THROUGH SPACE

The sudden appearance of the plane flying directly over their heads with its flood light pouring on them made Jim’s heart skip a beat. So much time had lapsed since the four had taken off, in spite of the activity of Joe and Carp, that the Flying Buddy had begun to feel confident that the danger of pursuit was passed, but now he knew that he had reckoned prematurely and his greatest anxiety was for the woman who was crouching in terror beside him. Mechanically he put out his hand to assure himself that her safety strap held her firmly and he knew that her parachute was properly adjusted. Without moving in his own seat he pressed the button that signaled for the attention of the two men in the rear cock-pit, and in a moment he heard Arto’s voice in his ear.

“We are here,” the man said tensely.

“Strapped tight?”

“Si, senor.”

“Good. Chutes on?”

“Si.” Jim was glad that this Gonzalas brother had been an airman, for of course he would see that he and his brother were not taking undue risk during the long flight through the night.

“Fine. Hang on!”

“The sister?”

“She is top hole,” Jim assured him.

“Bravo! We are the fruit!”

“Berries,” Jim had to chuckle.

“Si. Gooseberries maybe, but we are present. Can I assist?”

“Don’t know. Keep your ear plastered to the tube and leave the connection on. Also, watch what I do and be prepared to follow if necessary,” Jim answered briefly, then he smiled confidently at his companion and some of his spirit gave her renewed courage.

Up to that moment Cardow’s plane had made no overt move but continued in the course and kept its light, which was surprisingly brilliant, on the machine below it. Jim wondered what they looked like from the ground and if anyone happening to observe them would think of danger. For a moment he did nothing but fly straight, then suddenly he tipped the plane’s nose at a sharp angle and began to climb so swiftly that the menacing plane would be forced to slacken its speed or risk a collision, for Jim was shooting directly into its track. Up he zoomed and in a moment had shot beyond the rim of light, which apparently was not a revolving one and that fact was some comfort, but the boy had to blink quickly when he climbed through the intensified darkness.

Keeping his eyes on the plane still above him Jim realized that the pilot either was not calculating the point ahead where the two machines would come to grief, or else the man considered the Flying Buddy’s maneuver a bluff and expected that the smaller plane would scoot out of the path of destruction at the last moment. By that time Austin could see the two men in the forward cock-pit and suddenly he saw the man next the pilot rise as high in his seat as straps permitted and his mouth opened to its fullest capacity as if he were shrieking a warning. Not until then did the second machine tip its nose upward and veer slightly from its course so that Jim and his companions rushed like a rocket above them.

Glancing at the altimeter, Austin saw that he had climbed nearly two thousand feet and out of the corner of his eye he saw the gunner on the gang’s plane swing his deadly weapon onto its standard and stand ready to send a round of bullets into them the instant they flew across his sight. There was no doubt of their evil intention and Jim’s mind worked fast. Below them was the rugged rim of one of the ranges of the Andes mountains, and far ahead, the boy knew there were deep sandy plains. Any kind of landing where they were would mean a smash-up and his passengers, if they were not killed outright, would surely be badly injured, so he made up his mind that he would keep in the air as long as he could.

Austin wished heartily that some of them had weapons of longer range so they would have a chance in a gun fight, but only the luckiest sort of sharp shooting would avail them anything in their present predicament. If the light was not a revolving one the machine gun was, he knew, and for him to fly close enough to get in a shot that would cripple the pilot would mean that the woman crouched beside him, and probably all of them, would be raked with vicious bullets which would put an end to them speedily. Some queer streak in his brain made him think of Pedro’s earnest plea to save his wife at least so their little son would not be motherless. Austin had lost his own mother when he was a boy and he remembered vividly the awful loneliness without her. To be sure, he had Dad, who was the best yet, and later Dad had married Bob’s mother, who had almost succeeded in making her step-son forget that he wasn’t her own “born-boy,” but step-mothers as a general rule do not turn out so well, but yet, if Pedro were killed the little lad waiting in Cuzco would be mighty forlorn.

“We’ve got to get out of this,” Jim said grimly to himself. He was still climbing and the second plane was following close on his trail, and its gunner had an eye cocked to his weapon. Banking sharply, Jim curved to the right, then executed a half loop which brought him up behind his enemy. Climbing a few rods he managed to get his plane’s nose so dangerously close to the tail of the other, that its pilot tried to shake him by dropping a bit and making a curve, but the Flying Buddy was tensely alert and kept after the machine, realizing that for the moment he had the advantage. He did not forget to keep a watchful eye on the control board and dials so that he would not be led out of his course.

“Another plane is coming,” Arto spoke in his ear.

“Which way?”

“Below and behind,” Arto answered. “I just saw it, but it has no lights I can see.”

“Thanks.”

