  The road to Tombstone was narrow, rutty and lonesome. Every now and then it dipped down into a gravelly wash, arroyos in the making, that were, year after year, being deepened by the torrents that rushed down the not-distant mountain sides after a cloudburst. Along the banks of these dry creek-beds grew low cottonwood trees, making shelters behind which bandits might lurk if they were so inclined. But the girls, having been assured by Jerry that the train robbers had long since crossed the Mexican border, were not really fearful. For once, even Mary was not using her imagination to a frightening extent. “Big Brother,” she said, “I was just thinking about that aviator friend of Patsy’s. Don’t you think it must be wonderful to be flying at night up under those lovely white stars? They look so close to the earth here in Arizona as though Harry Hulbert might almost have to weave his way among them.” Jerry, evidently more desirous of talking of stars than of the aviator of the “Seagull,” stated matter-of-factly, “It’s the clear air here that makes the stars look so large and close—sort of like lanterns hung in a blue-black roof over our heads.” Just then a huge star shot across the heavens leaving a trail of fire. Mary whirled to call back, “Oh, Dora, did you wish on that shooting star?” “Nope! Didn’t see it!” was the laconic reply. “Did you?” Jerry asked in a low voice. How he hoped Mary had echoed his wish, but what she said was, “Yes, I hoped the Seagull would make a safe landing. It must be terribly dangerous landing among so many mountain peaks, or, one might even be forced down in the middle of a barren stretch of desert, oh, miles from water or anyone!” If Jerry were disappointed, he made no comment. Dora leaned forward to call, “From the top of the next little hill we’d ought to be able to see the lights of Tombstone, hadn’t we, Jerry?” “I reckon we will, lest be the power plant’s out of commission.” The rather feeble lights of the rattly old car did little to illumine the well of darkness in which they were riding. The wash they were crossing was wide and deep and the girls were both glad when they climbed that last little hill and were nearer the stars again. From the top, they could see the black wall of mountains to the distant right of them, which Jerry had called “The Dragoons.” A desert valley at its foot stretched away for many miles shimmering in the starlight. Not far ahead of them was a cluster of sand hills—“the silver hills”—on which stood the small mining-town of Tombstone. The power plant was in order, as was evidenced by the twinkling of lights. A friendly group of them marked the main street, and scattered lights, farther and farther apart, were shining from the windows of homes. Down the little hill the car dropped, then began the last long climb up to the town. On the main street there were unshaven, roughly dressed men, some from the range, others from the mines, loitering about in front of a lighted pool hall. They were talking, some of them excitedly, about the recent train robbery. Jerry drew his car to the curb and leaped out. Three young cowboys called a greeting to him. He replied in a friendly way, but turned at once to assist Mary. Dick and Dora followed the other two into a low adobe building labeled “Post Office.” A light was burning in a small back room. Jerry opened the door and entered. A middle-aged man, whose gauntness suggested that he had come there to be cured of the “white plague,” smiled affably. “Evening, Jerry-boy,” he said. “Wait till I get this message. The wires are keeping hot tonight along of that train robbery.” The uneven clicking of the instrument ended; the man scribbled a few words, called a lounging boy from a dark corner and dispatched him to Sheriff Goode. Jerry introduced his companions to Mr. Hale, then explained the object of their visit. Mr. Hale shook his head. “Well, that’s just too bad,” he said. “I happen to know that Gray Bluffs country well. Stopped off when I first came West, health-hunting, but it didn’t agree with me there; nothing like this Tombstone shine and air to make sick lungs well.” His tanned face and bright eyes told his enthusiasm, but he added quickly, “That won’t interest you any. What I started to say is that Gray Bluffs isn’t a real town, that is not now. It was, of course, when they first found gold in the bluffs, but it petered out, the post office moved to another place and so did the folks who’d lived there.” “Did you ever hear of a woman named Burger over there?” Jerry asked. “Sure! That was the name of the postmistress, Miss Kate Burger. She died, though, along about five years ago.” Just then the instrument began an excited clicking. The operator turned