The Boy Scouts of the Air in Indian Land Part 29

"About four feet," he said. "Must have a spread of ten. And about five feet from the end of its beak to the tip of its tail."

"Wonder how old he is?" speculated Fred.

Just then something fell in their midst. It was a note from Herb, weighted with a heavy memorandum book.

"We've done the deed. Now for the reward," it read. "We can see something glistening like gold under a shelf in the roof. Ask Carl to get it. We'll drop the ladder."

Carl waved his hat in a.s.sent, while Herb swung the rope ladder down, attempting to hitch it at some point on the side of the gorge near the tower. At the third trial, it lodged over a projecting rock, which jutted, hooklike, from the wall of the ravine. Carl caught the other end and fastened it. The crossing did not prove as perilous as it looked, for the rope held firm, and it was an easy trick for an Indian.

After some fumbling among the shrubs, Carl disappeared, and the boys knew he must have found an entrance to the dwelling. They were right, for the Indian, through a low door obscured by shrubs, had crawled into the house of mystery. Though it was dark at first, he soon perceived a thin ray of light percolating through an opening in the roof. He was provided with matches, and lighting a few of these, he scrutinized the walls for some possible handhold by which he could mount. Directly under the aperture through which the feeble light came he struck what seemed to be poles projecting from the sides of the tower.

"A ladder," he thought, and made short work of the climb. With little difficulty he scrambled through the roof-opening to the outside of the tower. A wall about five feet high ran around the edge of the roof, along the four sides of which was a projecting shelf several feet wide.

In the center, cluttered with refuse of all kinds, was the abode of the Thunder Bird, to which he would never more return.

Under the shelf in one corner was the shining object the boys had written of. Carl uttered an exclamation of surprise and delight when he found this to be a beautiful bowl, apparently of beaten gold, measuring about fifteen inches in diameter, and set with many semi-precious stones of varied hue.

"The Holy Bowl of the Medicine Men," he said wonderingly, astonished at its seeming newness. Though it must be decades old it appeared to have been recently polished. A vague thought of the mysterious Indian flashed through Carl's mind. He jumped up on the shelf and held up to the admiring gaze of his companions below the brilliant trophy, which glittered with dazzling brightness in the sun.

A shout greeted this sign, and, after looking around without success for further relics, he tucked the bowl under his arm and descended. Again pushing through the thick foliage that had obscured the low entrance, he came out, flushed and excited, holding the prize aloft.

Suddenly the watching boys uttered a warning cry, but before he could comprehend it, Carl was seized around the waist by strong arms and thrown to the ground with violent force. The next moment he found himself grappling with the strange Indian.

CHAPTER XIX

JUMPING A PEAK

Before Carl had an opportunity to recover himself the Indian had seized the golden bowl and was making off with it at top speed. It did not take the lad long to comprehend the situation, however, and springing to his feet, he soon overtook the would-be thief. Wresting the prize from him, and throwing it to one side, Carl met the attack with the strength, ability and skill only found in strong young manhood. But the older Indian was fully a match for him, and the struggle promised to be a long and hard one if Carl were left to fight it alone.

[Ill.u.s.tration: The struggle promised to be a long and hard one if Carl were left to fight it alone. But this the other boys did not propose to allow, and they immediately began to cross on the rope ladder.]

This the other boys did not propose should be the case. Forgetting all fear for themselves in the face of Carl's danger, they immediately prepared to utilize the rope ladder, crossing even more quickly than Carl had done and surely with less caution, for their only thought was to come to the rescue of their friend.

Carl's a.s.sailant, whose every energy was strained to gain an advantage, did not hear their approach. Before he realized it he found himself helpless in the hands of the strong palefaces, his hands tied behind his back, a threatening Remington, in the hands of Jerry, pointed meaningly in his direction. He was very much the worse for wear, his face having been severely scratched across the lines of paint, and his clothes considerably disarranged.

"Well, what shall we do with him?" asked Dunk, turning to Carl. "He ought to be pitched over the ravine."

But the Indian boy's face wore a strange expression. His eyes were wide and staring, and he stood, pale and open-mouthed, regarding his helpless enemy.

"What's the matter!" cried Gray, alarmed.