Certainly the situation was not improving. Glancing ahead and above the boy saw some dark clouds forming, and when his eyes returned to the enemy plane, he realized that its pilot was looping down and intended to come back on his tail. The maneuver was a good one, as Jim knew, but in this case it would mean a few second’s delay, so ignoring their pursuers, he put on every ounce of additional speed and raced for the protection of the thick mist. In a moment its moisture was on their faces, then Jim dived low, leveled off and shot forward. He was mighty thankful they had the extra tanks of gas Pedro had supplied and making a hasty calculation he figured they could keep in the air many hours. His watch told him that it was nearly half past ten and he recalled that Cardow had said he was going to be present at the dynamiting of Amy-Ran. Taking his bearings carefully, then estimating the distance to the ancient fortress, Austin knew that it would require forty minutes at least for the gang to reach their destination so they had little time to waste trying to bring him down. If he could possibly dodge them for fifteen minutes, they would probably give up the chase; that is, unless the second machine was detailed to keep after him.

Flying through the blanket, blind and unable to hear the enemy planes was nerve-racking, so Jim zoomed upward and when he had gained two thousand feet he put his machine into a glide and listened. For a moment he heard nothing, then he realized that probably the other pilots were doing the same thing, but he had the advantage of having shut off his motor last and he hoped they would be compelled to start their engines before he did and give him an idea of their locality. He reasoned that they were flying close together for they must have signaled to each other. According to the chart in front of him he was still over the rugged mountain section and his eyes rested anxiously on the altimeter. If it was faulty they were out of luck.

“Have we escaped from them?” Mrs. Gonzalas asked.

“I’m trying to find out. Do you hear them?” She listened earnestly endeavoring to help.

“A rushing noise, maybe like we make with our wires,” she suggested.

“Which way do you get it?”

“As if it comes from lower.” They sat quietly and then Jim picked up the sound but he calculated that it was an echo from below and that might be started from their own plane. He maneuvered with the air currents, which were rushing and rolling the mist, and managed to sail forward, then he continued the glide. They had settled fifteen hundred feet, and there was still no sign of a break.

“If they come up—” Arto spoke softly through the mouthpiece and Jim pressed it closer to his ear, “could we use the guns?”

“You might get a chance. Are you a good shot?”

“Crack,” Arto answered. “Pedro, too, he is—very better—good.”

“All right, take a pop at them.”

“Mrs. Gonzalas, is she in fear?”

“They want to know if you are afraid,” Jim told her, so she raised her head a bit and spoke into the mouthpiece.

“I am not afraid for I pray the Mother of God for her protection. Mio! You and Arto are safe?”

They answered in Spanish, and she smiled with satisfaction, then the conversation was stopped abruptly by the sputter and roar of a motor which seemed close at the left and above them.

“Thanks, old timer,” Jim grinned.

He opened his own motor and shot up, climbing steadily until he was four thousand feet higher, and there he came out above the clouds. Here he shut off the engine and gliding quietly, listening to the commotion made by the machines below. Before they slipped down to the cloud ceiling, Jim started the motor again and soared along in exactly the opposite direction from their course. In this way the Flying Buddy hoped to rid himself of Cardow and his gang. Just beneath them the clouds were rolling, some of them with light tips made silver by the moon which had come out like a beautiful glowing ball that dimmed the stars. Mrs. Gonzalas gazed about her with lips parted in awe and wonder, and she even ventured to peep over the side at the marvelous panorama. Occasionally they passed open places and could see the sleeping globe with here and there a few feeble lights about a building or on a road winding through the mountains. The scene was so vast and wonderful that it seemed more like an amazing dream than anything real.

“When we were flying this afternoon did your brother-in-law show you about the parachute?” Jim asked her.

“Si. Jump, fall a moment and pull the ring upper.”

“That’s right. Don’t expect we are going to have to jump and if we do I’ll keep with you, but it’s just as well to be prepared.”

“Those men go to the fastness rocks, they say,” she responded.

“Yes, and we are sailing directly away from it, the opposite direction. Cardow can’t chase us and get there on time,” he explained assuringly.

“Maybe one plane will not give up,” she suggested and Jim was mighty sorry that she had thought of that probability, but after all it was just as well that she realized they were not out of danger.

By that time they were miles out of their course and bringing the plane’s nose about the Flying Buddy reset his route toward Cuzco. Studying the chart he saw that they would soon be traveling over valleys and that there were a few scattered settlements in the neighborhood. He had never happened to come down near any of those they would pass over, and he hesitated about making a landing lest the gang, which he knew was well organized, should have men posted on the watch for them to come out of the sky. He considered landing on one of the plantations, but he might pick the very one where gang-operators had a hang-out. After all, he decided, probably the best course was to keep flying, so he increased the speed and roared forward into another cloud bank. In its protection he listened a few minutes but not a sound came to him and with a sigh of relief he opened her up again. At least they had thrown off the other fellows for a while.

“Wonder what I’d do in their place,” he asked himself, and then he did his reasoning along those lines. Assuming that the men were determined to capture him he was not long in reaching the conclusion that they would surely fly toward his destination as soon as they lost him in the clouds, and probably they would have men stationed on watch for him at scattered points; places where messages could be sent out. It was more than likely that the bigger of the two machines was equipped with radio and could be quickly informed of their whereabouts.

