Chapter 25

FRANK SAVES THE DAY

Frank's first thought was to go to the assistance of Roy Stone. The latter and his opponent--in the darkness Frank could not distinguish whether it was Morales or Von Arnheim--were locked with their arms about each other and rolling on the ground. His second thought was as to the whereabouts of the other man.

He glanced about in alarm. Dark though the plateau was, however, he could see there was no other in sight. Bending down to the fissure in the rock, he could still hear the voice of Morales, and although he could not distinguish the words, he received the impression that the Mexican was angered for some reason. To Frank this meant that Morales was having difficulty in radioing the Calomares ranch, and his heart leaped with exultation. Jack had interfered.

A wild thought leaped full grown into his mind. Stone had given Bob a stiff battle; he probably would do the same to Von Arnheim, even though his shoulder was sore. What was to prevent Frank from slipping down to the cave while the two were engaged, where he could release Tom Bodine, surprise Morales and recapture the cave and the radio plant?

The next moment a feeling of shame surged over him. If Von Arnheim gained the upper hand, he would kill Stone without compunction. Putting aside his first thought, Frank ran to where the two forms still lay tightly locked on the ground, neither able to gain an advantage.

He bent down, and the first thing his gaze encountered was an upflung hand grasping a revolver, and another hand gripped about the wrist of the first and preventing use of the weapon. He surmised it was Von Arnheim who held the weapon, and acted accordingly.

Grasping the German's hand, he pressed back the fingers so sharply a cry of pain was wrung from Von Arnheim's lip. The revolver dropped to the ground. Its owner, however, pluckily continued the fight. Frank danced about, the captured weapon clubbed in his hand, ready to deal a blow when possible. But so furious was the fight that he feared to strike, lest he hit his friend.

Precious minutes were flying by. He was in an agony. Morales had to be prevented from radioing the ranch, if Jack and Bob were to stand their chance.

Then suddenly Roy Stone gained the upper hand of his opponent. He legs were twined about Von Arnheim, he clutched the other to his chest, one arm was in the small of his back, the other was pressed across his throat, his chin was sunk deep into the German's shoulder. Von Arnheim had only one arm free, the other was pinioned to his side. With this free arm he plucked futilely at Roy's arm across his throat, unable to reach the guarded face. It was a grip Von Arnheim was powerless to break, and it was only a question of time until he would be throttled into submission.

With a leap of the heart, Frank realized this. And bending down with his lips to Stone's ear, he said:

"I've got his gun. If you can hold him now I'm going into the cave after Morales. He's still at the phone."

A grunt was Stone's only reply as he pressed his chin deeper into the other's shoulder. Von Arnheim's body was beginning to arch like a bow. If he did not surrender soon, his back would be broken.

Frank darted off down the slope.

Morales was seated at the telephone as Frank entered the cave, captured revolver in his hand. His own weapon hung forgotten at his side, so little used was he to the handling of small arms. Frank had tumbled, fallen, rolled down the slope, taking no precautions, fired only with anxiety to prevent Morales from radioing while there was yet time.

The Mexican also, in his anxiety to reach the ranch and give the warning, had cast caution aside.

Across the outer room dashed Frank, scarcely noting the trussed-up figure of Tom Bodine flung in one corner. No hangings obscured the brightly-lighted interior of the inner cave, for they had been torn down the night before to form a pallet.

Morales sat with his back turned, the headpiece clamped over his ears.

Frank darted forward and brought the butt of the revolver crashing down on the Mexican's head. Without a sound, without a gurgle or a cry, Morales swayed in the chair, then slumped to one side and slid to the floor.

With nervous haste Frank pulled the headpiece from the other and clamped it on his head. At once a crackle of Spanish words filled his ears. He could make nothing of them. What little knowledge of Spanish he once had possessed was not at his command now.

"Jack, Bob," he cried, pulling the microphone toward him. "This is Frank. Do you hear me? Frank."

The chattering ceased as if by magic.

"Frank? What in the world?"

Glory be! It was Jack's voice in reply.

"Use the code," cried Frank. In this emergency his brain was working lightning-fast. And in their own private code he added:

"It's all right now. They captured Tom Bodine while we were down in the valley seeing you off. But we've recaptured the cave."

"You saved our lives," came back Jack's voice. "I heard your Mexican friend call the ranch while we were flying, and at once started to interfere. It's been a job and my throat's hoarse. But he never got his message through, I can tell you that. Whatever it was he had to tell, I never did find out. I just started interfering, singing, talking, shouting. The ranch never found out what he was trying to say, and neither did I. But, boy, you're just in time. We can see the lights now. What? What's that?"

What he heard was a shout.

But Frank was too busy to answer his question. Morales had recovered consciousness and was on his knees and struggling to his feet, when out of the tail of his eye Frank saw his peril. Snatching the instrument from his head, he flung himself sideways. The impact of his body hurled Morales again to the floor.

Frank had placed the captured revolver on the table, as he telephoned. He would have to fight with his bare hands. Well, he would not let the Mexican overcome him and regain possession of that radiophone unless he killed Frank first. With hands gripped about the other's throat and legs twined about his body, Frank fought as he never thought he could fight. Morales was a heavy man, heavier even than Von Arnheim who had overcome Frank in that tempestuous fight in the darkness the night before. But his senses were still somewhat numbed from the blow on the head dealt him earlier by Frank, and the boy was fighting with a strength born of desperate resolve.

Frank's grip on the Mexican's throat tightened. Morales was unable to pluck those cruel hands away. His face became purple. His eyes started from his head. Suddenly he went limp beneath Frank, and sank to the floor.

Frank stood up swaying. The excitement and the strain of the combat had had their effect on him. There are mighty few boys of his age and build who could have gone through what he did and still keep their feet. Dancing points of light swam before his vision. He brushed a hand across his eyes to clear them. He reeled and would have fallen, but his hand clutched the table and steadied him.

What was it he must do? There was something which had to be done. Oh, if his head only would clear. Call Jack! Yes, that was it. Had to tell the old boy to go ahead--radio plant still Frank's--enemy couldn't get any warning from that Mexican fellow--had to tell him, had to.

Clutching the table, swaying, but with lips tightly pressed together and teeth clenched, Frank made his way to the microphone. Holding the headpiece to his ear, he set his lips to the telephone instrument and called:

"Jack, Jack, you there?"

"Yes, yes," came back the anxious reply. "What happened?"

"It's all right, Jack. Go ahead. I licked--him."

The headpiece fell from his grasp. Frank sank to the floor.

It was there a moment later that Roy Stone found him, fallen in a heap across the body of the Mexican. Both were unconscious.

Stone was shaky himself. His battle with Von Arnheim had been a severe one, and the wound in his shoulder had started bleeding again. But as his gaze took in the situation, he turned to Tom Bodine, whose bonds he had cut on his way through the outer cave, and said in a tone of warmest admiration:

"Some boy."