Young Austin waited eagerly for the photo record of certain observations made every day in the laboratory. In a moment the film had rolled to the beginning of the picture and after a few preliminary scenes passed, Jim saw the buildings of the Gordon ranch appear, one after the other. There were the barns, corrals, bunkhouse, the ancient home and the root house a short distance away. Beyond, the cliff rose in ragged ridges to the strip of table land which the boy knew so well. He saw Carl Summers, the deputy, gun on his arm, and snowshoes on his feet, moving cautiously as he made his rounds of the place in search of a sign of the return of Arthur. The picture passed from the young chap to other sections, lingered an instant on Pigeon Jute following the deputy, and at last it revealed the outlaw emerging stealthily from a long, tumbled-down building. Through the open door could be seen a pile of furniture, and as they watched, Gordon returned to the room where he fell to work piling the stuff into a deep hole at the further end. That done, the young man covered it with burlap, earth, and finally snow so that it looked as if it had been undisturbed and that the drifts had come down through the broken sections of the roof.

“What do you know about that!” The boy exclaimed in astonishment, but Don Haurea was occupied with something at the further end of the room and made no reply. Keenly interested, Jim continued his observation, and at last he followed Gordon into the old root-house where Summers had made his headquarters. The sheriff’s assistant was nowhere near the spot, and Gordon gave it an indifferent inspection. He hurried to the end, moved the partition, and quickly stepped inside. He went at once to the wall, which was later blown out, removed a section cleverly covered with dirt, and then stepped hastily into the strange vault-like room, where he pulled out numerous record books, ran his fingers through them as if in search for something, which he did not find. He examined the wall, then proceeded to tear the papers.

At this point the picture changed and Jim found himself watching a group of men who were apparently in some part of Don Haurea’s laboratory. They too were interested in observing Arthur Gordon’s actions, but that part of the record moved to another point in the laboratory, where two men were busy before a huge piece of machinery, with a complicated looking set of dials and wheels. One of the men who had been watching Gordon came close to them. He seemed to be giving some directions, and Jim saw a pointer set, other wheels turned, then a small tube of liquid was poured into a grooved opening, and the men waited. Again the scene changed and Austin saw the new airplane land on the cliff, and he watched with interest every move which he knew the four of them had made right up to the minute when they left the dug-out with Carl and Jute running on ahead. Their own part in what followed was cut off; the picture showed the men in the laboratory and as they stood before the mysterious machine they were observing the inside of the dug-out.

Gordon was coming stealthily out of the small armoured room. He stopped to listen at every step, then he heard an odd whirring and jumped forward as if he recognized the sound as a warning, or as if he had stepped on a powerful spring. He leaped furiously to the partition, sprang out, raced through the room, his hand pressed over his face, then came the rumble, the place shook, the further end boomed and heaved convulsively, while the young fellow ran for his life until he reached the cliff, tore madly toward the plane, stopping barely an instant to fire at Kramer. In a moment he was jumping into the cock-pit, but Jute caught his ankle. With an oath, Gordon kicked out and fired, started the engine and the plane leaped into the air. The Indian was in a heap on the snow but he crawled painfully between the crevices.

“Oh, now I know why you examined those crevices.” The Don had joined him and he nodded quietly.

“I thought the Indian would have a camp in the woods somewhere and would get to it, but I decided to make sure before we left last night.”

“Then the place was exploded from here?”

“Yes. Gordon was ready to leave and he had a bomb which he was setting. He intended it to go off while Summers was alone so the young fellow would be blown to pieces. Unfortunately we had to wait until you boys and Mr. Kramer were a safe distance away, then when we disturbed the bomb, it made a slight noise, which Gordon recognized, so he ran for his life and managed to save it. He rigged up the explosive earlier in the day and was going to start it while Carl was making his rounds, so we decided to let the destructive thing be his own undoing; it seemed the surest way of getting him.”

“Did you tell the sheriff he was there?” Jim asked.

“No. In order to do that we should have to explain how we knew the fellow was there and it isn’t wise to reveal to the layman something he cannot understand. We did hope to trap Gordon in such a way that he could be captured, but when he showed the determination to kill young Summers, we had to act quickly,” the Don explained, then added, “I am very glad that your airplane has been found.”

“So am I. We miss the bird no end.”

“Well, now you understand exactly what took place, shall we turn our attention to aeronautics?”

“Yes, sir, and I’d like to watch those chemical experiments.”

“Very good.” Presently the boy was seated in his own corner of the great laboratory, a huge book on the table before him, and a collection of shiny instruments and test-tubes waiting for use. He glanced at the array affectionately, gave his head a little shake as he thought how much he wanted to accomplish, then he set grimly to work, forgetting everything else in the world. It wasn’t until Don Haurea touched him on the shoulder to remind him that the hours had passed, that he glanced away from his work.

“Zargo will run you home,” he offered.

“Thank you, sir.”