“Gosh, if this were only the ‘Lark’,” he sighed, but it wasn’t and he felt as helpless in the machine as if he were in the midst of a squadron of planes. He thought about Bob and wondered idly how long he had remained at Amy-Ran and if the new radio had been installed. He knew a little about its capabilities and hoped that the night’s adventure would not end so badly that he would never fly the loved machine again. Thinking about his Flying Buddy he suddenly straightened. When Bob reached home he would inquire for his side-kick the very first thing and when Jim didn’t appear, the younger boy might go raring in search of him. There was some hope in the possibility, and then Jim recalled that the Pass he was supposed to go to with Gonzalas was nowhere near the one to which he really went. At that moment, Bob was probably flying hundreds of miles away.

“A plane comes from the right,” Arto spoke into his ear. Jim looked quickly and a moment later picked out the machine rushing across a patch of light directly toward them. Mechanically he tipped up, zoomed without leaving his course, and then he saw a second machine tearing some distance from the first. They were both headed his way and as he climbed, the other pilots soared up swiftly and began to close in with an unmistakably vicious purpose. For a moment he thought of turning again, but changed his mind. He would make them turn instead, so he opened her up and rushed on, the wires whistling a shrill protest.

“If we come close, Pedro and I are ready with the guns,” Arto said grimly, and Jim, with teeth set and body almost rigid, watched every move. Once he glanced back over his shoulder and just as he did his heart gave a leap, for a third plane was racing up from behind.

“Are they coming?”

“Three, all together,” Jim told her and his lips were set.

“Why should they be so obsessed—so determined to kill us?”

“Reckon your husband was sort of foolish to ask me to fly him. There is a gang of chaps who have been raising heck with my father and me too. They probably know that I am flying his plane and have made up their minds to get me,” he explained, then added, “I’m sorry you are in such a hole.”

“We did not mean to place you in danger,” she said anxiously. “It is not then just because of the platinum that they chase us?”

“Can’t be, unless they think we found it.” He moved the speaking tube to attend more strictly to business. There were no clouds to help them and Jim glanced at the chart. In a little while they would be above the plain out of the way of the rugged hills where coming down was so terribly dangerous. Keeping alert and watching tensely he held the stick, his left hand on the control board, and saw the two machines coming closer together with his own nose pointed directly between them. On and on they went, then he banked sharply and veered to the right so that he would pass on the outside of the pair, and with a quick twist, he zoomed higher and tore on, leveled off and raced forward. A minute later he had passed the first machine, and he glanced over his shoulder, but the third one was almost on his tail.

“Let him come up,” Arto said in his ear, so the Flying Buddy decreased his speed somewhat, glancing back to see just how close the other fellow was coming.

“Crack! crack!” Two shots spat out from the rear cock-pit, and almost immediately two more. Again Jim glanced back and he saw that the nearest machine was still tearing almost upon him. Four more shots rang out from the guns of the Gonzalas’, then the nearest plane wobbled as if the pilot had been hit.

“You have a gun,” Mrs. Gonzalas shouted. “Give it to me, I can shoot it.” He fished it out of his pocket and handed it over, looking first to be sure that it was ready for use.

They tore on and Jim saw the woman holding the weapon efficiently in her hand and was glad to see that she had been taught to handle it. On they went, and then, he saw a machine racing almost beside him. The guns cracked again but as far as the boy could see they did no real damage but it flashed through his mind that the pilots were not alarmed at the firing. They merely kept out of range.

“One is mounting his machine gun—on the right,” Arto announced.

Jim glanced about and saw that this was so and he knew that in a moment they would be racked with a hail of lead. He tipped his nose down to a sharp angle, and dived steeply a thousand feet, leveled off and went on. It seemed to the boy as if he had been flying for an eternity and they would never get anywhere. They had nearly reached the plain and he took a survey about him. The plane with the machine gun was almost directly over him.

“Hang on,” he yelled, then did a backward loop and as they came up he could see two of the machines rushing some distance ahead, but the third one was right beside him. Crack, went the Gonzalas’ guns from the rear, and crack, crack, crack, came a fusillade from the pursuer, but it wasn’t a machine gun. One shot splintered the rim of the forward cock-pit, and again Jim dived.

“Duck,” he roared to his companion, fearing that she would be hit by a bullet. He couldn’t expect to dodge forever, for one well directed shot would cripple the plane he was flying. The two planes were circling back, and Jim did another loop; coming up behind the three of them then he zoomed at top speed toward the ceiling, for each dive had made his position more dangerous. He could see the others start to follow but he went on at top speed, and soon he was well up in the heavens, where the pale stars seemed to blink in puzzled wonder at the desperate struggle going on under their noses.

The meter read twenty-thousand feet before the Flying Buddy brought the machine into a less steep angle, but he still climbed. Calculating hastily he found they were only slightly out of their course, then at thirty-thousand feet, he leveled off and rushed forward. Glancing back he was delighted to see that he had gained considerably on the other machines, but they showed no inclination to stop. The boy wondered if the firing would attract the attention of anyone below, but even if it did he could hardly expect help to reach him.

“They are gaining, two of them. The third seems not so swift,” Arto informed him. Their own plane was going at top speed, and couldn’t be forced any more swiftly.