CHAPTER IX

Deeds Of Darkness

Bushes and small trees in back of the machine were bent almost to the ground by the force of the wind driven rearward by the propeller, and the machine leaped ahead, bumping and swaying drunkenly over the uneven ground. Bushes caught at the wide-spread wings, retarding their speed, and the rough ground also hindered. As they approached the sheer edge of the chasm, and the awful expanse of empty air was almost under their wheels, Phil moved the elevating controls, but the aeroplane had not gathered sufficient speed to rise. It shot out over the brink of the abyss, the nose pointed downward, and with a tightening sensation around their hearts the boys realized that they were falling into the dizzy depths at sickening speed.

For a few seconds the aeroplane dropped like a stone, with Phil fighting to get control. The rocky floor of the canyon rushed up at them, but just at the moment when it seemed as though they must strike, the aeroplane flattened out, quivered and vibrated, and then swooped upward into the rays of the setting sun.

The genial rays of the luminary had never seemed so welcome to the three Radio Boys, for they had steeled their hearts to meet death, and they felt as a condemned prisoner must when a last minute reprieve arrives.

For a time they flew in silence, each one thinking of this last narrow escape, and breathing a prayer of thankfulness that they were still alive and uninjured.

“Phil, that’s twice you’ve pulled us out of the hole when it didn’t look as though we had a chance,” said Dick, at last. “What I want to say is, that you’re competent to handle an aeroplane, and no mistake.”

“Aw, shucks,” said Phil; “either you or Tom would have done the same thing. I came pretty near to shaving the tops off a few of those boulders in that last dive, though. Another hundred feet, and our troubles would all have been over.”

“I’d just as soon keep my troubles for a while,” said Tom, with a feeble effort at a joke. “They don’t bother me half as much as the thought of smashing down on those rocks does.”

“That goes for me, too,” said Dick. “But let’s let bygones be bygones. We’re right here, scooting along at a fast clip, and not a scratch on us. The question then arises, ‘where do we stop for the night’? It will be pretty dark in another hour.”

“I’m going to land at the first decent place I can find on the far side of these hills,” said Phil. “I don’t feel any longing to land on top of another mountain.”

“You said it!” agreed Tom. “The mere thought of it makes me see double. Land on the lowest place you can find on the map, Phil.”

This was precisely what Phil intended to do, and it was not long before the opportunity appeared. Passing over the last of the hill range, they saw a level country spread out before them, which offered plenty of ideal places to make a landing. Phil volplaned down until they were only a hundred feet up, and then, selecting a smooth stretch of meadowland, glided swiftly down to a perfect landing.

“Wow!” exclaimed Tom, as he climbed out and stretched prodigiously. “This looks a little better than our last landing place, fellows. I’m going to break out some grub in short order, because this has been a hard day, and I’m as hungry as a wolf.”

This suited the others, too, and they all ate a hearty meal. Then they stretched out under the wings of their trusty machine, and slept soundly until awakened by the beams of the morning sun.

They lost no time in getting started, as they were behind their schedule owing to the mishaps of the day before. They spent an hour’s hard work on the _Arrow_, putting fresh oil into the engine, turning down grease cups, and testing the spark plugs. Then they packed up, Dick spun the propeller over, and the motor took hold instantly. Dick clambered in, and they soared aloft into the blue sky and gleaming sun. All day they flew without mishap, Dick taking a spell at the controls during the afternoon. They landed only once to replenish their gasoline and oil, and eat lunch. That day they covered over eight hundred miles, and when they landed for the night they figured that, barring accidents, they would reach Laguna early the following morning.

Steve had sent them a rough map showing the prominent landmarks in the vicinity of the Rangers’ headquarters, and late in the forenoon they picked up the first of these, a large, mushroom-shaped rock, projecting forty feet from the level surface of the plain. Others followed in quick succession, and it was not long before they descried the long, low building, with the Stars and Stripes floating above it. The boys were evidently expected, for they could see a number of men on the ground, who, as they drew nearer, waved broad-brimmed sombreros and shouted.

Phil, who was piloting the _Arrow_ at the time, circled once or twice looking for a landing, and then, selecting a level stretch, landed gently.

The men who had been waving at them now ran in their direction, and as the boys descended they had no difficulty in recognizing Steve among the foremost.

“Hi, yi!” yelled Steve, exuberantly. “Welcome to Laguna, you worthless old mavericks! The boys never thought that you’d get here in that overgrown kite, but I told ’em you’d get here if you had to tie a balloon to it.”

“Oh, nothing like that,” grinned Phil, “although a balloon might have come in pretty handy at one time. But the old _Arrow_ usually gets where its going pretty near on schedule time.”