The next two days were uneventful, although they were full of suppressed excitement because they were the last before Christmas, and on every huge ranch great preparations were going forward for the holiday. Kramer improved rapidly, and so did Jute, and at last the great date arrived. Homes were decorated with greens, extra bells were attached to harnesses, and cooks were putting the last touches on feasts which were to be spread in homes and bunkhouses. The repaired plane had arrived from the shop early Christmas Eve, and the Flying Buddies went gleefully off to Crofton for newspapers and mail, to say nothing of packages which had accumulated at the post office. They came back as laden as a pair of Santa Clauses, and the entire evening was spent in preparations for the next day. No word had come from the sheriff, so the boys knew that young Gordon had made good his escape. Not even a trace of the parachute had been discovered.

Every man working at the Cross-Bar and the K-A was at headquarters for the festival, and because of the tenderfoot guest, a special party was being arranged—a real wild-west affair with rodeo exhibitions such as only real wild west men can put on successfully. The Austin family, even if there were no little members, were up betimes, and Mom insisted that breakfast be eaten before presents were opened. Everybody was in high spirits, and the air was filled with shouted greetings which lingered in the clear atmosphere. The meal was barely finished when from somewhere came the familiar drone of a racing motor. The Flying Buddies glanced at each other, then by one impulse ran out to see who might be arriving by airplane. It took only a moment to locate the tiny speck in the blue which they watched as interestedly as if they were a pair of small boys. Cap Rock was too far west for them ever to see the air-mail-men, and pilots flew their planes over that section very rarely.

“Gosh, she’s a bird,” Bob exclaimed.

“Looks as if she’s pure silver,” Jim added, and in the bright sunshine the plane did look exactly like that, highly polished. She was rapidly getting nearer, but as yet they could not make out her pilot. However, they did not think much about that for the machine was two thousand feet up and the man was probably protecting himself from the cold. Without diminishing her speed she came straight toward them and in a moment they decided that she was going to pass over, but to their surprise she executed a wide graceful curve, dipped as if she were making a salute, banked, zoomed swiftly, curved again, dived and began to descend in narrowing spirals.

“She’s decorated like a Christmas tree,” Bob laughed. “Somebody’s coming to our party.”

“Somebody is a lucky guy if he owns that machine,” Jim gasped in admiration. The motor had stopped and the beautiful plane was dropping lightly into the clear space only a few feet away from the house. With one impulse the boys leaped across the veranda, slid over the frozen snow, and stopped at the same moment the plane did. Then they stared at the stranger, and at length, stared at each other.

“There isn’t anyone in her,” exclaimed Jim incredulously. They were standing by the fuselage, the cock-pit had a special transparent cover, but no one was seated before the controls.

“See in the back.” There were two cock-pits, the machine was a four-passenger, or three-passenger beside the pilot, and the Flying Buddies walked around her, but the back was as empty as the front. They even glanced at the rigging expecting to discover someone hanging on, but not a soul did they see.

“Tell you what, bet somebody lost her. Remember, that’s the way our plane came down, or it came something like that,” Bob declared.

“Sure. Well, we can soon find out about her. Gosh, isn’t she a beauty, Buddy!”

“Boys, bring your guest inside,” Mom called from the veranda. “You haven’t your big coats on.”

“Be with you in a minute,” Bob answered.

“By George, she looks as if she might have been made for Lindbergh.” It took them only a moment to find a pair of small latches on the outside of the cock-pit cover, but before they lifted it, Bob exclaimed.

“I say, if anyone jumped out of this he was mighty particular to close the roof after him.”

“That’s so, but perhaps it snaps shut.” They lifted the cover, much as they would lift the hood of an automobile, and they saw that the main section folded into a long narrow space. Everything about the plane was brand new. The seats were heavy shiny brown leather with lighter shade trimmings. In front of the pilot’s seat the control board looked, at first glance, like any other machine’s, but on closer inspection they found it was equipped with several extra dials and indicators. On each side of the cock-pit were a pair of long slender glasses. There was a radio, for receiving and transmitting, speaking tube, hamper for the traveler’s convenience. The mirror was the shape of a globe and it had a reflector to cut off any part, or act as a protection for the whole sphere. It looked to the boys as if the altitude meter registered not only the height above the sea level, but it would automatically change according to the nature of the territory over which it would fly.

“Why, Buddy!!!” Jim discovered a long white envelope hanging on one of the parachute buckles and he detached it carefully.

“Does it give the chap’s name?”

“I’ll—why Buddy!” That was all Austin could say and he held out the envelope, which he had turned over. “Look!” Caldwell stared, and read mechanically. “‘Merry Christmas to the Flying Buddies’—Flying?—Why Jim, that’s—great guns—it can’t be our—Say, what’s inside that envelope?” Jim was already opening it. He took out a folded sheet of heavy paper that looked like some sort of parchment. Swiftly he scanned the lines, then he jumped ten feet into the air and gave a whoop which bounded and rebounded like a ball. Bob caught the sheet from his hand and read.

