PLATINUM RIVER

“Mio—Pedro—you would jest with me,” Mrs. Gonzalas tried to laugh at the joke but it was a feeble attempt and she gave a little disappointed sob. “But this is the place. So many times you have told me, the river, small with three branches, one dry, and on that one you found the flakes—much—you brought much home; through the forests and over the mountains you carried it to us.”

“Yes,” the brother said dully, for Pedro looked at them all as if he had suddenly lost his reason or was a man asleep.

“I say, you probably got the wrong place, just a little off the course,” Jim suggested. “Mind telling me how you marked it or remember where you found the stuff!”

“Si, senor. I am lost, wander in a circle, then I sleep and when I wake it is early morning. I wait for the sun—he is never wrong, then I start, resolved that due east I will go until I reach a stream. On a stream is always homes, settlements, maybe only trappers, but someone who will tell me how to go,” he explained and he seemed glad to go into the details.

“Sure, I understand,” Jim nodded.

“This stream I reach—nearer its source, and I follow with it to the fork. My mind is easy, I rest again and set some snares. For my dinner I get a rabbit and some fish with my hands. It is still day and I follow the water to the dry fork—and that I follow a mile and I find the platinum—quantities of it in the sharp sand.”

“There is no sand here,” Austin reminded him.

“None, but it is the dry fork—the only one,” Pedro insisted.

“Maybe it isn’t,” Jim argued. “Why not have another look?”

“This is the only dry fork,” Pedro answered.

“Did you tell anyone who might have come and got away with it?” Jim knew nothing about how platinum was found.

“That is impossible. I left great quantities, although I washed all I could carry in a bag I wove of the grass. This is a rocky place.”

“That’s right, but perhaps you passed it—”

“Impossible,” the brother put in.

“Well, then it must be further along. You probably were so excited that you didn’t notice how far you came. Didn’t you leave a mark on the rocks or something?” Austin was mighty sorry for the little band and he couldn’t make out how the place could be lost. The only thing he could think of was that Pedro had made a mistake in his reckoning, and being an airman he knew any number of aviators did the same sort of thing and got miles out of their courses.

“I paced it,” Pedro told him.

“You sure that you didn’t tell anyone? Mrs. Gonzalas said that while you were in town—I mean Cuzco—that you heard rumors of platinum discoveries. She said that was why you told the fib so I’d bring you.”

“That is true. At the fiesta many were drinking and two men talked of platinum over a table. Them I heard, and later I saw others whisper together, then hurry away—one left his wine.”

“Great Scott, but there is no sign of anyone coming here.”

“No one has been here. There is not a track but our own,” said Pedro.

“Well, now, come to think of it, while I was at the fiesta I heard a couple of men talking. One said that he had found platinum, but he didn’t say where it was. He looked like a tough customer. Said that he had been in an airplane smash-up, the pilot was killed and this fellow wandered around for days before he dragged himself to a trapper’s cabin. The hunter helped him get home, I mean to Cuzco, and he was put into a hospital. I don’t know how long he was there, but he was positive he found platinum. Said that during the war he’d gone with a secret commission into Russia to get some so he knew it well. He was telling it to a fellow he was having lunch with. Did you see any airplane flying over while you were here, or see a smash-up?”

“No. Had I seen a plane I should have remembered for I should have concealed myself.”

“Who was the man—do you know where he went?” Mrs. Gonzalas asked.

“As it happens, he was killed. I don’t know the particulars, but I just told you about it because it proves that there must be a place where the mineral is and you have miscalculated. If you’d like me to, I’ll go up in the air and look down through the glasses. I can soon spot the right dry fork for you and it will save no end of time,” Jim suggested, and at that sensible idea they all brightened.

“It must be somewhere near, and perhaps—this is later in the season and more forks may have dried. It is many weeks since you were here,” the brother suggested cheerfully.

