CHAPTER XXVI

ON THE FACE OF THE MOON

Jack proved as good as his word, for they were off shortly after nightfall, and headed almost due east. No one at the aviation field had the remotest idea as to who they were, what their destination might be, and whence they came. But then this particular port was becoming a very important link in the trans-continental chain, with lines of great passenger and freight airships going and coming not to mention the several speedy air mail boats that covered their hundreds of miles day or night and as a rule on a schedule that seemed as perfect as that of any train time table.

Perk was unusually silent, at least for him. Perhaps he was realizing at last the serious nature of the job they had undertaken—that it was rather a weighty proposition, such as was bound to require all their united reserve force to put across.

Still, he had absolute confidence in Jack’s ability to swing the undertaking, and also refused to allow anything like doubt to assail him with regard to their united courage.

It was by this time well understood that the climax, when it came, would occur on Mexican soil for now that all accounts from every quarter were in hand, they knew absolutely that the den of the counterfeiting gang was in a secret cave among the mountains of Sonora also that the sagacious Slim had bought protection from certain local Mexican officials, who were suspected of secretly plotting a new revolution, and took this means for obtaining the money needed to purchase arms in the States.

It was even said that Slim never flew back to his headquarters without loading his swift plane with a dead weight of guns and ammunition as the price he had to pay for being allowed to operate undisturbed on foreign soil.

“A pretty kettle of fish, I’d call that sort o’ game,” Perk had indignantly asserted, when he learned of this see-saw method of currying favor with the plotting generals who hoped to once again turn the country upside-down and kick the present rulers out of office, as well as seize the city banks with their rich booty.

And so it was, but Jack realized how it accounted for the long spell of immunity Slim had enjoyed while he lined his pockets, and spread that financial panic throughout the Southwestern States. There never had been his equal as a skillful worker and bold lawbreaker; one who knew how to set neighbor against neighbor, and make every one work so that he could rake off a heavy dividend from each separate deal.

So he had for a long time been coming and going, crossing the border, as a rule by the air route, carrying his cargoes of deceitful bank bills to various distributing points—like the one Jack and Perk had struck by sheer accident—gathering the genuine stuff contributed by his numerous dupes, and leaving bulky packages of the wonderfully executed spurious notes in exchange.

It was a veritable Golconda for the industrious worker, who, safe from interference, had kept as busy as the proverbial bee, that stores honey day after day.

They followed the line of swirling beacons the air mail boys were in the habit of trailing, since by this means they could pass some of the numerous danger spots on their route. In good time Jack expected to turn his back on these friendly flashing lights and head due south, to cross the border, and fly over foreign territory.

He had been placed in possession of certain secret documents issued by the Mexican government, which proved how they knew of the unholy alliance made between Slim, the counterfeiter king, and those traitorous generals who yearned for fresh outbreaks so as to pamper their own personal fortunes, just then at low ebb.

There existed something of an arrangement, whereby the Mexican government agreed to stand back of any effort made by the Department at Washington to capture Slim, smash his gang that was widening its powers every day, and clean out the mess of near-bandits with whom he had allied himself.

If it were necessary all arrangements had been made whereby Colonel Jose Morales, with a crack regiment of hard fighting regulars who had seen much bloody service in bringing the defiant Yaqui Indians to terms by invading their mountain fastnesses, and meeting them hand-to-hand—was stationed within a day’s ride of the ravine where Slim had his plant and could be summoned by means of certain smoke signals. No sooner would these “talking smokes” be detected than the order would be given “boots and saddles,” with the mounted regiment in full swing for the debatable ground where Slim had his nefarious nest.

So, too, had a secret arrangement been effected with the old leader of the now defunct Texas Rangers, most of whom were in the service of the Government connected with the border patrol and orders had been given the former gallant hero that if a certain message were received, no matter by what method, he was to gather a squad of his old fighters, and cross the border, sure of being warmly received by the loyal Mexican troops who would welcome his assistance in wiping out the sore spot that had been so long a blot on their country’s honor.

Thus it would seem that everything possible had been done toward striking a telling blow. It only remained for Jack Ralston to start the ball rolling, when it must gain fresh impetus with every revolution.

Perk acted as though decidedly pleased when later on he discovered that they no longer followed the flashing beacon trail—Jack had gone as far as was judicious along that line and now headed straight into the mysterious south, toward the border of the neighboring republic where disorder still held sway, and disgruntled chiefs continued to plot against the rule of the recently elected president.

Every mile traversed now was bringing them closer to their goal, and Perk found more or less joy in picturing the thrilling climax, when they would give Slippery Slim the surprise of his life—if only no leak concerning their clever plan had come about.

The moon had risen, and was hanging there in the east, a silvery shield with one edge clipped off telling that the queen of the night was already well past her “full” stage and running for a fall.

All at once Perk had an electric shock.

He leaned convulsively forward and gripped his mate by the shoulder, at the same time pointing toward the southeast and shouting through the head phones:

“Look, oh look—see what’s passing across the moon, Jack!”

Then just as suddenly did he release his clutch, to fall back in his seat, and exclaim most dramatically, with a touch of disgust in his voice:

“Shucks! It’s slipped past, dang the luck!”

“But I got it all right, Perk,” the pilot assured him.

“Then it _was_ a ship, an’ my lamps didn’t fool me, partner?” Perk cried in renewed excitement.

“As sure as you’re born, that’s what it was, brother,” Jack added.

“Headin’ south, same as we’re doin’ right now, eh, Jack?”

“You said it, buddy—just what the crate was doing, Perk.”

“What’s the answer—could it a been _him_, on his way back home with a load o’ machine guns, life they say he carries every time he crosses the border, after takin’ out a freshly printed batch o’ his flimsy stuff to soak on the honest folks back home?”

“That’s something we can only make a stab at,” replied Jack. “Chances lean that, way, I must say; but just the same it might have been some mail plane that’s got blown off its regular course, and is beating it for the home port. Then again I understand the border patrol are handling a few ships in their line of intercepting flyers making a business of smuggling Chinese aliens across the line night-times.”

“I’d give a heap to know the answer to that puzzle,” continued Perk, who disliked enigmas, and all that sort of thing calculated to make a fellow lie awake nights, bothering his poor brains. He never had been fitted by Nature for the job of being a real detective.

“We’ll never know,” his pal told him, “unless it happens we run afoul of the other crate when our courses draw closer together and if it’s Slim whose fingers grip that stick we’d rather be excused for having that happen—our job is to fetch him back _alive_, and not make him lose his life in a crash.”

“Me, I ain’t peticular just what _does_ happen to the slick guy,” Perk wound up the little talkfest by saying. “Only, when it comes to a real showdown either Slim or us got to go to the wall—dead or alive, the thing’s goin’ to be settled for keeps!”