his attention to it. “Say, that’s great!” he ejaculated as though addressing whoever was sending the message. “Oh, Mr. Hale, have they caught the robbers?” Mary asked eagerly. “No, not that.” The man was scribbling rapidly. “Say, hasn’t that kid—oh, here you are, Trombone. Take this back to the Deputy Sheriff’s office. Dep’s been loco all day.” Then to the interested listeners, he explained, “He’d been promised the help of an air scout from the East; thought maybe he’d had a smashup; was due this morning early. Well, that last message was from the head office of the border patrol. The air scout will be along any time now.” “Oh, Mr. Hale, is his name Harry Hulbert?” Mary, her pretty cheeks flushed, listened eagerly for the answer. “Don’t know! Haven’t heard! Say, Jerry.” The man looked up quickly, and Dora thought she’d never seen such keen, eagle-like eyes. “You boys had better drop out the back way if you can. Dep Goode is rounding up all the able-bodied fellows he can find for the next posse that’s to start as soon as this air pilot does a little scouting.” Mary, suddenly panicky at the idea, caught the cowboy’s arm. “Oh, Big Brother,” she cried, forgetting that the name would sound strange to a man who knew that Jerry had no sisters, “can’t we get away somehow before we’re seen?” Jerry looked at her tenderly, but shook his head. “No, I cain’t dodge my duty. I must volunteer!” Then, to the other boy, “Dick, you drive the girls back to Gleeson, will you? I reckon the Deputy Sheriff’ll let you off. He isn’t after tenderfoot help, meaning no harm, they’d be more of a hindrance.” Dick flushed, but knowing that Jerry always meant whatever he said in the kindest way, he expressed his disappointment. “Oh, I say, Jerry, can’t I come back after I’ve taken the girls home? I’d like awfully well to hang around and watch what happens. I’ll promise not to get underfoot or be in the way.” Before Jerry could reply, Mary caught his coat sleeve and exclaimed, her eyes like stars, “Hark, don’t you hear an airplane?” They all listened and heard distinctly from above the hum of a motor. Dick sprang toward the door. “Come on, everyone, let’s be among those present on the reception committee,” he said. Then, remembering his manners, he stepped back and held the door open for the girls to pass out. “Good night, Mr. Hale, and thanks a lot,” Mary called with her sweetest smile. “Hope you’ll all drop in again.” The man had only time to nod before his attention was again called to the busy little instrument. Out in the street, there were many more men. As the news of the robbery had spread by horseback riders and remote ranch telephones, men had galloped into town eager to offer their services. Now they all stood or sat their horses, silent, for the most part, as they watched the great silver bird which was slowly circling round and round over their heads. The moon had risen above distant peaks and was high enough to make the street dimly lighted. “Oh, it must be Harry!” Mary whispered excitedly as she clutched Jerry’s arm not knowing that she did so. “That plane is as silvery as a seagull, just as Patsy and Polly wrote us.” “Wonder why he doesn’t land,” Dick commented. “I reckon there isn’t but one safe landing place in this town, and that’s right here where the crowd is standing. This square, out front of the post office, has been landed on before now.” “See! Something’s falling from the plane.” Dora pointed upward. “It’s a small something! What can it be?” The object fell like a plummet and landed at their feet. “It’s an aluminum bottle. Oh, look! There’s a note attached to it.” Dora picked it up. “Here comes Deputy Sheriff Goode,” Jerry told the others. “Give it to me! I’ll hand it to him.” The Deputy Sheriff’s restless horse did not stop prancing while the man opened and read the note. Then he flung it to the ground, pocketing the small bottle. Dick, feeling sure that the message had not been of a private nature, picked it up and with the aid of his flash he read: “Whirl a lantern, will you, where I’m supposed to land. A. S. H. H.” “A. S. means air scout, of course,” Dick said. “And H. H. is Harry Hulbert. Oh, Dora, think of our meeting Patsy’s aviator.” Mary’s eyes were shining with excitement. Jerry could not help hearing Dora’s reply. “Not Patsy’s!” was said teasingly. “Remember this young hero was chosen for you.” “Oh, silly!” Mary retorted, but her rebuke did not seem to be voicing displeasure. “Move back! Move back everyone! Scuttle! Five seconds to clear this square!” Cowmen on horseback were acting as mounted police and were so effective that in short order the big square was vacant and ready for the landing. |
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