“You are indeed a generous boy,” Mrs. Gonzalas smiled. “Quickly you will find—” She stopped abruptly, for in the heavens somewhere near was a plane and it was flying low. Intuitively they all looked up and a moment later saw the machine like a great dragon-fly against the evening sky.

“Maybe I better wait until that lad gets out of the neighborhood,” Jim suggested, for it suddenly occurred to him that it might be other men in search for the precious mineral.

“Let us conceal ourselves in the brush,” Pedro whispered. “It will be better—safer.” He helped his brother get Mrs. Gonzalas across the dry bed and up toward the rocks where a great patch of thick undergrowth would protect her from sight.

“Have you got any weapons—guns or anything?” Jim asked.

“This.” Pedro produced a small but efficient automatic. “My brother, Arto—he has one larger, and a knife.”

“Take this.” Mrs. Gonzalas slipped a small gun and cartridges into Jim’s hand and she seemed relieved to be rid of them. The lad judged by the look of astonishment on her husband’s face that he did not know that she had them in her possession.

As they scrambled up the rock any noise they made was deadened by the roar of the motor of the plane circling over their heads and Jim realized the Gonzalas probably anticipated some difficulty in maintaining their rights to the platinum they had found. He had read enough accounts of valuable discoveries in various parts of the world, and desperate struggles against unscrupulous men grimly determined to have at least a share in the wealth, regardless of whether their claim was justified, to appreciate the great importance of starting their enterprise well armed against attack. Being a Texas lad, Austin was familiar with fire-arms of various types, so a glance at the one the woman had given him, assured him that he understood its perfect mechanism. About half way up the ledge they reached an irregular section where a number of great stones looked as if they had been swept from the rim above and caught where they fell. All about them grew tough underbrush, some of it out of the crevices themselves, and this offered an excellent vantage point. No one could see them from the sky, get to them from behind, nor attack them from below without great difficulty.

“In here,” Pedro urged his wife. He saw a triangular opening large enough for the woman to crawl in and be well protected.

“You will care take, mio,” she said softly.

“Yes.”

The brothers crawled to a second boulder close by but Jim climbed a bit higher and dropped down between two rocks which formed a barricade about him, yet gave him an excellent view of the dry bed and the vicinity. Although he had said nothing about it, he was mighty anxious about the De Castro’s plane and was glad that it was parked some distance away, but he was fully aware that the pilot might very easily note its presence. By that time the airman had evidently selected a landing site, for the motor was shut off and the machine was gliding swiftly to earth. As it dropped, Jim scowled anxiously and thought soberly of the dangerous situation in which he and the Gonzalas were placed. The plane was none other than one of those used by members of the gang who had taken the Flying Buddies and the De Castros to Amy-Ran and endeavored to force from the boys some information regarding the activities of Don Haurea and his colleagues.

“If it’s anyone from that gang, and the chances are that it is, I’m in for a hot time. They are sure to start a hunt for whoever came in the plane,” the lad told himself soberly.

Carefully he watched the machine come down and he gasped with astonishment at the spot chosen. It was not far from where the Gonzalas had expected to find the platinum, and it was so wooded that the boy wondered how the pilot expected to pull out of it when they were ready to take the air again. When the machine stopped, three men hopped out, took a swift survey of their surroundings, then one of them started briskly toward the place where Pedro had stood a few minutes before trying to understand why he did not find the precious mineral he had left in the locality weeks before. It was apparent that the three men did not suspect they were not alone in that basin of the Andes mountains, for they rushed forward without caution, and this fact made Jim breathe easier. He began to wonder why they had come and watched them narrowly, every faculty alert and tense. If anything happened to him, the Gonzalas would be in a mighty bad predicament. The men could make their way out to civilization but it would be a hazardous undertaking for the woman who appeared small and defenseless against such ruthless odds. This realization made the boy doubly careful not to disturb even a small stone that could attract the attention of the three below, who were now standing in the middle of the dry fork. The one man seemed to be surveying the locality with something of the same astonishment that Pedro Gonzalas had evidenced.

