“Buddy,” Jim screamed as he clutched Bob by the collar. “They’re going to get away.” Bob looked over the side to see what it was all about, and in a moment he gave a grunt.

“Huh!” Caldwell took in the scene, then for a second he stared at his step-brother, mechanically bringing Her Highness around in a half circle. Then Jim had an idea. He pulled his note book from his pocket, fished out a pencil, and began to scribble hastily. When he had finished, Bob read the message.

‘They are crawling away under the hill and there’s a truck, Pedro’s, but it’s got a green cover, and is on an old road to the west, picking them up.

Caldwell grinned at the signature, and he was already guiding the plane toward the Mounties, who were still peppering the cliff with their rifles. A few of them on both sides were edging up through the brush, but they were not firing, and the boys guessed that they expected to close in on the bandits, feeling sure the men could not escape. Jim glanced about for a weight, but the only thing was the lunch basket, so he caught it up, saw that the cover was secure, then tied the note on the handle with his handkerchief so that it could be easily seen.

“Shoot,” Bob shouted when he was just enough below the Canadians to allow the thing to fall close by them and not force a man to expose himself to the guns at the further end.

The basket went over swiftly, spun around, tipped and tossed, and they saw it land. A man secured it without difficulty and waved an acknowledgment, while two others read the message. The boys couldn’t see what action they took, nor did they hear the shrill blast of a whistle signaling to men stationed above the ravine. Bob brought Her Highness about, and sent her over so they could get a good look at the scene in the woods. While they watched, two men slipped across the road and jumped into the back of the huge fruit truck, which was moving slowly. Caldwell clenched his fists as he realized that the fellows would surely slip through the officers’ fingers and he looked at Jim, hoping that his step-brother would have another idea, but Austin shrugged his shoulders. With anxious eyes Bob scanned the road. He noticed that the truck was nearing a point which was high and narrow. On either side rain and winter storms had dug deep gullies, leaving barely room for one vehicle of any kind to traverse it in safety.

Glancing at the altimeter, Bob read that the plane was less than a thousand feet up, so he banked, tipped Her Highness’ nose, and zoomed in a swift, steep climb. The needle pointed to twelve hundred, fifteen, eighteen, but Caldwell held her throttle wide open, going full blast and climbing at top speed. The wind shrieked through the wires and threatened to rip the wings from the fuselage, but the pilot did not stop until he was thirty-five hundred feet and some distance behind the truck. Then he leveled off and the drama beneath them looked as if it were being performed by moving dots and dashes. The plane was brought about with a protesting howl, as Caldwell looked at the globe with its tiny specks, the narrow, treacherous road and wee puffs of smoke. He made a swift calculation, came to a decision, and shut off the motor.

The sudden silence was punctuated by faint booms of the guns cracking far below, and Jim looked inquiringly at his step-brother, who was sitting calmly, but flushed as Her Highness’ tail dropped; nose tipped foremost, then began to spin slowly, held up by the force of the wind from underneath, carried forward like a leaf caught in the breeze, and irresistibly drawn down by the laws of gravitation.

Jim hadn’t the faintest idea what his step-brother hoped to gain by the reckless maneuver, but he saw that Bob had some sort of plan, and that every fibre of his tense young body was on the alert, hands and mind ready to carry out his scheme. Once they struck an air-pocket that bounced Her Highness in a most undignified manner, rolling her over on her back as if she were a kitten, but she finally tumbled out of it, and spun on and on. Once the brother’s eyes met and they grinned at each other reassuringly.

“Don’t know what you’re up to, Buddy, but I’m right with you,” said Jim.

“Thanks. You might get your parachute in case I make a fluke. It’s more likely to be that, than it is to do any good,” answered Bob, for they could speak to each other quite easily now.

“How about your own umbrella?” Jim demanded.

“It’s O. K.,” answered Bob, then added, “See that road?”

“I can’t help see it.”

“Think there is room—I mean think it’s wide enough so we can get into it without smashing the wings?”

“Ask me another. It’s pretty narrow.” Jim studied the situation. “That truck is wide and there’s quite a space on each side, but it will take some fancy landing to get the wheels on the road and miss those trees at the side. They grow like a wall, and as they are coming up to meet us, they look like the bottom of a nice torture chamber bristling with sharpened spikes.”

“Nothing wrong with the picture. Keep your eyes on that truck of Pedro’s. I’m going to try to drop in front of it. They can’t get by, or turn back, and all I hope to do is delay them, but that may help, if I do it. Keep a sharp lookout and tell me if I’m going too far either side. I don’t want to get far ahead of them, not more than a few feet,” Bob explained.

“Bully idea, old man. If we smash up, I’ll meet you at the gate. If you need any help, I’ll tell St. Peter you’re a good kid and to let you in,” Jim promised gravely.

“Go on. I’ll have to do some tall lying to get him even to look at you,” Bob retorted. “Here goes.”

