CHAPTER IX

HEADED FOR TROUBLE

An hour later the two adventurers arrived at the San Diego aviation grounds, having taken a taxi to carry them and their limited luggage.

The night was a fine one, so far as the star-studded heavens could be taken as an indication. If there was fog gathering some hundreds of miles distant along the route of the air mail course, no indication of such worry to the pilot's peace of mind had reached this coastal station.

"Goin' to have a right decent start, looks like," Perk mentioned, after they had dismissed the taxi close to the isolated hangar just outside the aviation field limits.

"I expected we'd have it clear as a bell," Jack told him, as he unlocked the doors of the hangar; "just as well that we don't have our troubles strike us before we even hit our pace--time enough for all that when we get well on our way."

As Jack had anticipated there was light aplenty for their purpose; ships were coming and going at this early time in the evening, so that the field lights were all on, making it easy to see.

Secrecy was such a part of their business that they did not even have hostlers present to help push their bus out to the runway--it would not be the first occasion when these two energetic fellows had managed all such things by themselves.

They did not loiter, now that the final take-off was at hand; Jack was a little afraid lest some mechanic, or pilot, hearing them working, and being more or less curious concerning the pair who owned the trim aircraft in which they had been taking trips for weeks past, (and about whom a halo of mystery hovered) might come nosing around, offering to lend a hand, but really hoping to pick up a few words that would explain their leaving under cover of night--honest to goodness sportsmen, going off for a hunt, or a fishing jaunt to the mountains, would not be apt to time their departure while the world was smothered in darkness.

They were now poised on the short runway, and ready to start off. Perk had followed his mate aboard, and was already busying himself with certain preliminary duties that always fell to his charge.

"Ready, all?" called out Jack.

"Give her the gun, partner!" replied Perk.

There was a sudden roar as the engine took the spark, a quiver of the entire craft, and then a quick jerk as Jack moved the throttle toward his chest. Down the slight slope they started, gathering more headway with every second until the ship was bumping rapidly over the ground, her skid already beginning to scorn the soil as if eager to take to the air.

Then her nose being pointed upwards she began to rise like a bird, passing well over the trees that stood at the end of the course.

They were off on their momentous and perilous mission; only Fate knew what the result would prove to be; whether success awaited them, or failure, perhaps even death; for they were bound on an errand to a country where the majesty of the Law was scorned, where might meant right, and men did not place much value on a human life, more or less.

To see how joyous Perk seemed to be no one would imagine he gave much heed to the prospect of thrilling episodes that would threaten them as soon as they entered the danger zone. But then that was the way with Perk, who loved adventure and close calls, and was never happier than when defying the power of lawless men, badly wanted by those higher-ups in charge of the famous Secret Service.

The lighted aviation field was quickly left far behind, as Jack headed into the northeast, with the intention of holding to the beacon-lighted trail of the air mail up to a certain point; when they must abandon those welcome markers that flashed their intelligence every ten seconds, and were so useful for keeping the mail carriers on their proper course.

Like most up-to-date pilots Jack and his mate had supplied themselves with the handy ear-phones, by adjusting which to their heads they could communicate in a satisfactory fashion when it became necessary. But for this wise preparedness they would have had to shout at the top of their lungs in order to pass a few words back and forth--a most unsatisfactory way of doing, as every pilot has found out in times gone by, when there was no other method known.

For a full hour they kept on their way persistently following the air mail route. It was exceedingly refreshing to be able to note as many as three flashing beacons at the same time, from the four thousand foot ceiling at which Jack was flying, the further one rather dim, it is true; but strong enough to catch the watchful eye of the pilot.

Perk had kept "bottled up" as long as he could stand it, and now broke out as if eager to ask some sort of question that was on his mind. Under such conditions it was his usual way to gradually approach the matter by jerks.

"Huh! pretty soft I'd call it, partner, if yeou troubled to ask me," he observed as an opener.

"As what?" demanded Jack, tersely.

"The job o' bein' an air mail runner--everything fixed for 'em so's they kin keep on the right track--who'd lose his way with them friendly flash-light beacons apoppin' up ev'ry ten miles'r so, I want to know?"

"You're away off your reckoning when you say that, Perk; remember how they've got to meet up with tough storms; and pea soup fogs you could cut with a knife, they're so thick. And in parts of their run the country is treacherous, with slants of wind breaking out of deep canyons; then, too, if anything goes wrong aboard their boat to make a safe landing on such rocky ground is full of all kinds of difficulties. No, the air mail pilot doesn't have such a sweet time of it as you seem to think--a night like this he can consider a peach; only there are not many built that way. You know they lots of times insist on starting out when a wheen of pilots would stay safe on the ground, and not take desperate chances."

"Partner, yeou'll have to excuse haste an' a bad pen, as the pig said after breaking out, and skippin' off on a full run. That time I shore didn't count ten 'fore I broke loose. Guess naow all pilots git up agin hard fixes onct in a while, where the finest flash beacons in the hull world caint help 'em any. I kin understand haow it aint possible to lamp them lights atall through a thick fog--on'y by the altitude marker kin yeou tell if youre aflying sky high, or near scraping the ground. But did yeou happen to hear a ship takin' off jest after we slid aout, boss?"

"Yes, but that didn't give me any concern, Perk. No danger of it's being any spy interested in following _us_."

"But jest the same, Jack, she's been keepin' on aour tail right along," protested the watchful one, as if he might have been worried a bit.

"Why not, when like as not the pilot is carrying the U. S. mail, and on his reg'lar night run north. We happen to be making use of his lights, that's all; and he's attending to his usual business. When we sheer off to the east soon now, leaving these flashlights behind, _then_ if you discover a ship following after us it'll be time to do something, not before."

"Thanks, partner; jest thought I had orter tell yeou, that's all," and with that Perk lapsed into silence again, having worked his mind clear once more.

Further time passed.

They had covered some hundreds of miles since leaving San Diego, and Jack, watching his map understood the time was close at hand for him to alter his course, and turn sharply toward the east, while the lighted mail line of travel continued northward.

Ten minutes afterwards and Perk again broke out.

"I kin see the fust wisps o' that ere fog yeou was a tellin' 'baout, boss," he announced grimly, as though appreciating the flashing beacons more than before, now that they were about at the end of their string, with the whole world of mountainous ground facing them, so full of hidden snares and pitfalls, not to mention human tigers with a fierce vendetta against all those busybodies of their particular breed.

"That's interesting news, but not so delightful, Perk, since I'm just going to switch, and head into the east."