“Say, I knew this was a darn fool errand,” snapped the smaller of the three, who, by his clothes, was apparently the pilot.

“It is not so,” shouted the second man, whose clothes made him appear to be some sort of woodsman or hunter. “If you have come right, it is here.”

“Well, I did come right,” and then Jim had to brace himself, for there was young Arthur Gordon, whose ranch at the edge of Cap Rock in Texas was now deserted by the young outlaw who had managed to make endless trouble for Don Haurea and the Flying Buddies.

“There is no platinum here and there never was any,” the third man announced positively, and then Jim had another shock, for this man was one of the chaps who had brought, or tried to bring, disaster to the power-plant. His name was Alonzo and his brother had been killed along with a mysterious stranger only a week before. Their activities had branded them as criminals and the Peruvian government was anxious to get hold of him dead or alive.

“You could not have come right. I tell you I copied the map from his wallet, exactly,” the hunter insisted. Instantly it flashed into Jim’s mind that this must be the trapper who had helped Ollie to civilization.

“Let me see it,” growled Gordon. Alonzo took the folded paper from his pocket and the pair examined it carefully. “This is the place, all right. You’ve been made a goat. See? There’s no platinum here.”

“It is a trick,” the trapper shrieked.

“You’re a fool,” Gordon bellowed and he doubled his fist threateningly.

“You would kill me and get the stuff yourself,” the trapper accused as he backed away from them, but Alonzo, snarling furiously, leaped to catch him. With a move so swift that the boy hiding above could not follow it, the trapper threw a long glistening knife with such force and accuracy that it plunged into Alonzo’s throat. He sank in a heap to the ground, gave a convulsive twist and lay still.

“You—” Gordon swore furiously, then suddenly he stopped. Instantly he seemed to forget the assault and his companion, and stood tense, his eyes turned toward the sky. In a moment the unmistakable hum of an airplane came to them. “My God—” He stepped quickly to the side of the dead man, gave him an indifferent kick with his foot, rolling the body over, pulled out the knife, which he threw to his companion, and deftly he went through the pockets for other weapons.

“You are going to kill me—”

“Shut up! Take this, we’re going to have a heck of a fight on our hands and you’ll need to use everything you can get to come out with a whole skin. See!” He tossed a revolver to the trapper, and cutting the cartridge belt from Alonzo’s body, divided its contents, all the while looking about for some avenue of escape.

While Jim watched the movements of the two, his mind was busy trying to puzzle out the whole affair. It was apparent that Gordon had come expecting to find platinum. They had landed in almost exactly the same spot where Gonzalas was positive he had discovered it and the map, or whatever the trapper had copied from Ollie’s wallet, must have given the same locality. Ollie had declared that he was sure of his find, and had made his identification with such care that Arthur had located the section from the plane. It was not possible, Jim reasoned, for both Pedro Gonzalas and Ollie to have made the same error in the calculations, yet there was no sign of anything of value in the vicinity. It was certainly puzzling, but the boy could not give the matter too much thought. With Gordon alone their position was dangerous enough, but with the coming of the second plane it looked as if other men had learned of the discovery and were bent upon getting possession of the land. Austin watched the two below, who were giving their undivided attention to the later arrivals, standing with weapons ready to repel attack and seemingly to have abandoned any idea of leaving the place without a fight.

“That bird’s not coming down,” Jim said softly to himself and drawing some of the foliage carefully above his head, he ventured stealthily to peep out.