He started to manipulate the controls, slowly bringing Her Highness as he wanted her, and Jim scanned the scene ahead. He could see movement in the brush, men crawling or running on hands and knees, but not a uniform was in sight. He noted one thing in particular for which he was thankful. No one seemed to have noticed the falling plane, and that might be in their favor. Also, he thought ruefully, it might not. If the Mounties heard them dropping out of the sky, it would direct them more quickly to the road, but he thought of those men, armed to the teeth, desperate to get away, and he didn’t try to imagine what they would do to the plane and the boys who threatened to frustrate their plans.

Austin had read of terrific battles with rum-runners who fought to the last ditch for their lives and stopped at nothing, and now he knew that if Her Highness was not hung in those spear-like pines, or wrecked on the treacherous road, the men behind them would instantly open fire and riddle them with bullets before they could move in the cock-pit. He glanced about for a sign of the Canadian officers, but not one did he see, and by now they were so close to the ground that his range of vision was very limited.

Then Bob brought Her Highness out of the spin, glided forward, her float ends scraping the edge of the truck as it slipped over, then, in another breathless second they were over the road, the wheels touched the ground, raced forward a few rods, slowed down, and at last came to a dead stop.

“Hey, what the blazes do you think you’re doing?” It was the belligerent voice of the driver and did not sound at all like the musical tones of Pedro. Jim looked back while Bob loosened the safety strap, but did not get out of it.

“Hop over and tinker about,” Bob directed, and Jim obeyed.

“You get out of the way,” bellowed Pedro.

“Oh, hello, Old Man,” Jim called good naturedly. “Our engine stalled. Guess we got something in it. Maybe you can give me a hand.”

“I got no time. Get out of the way, fast. I’m in a hurry.”

“Sorry, we won’t be a minute.” Bob was also struggling in the cock-pit as if something was out of order, and after a minute, during which Pedro made the air blue with curses, he got back in his seat.

“Guess we got it,” he shouted. “Beastly sorry to keep you.” Bob tried out the motor. It thundered smooth as silk, the plane moved a few inches, coughed apologetically, then stopped.

“Come on, now, old girl,” Bob coaxed, and again he set the motor humming, but the propeller hung idle. Caldwell did not dare to move forward until he was ready to fly, for there wasn’t a foot to spare on the road ahead, which curved sharply. Frantically the step-brothers tried out this and that, including the compass, but it didn’t seem to help them a bit, and they were afraid to look over their shoulders at the fuming truck-man.

“What’s the matter with her?” Pedro hadn’t been able to sit still a moment longer, so he climbed from his seat and strode along the gully to the cock-pit.

“Hanged if I know. She never acted this way before,” Jim answered innocently, and the man scowled savagely.

“What you doing here anyway?” Pedro persisted.

“Great guns,” Bob looked up into the man’s face. “Didn’t you see us stall up there, and come down tail spinning! You are darned lucky we didn’t smash up in front of you, that would have been something to cuss about. It takes hours to clear up a busted plane and she digs a hole in the ground ten feet deep. That would have held you up good and proper. Now, get back to your bus, we’ll fix this thing as fast as we can and be out of your way.”

“You kids look here.” Pedro shook his fist in Bob’s face. “You be out of here by the time I get my engine started, or I send you both to hell, fast, more fast than your plane,” he promised.

“Thanks a lot, Old Timer. Every little favor is greatly appreciated,” Bob answered, and he scowled quite as fiercely as the Canuck.

“And if you send us to hell this afternoon, maybe we won’t be lonesome,” Jim added. “Can you run a plane?”

“No,” Pedro snapped savagely.

“Well, we can, but not if we’re ghosts. Put that in your peace pipe and get on your own wave length. You don’t own this end of Canada. What are you doing here? If you can answer that, I’ve got another to ask you and it’s right on the tip of my tongue—”

“Stick your tongue out at him,” Bob suggested.

“I’d rather punch his jaw, I don’t like his face. Give me that wrench and I’ll tap him for sap, he’s full of it. Run along, old boy—don’t you know your onions, or haven’t you got any this load?” Jim demanded.

“You get out of the way.”

“You go back to your bus, you make us nervous so we can’t tell whether the tail ensemble is in front or back—”

“You get out—” Pedro insisted, and then as the boys merely stared at him, he started toward the truck, and through a slit in the big car, Jim caught a glimpse of a man’s face, and heard a soft signaling whistle as some one called the driver to his seat. Quickly the big fellow climbed up, and Jim, realizing that trouble was close by, buckled his safety strap, while Bob too made ready for a quick get-away.

“If I keep the engine going, it will locate us for those Mounties, but they’re afoot, or horseback, and can’t come so fast,” Bob whispered.

“Start the noise and I’ll watch behind. If I give you a kick in the ribs, lift us up,” Jim replied under his breath. In a moment more the engine was racing again, then it really did stop, but this time it was by accident and looked as if it was too surprised to go, for at that instant, Bob caught sight of uniforms, and a sharp command was issued.