“Well, we’re all mighty glad to see you, anyway,” declared Steve, “step up and I’ll introduce you to this bunch of Piute Indians that have the nerve to call themselves Texas Rangers. They’re a terrible bunch, but they all have one good point—they all hate greasers like poison.”

After this foreword the Radio Boys were formally—or rather, informally—introduced to all the Rangers who happened to be present, and then they all gathered curiously about the aeroplane, and the boys had to explain some of its mysteries to the interested Rangers.

“That ought to put the fear of the Lord into them greasers, derned if it shouldn’t,” remarked one tall and sunburnt fellow, whom the others addressed simply as “Chips”. “They’ll think the great American Eagle has sure got after them at last.”

“Well, it’s pretty near time,” remarked another. “They’re sure gettin’ peskier and meaner every day. We’re too blamed easy with them, that’s the trouble.”

The others seemed to be of the same opinion, and as they walked toward headquarters, the boys heard more than one tale of looting and outrage, that made them glad that they were to engage in the work of prevention and punishment.

“Captain Bradley will be glad to know you’ve arrived,” said Steve, after they had reached the bunk house and had washed up. “He didn’t figure you’d get here much before tonight or maybe tomorrow morning, and he’s gone to Austin on some official business. We expect him back in a day or so.”

“Well, we can spend the time in getting acquainted,” said Phil. “I only wish we had been here when you had the fight with those bandits that you told us about by radio.”

“I sure wish you had,” said Steve, “If we had that plane of yours then, we’d probably have caught them. As it is, though, they seem to have got away clean, and nobody’s seen or heard of them since. They’re bad medicine, that gang.”

“They’d give a lot to have their hands on them back in Castleton,” said Dick. “We haven’t much doubt that the man with the scar that you saw is the same who engineered the holdup in the bank, and if he is, he’s still got nearly $40,000 of the bank’s money.”

“Whew!” whistled Steve. “That’s some chunk of kale, isn’t it? If the Mexicans will stay quiet for a while, we’ll get after that Murray bunch in earnest. But of course, our first duty is to guard against the greasers.”

“Are they giving so much trouble at present, then?” queried Tom.

“Trouble!” echoed Steve, “why, a Mex’s middle name is trouble. They’re all bad, but some are ’specially bad. There’s one gang, headed by a thieving, murdering son of a sea cook that they call Espato, that’s got more poison in his make-up than a rattlesnake. We’ve all got scores to pay off against him, but he’s a cunning devil, and so far, while we’ve winged a number of his band, he’s always got off scot free. We’ll get him yet, though,” and Steve’s fingers unconsciously sought and gripped the butt of his revolver.

“Tell ’em about how he shot up Jack Sanderson’s farm, Steve,” said another of the Rangers, who was lounging nearby.

“Yes, that was an especially bad case,” said Steve, with a dark frown on his sunburnt countenance. “This Espato and his gang picked out an especially dark night a few weeks ago, crossed the border, and surrounded Sanderson’s farmhouse so quietly that nobody in the place dreamed that there was a Mex within ten miles of them. Some of them sneaked up to the barn and set it on fire, and when the people in the house saw the flames, of course, they rushed out to try and save the barn. As they ran out of the house, the Greasers picked them off one by one—wiped out the whole family. Then they looted the house, and set that on fire, too. And if we ever get our hands on the murdering gang—well....” Steve did not finish the sentence, but his silence was more eloquent than words.

“There’s nothing would be too bad for them!” exclaimed Dick, hotly. “I suppose they got away before you fellows got news of the raid, eh?”

“Yes, they made for the border lickety spit. Of course, after we got the news, we set off after them, but they had too much of a start, and had reached their mountains before we could overtake them. Once there, it’s hopeless to chase them any further—for, horsemen, anyway. That flying machine of yours might have better luck, though.”

“The varmints hole down in them mountains, and it would take an army to locate them,” explained the other Ranger. “There’s caves and passes that only they know anything about.”

“It’s just possible that we might come at them from air, though, as Steve says,” remarked Phil. “You can see a pretty big stretch of country when you’re up five or six hundred feet.”

“Gosh, it’s a great sensation,” said Steve, “will you give me a ride some day, Phil? It’s a long time since I’ve had one.”

“Surest thing you know,” promised the young aviator. “I’ll do a few tail spins and nose dives while you’re along, just so you’ll really enjoy the trip.”

“Nothing doing,” declared Steve, emphatically. “It will suit me if you keep on just an even keel. I don’t crave to imitate a pinwheel, not nohow.”

Phil was about to make a laughing rejoinder, when suddenly there was a commotion outside, and a tall, handsome man, dressed in military fashion, strode into the room.