Carl did not reply, but walked up to the captive, and, with a hand that shook slightly, examined something that hung on a string around his neck. Then he pulled out the charm from under his own shirt.

"Look," he said huskily.

The stones were exactly alike.

Although the older Indian betrayed no signs of surprise or emotion he broke into an angry torrent of Apache.

Carl, stepping forward, took out his hunting knife, and cut the other's bonds.

"Now get!" he commanded, allowing himself the pleasure of one strong punch at the back of the conquered redskin, who lost no time in making his get-away.

"That's my uncle," said Carl coolly. "I'm civilized and educated, or I'd kill him. Come on, let's get back."

The others thought it best not to make any further reference to the matter, and silently followed Carl, the bowl again in his possession, across the ladder spanning the cascade. At the same time the boys in the plane, who had watched the conflict with tense anxiety, started back to the Fort.

"Gee, I can't stand much more to-day," e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Fly, as they circled the tower for the last time.

"Strange what a lot can happen to a fellow in a short time," commented Herb, reviewing mentally the many adventures in which they had all been involved that summer.

"But most important of all," continued Fly, "we've laid the Thunder Bird low--we've done something for your father."

"Now the next thing is for you to teach us all to aviate," laughed the southerner. "But I don't believe I can ever handle a machine as you do."

"Sure," exclaimed Fly. "Why you--" but he stopped short with an exclamation of horror that fairly froze his companion's blood. At the same moment, Herb was conscious that something--he knew not what--had happened. The loud insistent voice of the machinery was abruptly stilled.

Looking perplexedly at Fly, he saw great drops of perspiration starting out on the young pilot's forehead. "The motor is dead," he breathed, his throat and lips going dry.

For a moment Herb's heart seemed to stop in sympathy with the mechanism that had failed them.

"Can't you volplane," he said giddily.

"Rocks, peaks, crags," sputtered Fly. Oh, if he were only over the smooth meadow. But to volplane here would mean certain death. As it was, he was sliding along at a perceptibly lessening speed. Any moment the machine might balk and rear, hurling them both to destruction.

But Fly was plucky and after the first shock he recovered his nerve, bending every energy of mind and body to maintain his balance. To keep high enough and steady enough until they left the mountains was his sole endeavor. After that, he felt confident that he could volplane with safety into the meadow. Even now he could see this haven of inviting green tantalizingly near at hand--and yet so far away. Grudgingly he was obliged to slant, else the machine would rear and wrest the control from him. But the slightest incline was too much now, for it meant landing on the rocks.

Though a fever raged in his brain, he was rapidly calculating. Someway he must save Herb. That was his predominant thought.

"I'll do it," he suddenly exclaimed through his shut teeth, at the same moment swooping down with such rapidity that his companion's head was jerked violently back, and he grabbed tight hold of his seat. Confident that the end had come, the southerner resolutely shut his eyes and relaxed.

But he was sitting rigid a moment later, for the aeroplane had shot upward again with a jerk, mounting higher and higher, until it seemed ready to tip backwards and whirl to earth like the mortally wounded Thunder Bird.

"Fly!" he implored, suddenly petrified with the fear that his companion had lost his senses and was deliberately throwing caution to the winds with hopeless recklessness.

The suspense was only for a second, although that seemed to span an eternity. At the last moment, when the plane seemed ready to tilt and somersault backwards, Fly fairly threw it forward with main force, and, as it plunged swiftly downward, he breathed a rea.s.suring sigh. Below them they saw the carpet of the meadow spread out calm and serene, a pale slender stream winding its peaceful course zigzag between flower-decked banks--gently flowing waters that would have reflected their dash to death and destruction as undisturbedly as it mirrored their safe descent.

Dizzy and faint, but almost sick with joy, they landed gently on the bosom of mother earth. Fly had taken a desperate chance to clear the peaks, and had succeeded.

"Safe!" he groaned, too weak to move from the plane. "I'm so glad, old man," he added huskily. "If anything had happened to you--"

"Why, it's a couple of boys," a cheerful voice was saying just behind them.

Herb and Fly turned to see two men approaching the plane, and, at the same moment, their eyes took in another strange sight. A hundred feet or so behind them stood another plane!