“Climb down out of that, Pedro.” The boys looked back and saw the truck-driver’s face turn green with terror. “Lively now, no funny business.” Pedro literally tumbled to the ground, his legs shaking as if he had the ague, and his teeth chattering.

“I—I wasn’t touching ’em,” he stammered.

“Sure, I know you didn’t, but you were impolite to American citizens and you ought to know better. Stand on your feet.” Then the boys saw more than a dozen silent figures surrounding the truck.

“I didn’t lay a hand on ’em,” Pedro declared.

“It’s well for you that you didn’t send them to hell as you promised. What are you doing here and what have you got a green cover on your bus for? You went down the line this morning and you aren’t reported back yet. Come, explain yourself.” The man was on horseback and evidently the chief of the outfit. Jim guessed that he was playing for a few minutes to give his men time to close in, then he snapped again, “Cuff him. You boys let fly.” Immediately the truck wagon was literally alive with men swarming over it. The doors at both ends were jerked open, and in another second, crouching outlaws were being tumbled over each other. Some of them opened fire, but their guns were knocked out of their hands, and in less time than it takes to tell about it, the fight was over. Fifteen prisoners were lined up on the road, while the officer looked at them calmly.

“Put them back in and take them along.” The crowd was bundled back, this time each was securely handcuffed, then a familiar voice called from the woods.

“We got the last of them out of the hole, Chief. What shall we do with them?”

“Pile them in here,” the Chief answered, then, as the group came stumbling forward, the man went on, but his voice was stern, “These your Texas friends, Bradshaw?”

“Yes sir,” Bradshaw replied quickly.

“You’d better bring them to headquarters for obstructing traffic.”

“All right, sir,” Bradshaw agreed. “What’ll we do with Her Highness? Put her under arrest?”

“Who is Her Highness?”

“The bus. I was introduced a few days ago.”

“Thought United States didn’t like nobility.” There was a tiny smile on the chief’s lips and a twinkle in his eyes. “How do you explain the title, Bradshaw?”

“I don’t know, sir, unless they are of Irish descent—”

“We are not,” Jim declared positively.

“You’ve done devilment enough today to be pure-bloods,” Bradshaw informed them. The chief dismounted and came close to the fuselage and held out his hand.

“I want to thank you for your devilment, boys,” he smiled and they both thought he was a grand looking man, the sort one reads about.

“We didn’t do much of anything,” Jim stammered.

“We like Canada,” Bob added for he was less fussed and shook the officer’s hand vigorously.

“If we’ve helped, we’re mighty glad,” Jim drawled, then went on, “But we’d have been wash-outs if it hadn’t been for Her Highness. I think being among nobility made her do her job extra well.”

“No doubt. Is she all right, or has something gone wrong with her?”

“Her Highness is fine as silk,” Bob declared emphatically. “Nothing is the matter with her, Sir.”

“Glad to hear it. Now, can you get her out of this trap?”

“Surely. It’ll be a close shave, but she’ll do it.”

“All right. Wish you would and let the truck by. And, next time you are in Canada, look me up, there’s something important I want to show you,” the chief told them.

“We’ll be mighty glad to see you—”

“But we’re not coming if it’s one of those parties with all the world looking on,” Jim added quickly. The chief laughed.

“We’ll spare your feelings, but if you’ll come, we’d be glad to have you dine with us some evening, only just our own crowd—all these fellows you know, and the cook.”

“That’ll be fun,” Jim agreed.

“We’ll let you know some night when we’re not having corned-beef and cabbage. So long.”

“So long.” Bob opened her up, the engine thundered, the propeller whirled madly. Her Highness slid forward, lifted, cleared the curve gracefully, zoomed and climbed. Both boys waved at the men, and a moment later Jim saw the truck load of outlaws being driven to some unknown point. That is, the point was not known to the boys, but they knew it was a good strong jail.

“It’s been quite a day. Anything left in that basket?” Jim asked through the tube.

“Left in the basket! Well, if there is the squirrels are eating it back there in that ravine. You nut, you threw it overboard with your note,” Bob answered.

“Great guns, so I did, and it’s your Aunt’s basket. Say, hop down in some town and let’s buy another for her,” Jim urged.

“Oh she won’t mind, there’s no hurry. We can get her one when we drive to North Hero,” Bob objected.

“I know she won’t mind, but just the same, let’s get another to take back with us, and something because we lost the napkins and dishes,” Jim insisted.

“Say, what’s your rush?” Bob demanded impatiently.

“We want a basket again, don’t we? Don’t we want to go up tomorrow? Well, we can’t lose all your aunt’s baskets and expect her to pack grub stakes for us, can we?” Jim answered.

“That’s so. We better get her a couple,” Bob agreed quickly. He consulted the map. “St. John’s is the nearest,” he announced, so gravely he turned Her Highness’ nose in the direction of the town, because, when the matter was put to him that way, he could see the need of keeping Mrs. Fenton supplied with baskets.