“Flying Buddies: Christmas
Gentlemen:

I hope to find a place in your hearts and that I shall be permitted to serve you through many happy excursions above the world. No man of your race has ever ridden in such a plane, but I am built so that you will miss none of the pleasure of good piloting. If you will be seated and replace the cover, it will be my pleasure to show you something extra in joy-rides.

I have no name, so I can only sign myself, at your service!”

“Come a-hopping, Buddy,” Jim shouted. He jumped into the cock-pit, but Bob hesitated. “What is it?” he demanded.

“You haven’t a coat on.”

“The cabin is as warm as toast. Hustle, me brave lad, you are retarding progress, which is sinful.” Bob took the second seat, which was adjusted exactly the right size and shape, and Jim swiftly closed the cover. The motor began to purr gently, like a dozen contented lion cubs, and the plane lifted, spiraling in close circles until it reached a thousand feet, then the nose was turned north and she shot forward at a speed of nearly two hundred miles an hour. Austin was busily examining the paraphernalia on the board before his eyes, while Bob was simply too puzzled to do anything more than sit back and wonder if he was experiencing some sort of fantastic dream. In ten minutes the machine was dropping lightly in the Haurea front yard, where the Flying Buddies saw Zargo and the Don waiting for them.

“You did not fear to accept the invitation,” Don Haurea smiled as Jim shoved the cover from over the cock-pit.

“Not so that you could notice it,” Jim declared. “Wow, what a bird.” “Glad you like it.”

“Who wouldn’t! Golly, Don Haurea, it’s a wonderful present, but it’s pretty steep—”

“Don’t you like it?”

“Crazy about it.”

“My son and I both feel that the several services you Flying Buddies have rendered us certainly warrant some token—”

“Token, great heavens, Don Haurea—oh, but she’s a beauty. How did you send her over and bring her back?” Bob demanded.

“A very simple little instrument. You will notice one of the dials is a little different color from the other controls. It is now set, in time as it were, with a section of our plant here, and was controlled from the laboratory. You have demonstrated that part; we will show you the ordinary method of plane piloting in a very few minutes. One thing I shall ask is that you do not mention the fact that she is equipped to operate from a central power-control. There are five stations in the world from which she can be directed, and in an emergency, even though she ran out of gas she could be kept up. I’d suggest that you keep the dial turned to the lowest notch, that will tune-in whenever you are flying, and in case of accident it may save you some trouble.”

“Jinks,” Bob whistled.

“May I ask where the power control comes from? but I suppose it comes from here,” Jim said.

“It did for today’s demonstration. There are five stations in the world; four beside this one of mine. One is in South America, one in India, one in China, and the other in England.”

“I suppose there are more planes like this one,” remarked Jim.

“A few.”

“Well, jinks—I don’t know how to thank you.”

“Just the same, we do think it’s mighty good of you—”

“That’s all that is necessary. Now, I must go inside. Zargo will tell you how she works, then I expect, although I regret that you cannot pay me a visit this morning, that you would better get back, for you are A.W.O.L., and Mrs. Austin will be anxious.”

“She sure will, and Jim, they are waiting to open the packages,” Bob reminded his step-brother. “We’ll hustle.” It took Zargo only a few minutes to point out the different parts and explain their use. At last the two were again closed in the snug little cabin and Jim was in the pilot’s seat. He had no difficulty getting home, but when they dropped down by their own house, the elder Austins were looking for them.

“See what Santa Claus brought us,” Bob shouted. Then the gift had to be admired, and although the two grown-ups thought it was a pretty extravagant one, they could not protest against its acceptance.

“It looks to me as if I shall certainly have to learn to fly if the other plane is neglected for I expect that you boys will scorn my purchase,” Mr. Austin told them.

“We do not scorn your purchase, Dad, but learning to fly isn’t a half bad idea. While Mr. Kramer is here, why not have him give you lessons? He’ll be glad to.”

“And Mom, too,” Bob added.

“That is an excellent idea,” Mrs. Austin agreed heartily. “I have read of women doing remarkably well and I should like to try.” “Hurrah for you,” the boys shouted.

“We still have unopened packages,” she reminded them, so they trooped into the house, and presently were having a gala time as gifts were distributed by Bob, who was rather glad that he was the youngest member of the family, therefore entitled to that privilege.

After the feast early in the afternoon, they wrapped Mr. Kramer warmly in blankets so he couldn’t possibly take cold, then he was seated on the fence of the corral from which vantage point he could have a first class view of the rodeo put on by the men of the K-A and the Cross-Bar ranches. Jim brought him some peanuts, so it would seem like a real circus, and the young man from the north announced when the last horse had made his bow, that it was the best he had ever witnessed.

“Seeing a horse do stunts like that makes me admire them no end, but it also makes me feel that I am more at home in a plane. They do not buck and snort—”

“They don’t,” Bob interrupted. “I say, where did you learn to fly? In a kindergarten? The ones Buddy and I were taken up in did more kinds of fan-fishing, and jumping than any bronc.”

“Well, of course they do put you through a course of stunts,” Kramer grinned.

“And you have to do that for Dad and Mom,” Jim announced.

“I shall be very glad to do so.”