?"

  "Wait a minute, young fel
ler! I'm all flabbergasted. Ah, now I've gotit--aim right for that thar dip in the Saw-buck foothills. That's it,and when you open up old Baldy between it and Bar Mountain, then you'reright on a line for it."

  In a few minutes Frank sighted the peaks named, and followingdirections, they soon saw a huddle of huts dumped down on the prairie ashort distance from them.

  "That's White Willow," said the sheriff.

  "But there isn't a tree round it, white or any other color," objectedHarry.

  "I reckon that's why they called it White Willow," was the rejoinder,"so as folks lookin' fer shade could take the mental treatment."

  As they neared the little settlement, beyond which lay some ruggedfoothills honeycombed with old mine shafts, the boys saw an automobilefull of men dash out of the place and speed off westward across theplain.

  "There they go!" shouted the sheriff. "Consarn 'em, they've given us theslip."

  "Not this time!" exclaimed Frank, as the auto came to a sudden stop.

  Something had evidently gone wrong with it.