The plane was executing a wide circle as low as the pilot dared in that rugged section, and the boy noticed that at least three men were staring over the sides of the cock-pit. The machine dived swiftly toward the dried bed of the river-branch, leveled out precariously close, then with nose tilted, shot high and so close to the ledge that the boy could easily see the landing gear. He wondered why Gordon and the trapper did not run to shelter, or get away in their own machine, for it was obvious that they anticipated trouble. Perhaps he did not dare risk a smash-up if he attempted flight, for his machine was not in a position from which to make a hasty take-off; also, probably Arthur thought that concealment would serve him little, for his machine must have been spotted immediately by the men in the air. They were zooming swiftly and as steeply as they dared. For a moment Austin thought they were going to climb well out of the dangerous zone above the ledges and go away, but this idea was soon dismissed, for by the sound he could tell that the machine was circling again, and presently it came into view far below; diving as before, only this time, he saw one of the men high in his seat. Down it roared, the wheels barely escaping the topmost branches as it came like some bird of prey, the men straining forward with faces set and determined.

Something suddenly startled Gordon, for he jumped toward them as hard as he could go and in a zig-zag course. He clutched the trapper as he passed, but the man stumbled, and almost at the same instant there was a flash of flame, followed by a vicious rat-a-tat-tat that sent a hail of shot in a wide swath. It cut the trapper down in a lifeless heap.

“A machine gun,” Jim whispered. “Regular war stuff!” He was so fascinated that he could hardly take his eyes off the deadly instrument of destruction and it wasn’t until bits of stone and rebounding bullets began to pepper the rocks where he and his friends were hiding that he backed further into the shelter of the boulders. He hoped fervently that the Gonzalas were well protected from the attack and he tried to calculate a way of helping his companions. He couldn’t leave his own corner without risking being seen and that certainly would not help them.

From under his hiding place the boy listened intently and heard the plane going up again as if to repeat the maneuver, then suddenly it came back more quickly and its motor was shut off.

“They must be coming down,” he told himself. Creeping close to the opening he made a place so that he could see what was taking place below and then he saw Arthur standing waving his white handkerchief. By that he knew that the young Texan was signaling his surrender. The machine descended quickly, presently landed, ran a few feet and stopped.

“What you doing here?” came a hoarse demand, as a man leaped from the cock-pit. He shoved his helmet back from his face and then Jim recognized the chap who had been with Ollie Boome at the fiesta, the man the police were so anxious to capture, and the same fellow who had circled above Amy-Ran early that morning. It hardly seemed possible that so much could have happened in one day.

“I might ask you the same question,” Gordon answered indifferently, “and I might add, what are you shooting the place up for?”

“You might, yes. Explanations are in order but they are coming from you. What are you butting into the chief’s work for? This isn’t the first time—”

“No? Well, the chief isn’t taking me into his confidence these days so how the blazes could I know he was sending a bunch of you fellows here?” Arthur demanded hotly. He had taken a cigarette from his pocket and was lighting it coolly.

“Of course you didn’t know—you or Alonzo—”

“Of course. You killed the two of them—the trapper and the big gun. That may require some explanation—”

“None of your funny business. What are you doing here? Why did you come?” the man snapped.

“Probably for the same reason you did, but I don’t know how we all happened to land in this place,” Gordon answered. “Alonzo came to me with the hunter and said they wanted me to fly them to a place where platinum had been found. The trapper had a map, it’s here on the ground somewhere, but I don’t know how you got wind of the same thing.”

“It’s none of your business. You’d better get into your machine and report to the chief. He’s got a job for you—”

“You need not be so anxious to get rid of me—”

“Aw, come on, let’s give him the works; he’s always balling things up,” one of the other men proposed.

“There’s nothing here to ball up, old timer. We’re a lot of goats, somebody’s—”

“Goats, what do you mean?”

“There’s no platinum here, that’s what I mean. Have a look for yourself. There never was any here,” Gordon told them. Instantly the men began to look about the section, and those who had flash-lights turned them on, for it was beginning to get dark.

“It’s some of his funny business, I’ll bet. He’s just making fools out of us again, or trying to, but he doesn’t play that game twice with me—not me.” One of the men stepped quickly to Gordon’s side and swung his fist, but the Texan’s foot shot out and the fellow went sprawling.