The Boy Scouts of the Air in Indian Land Part 7

"Why, I mean that I want you boys to help me build it," replied the aviator coolly, watching out of the corner of his twinkling eyes for the effect his words would have on the boys.

"What's that?" cried the astonished Dunk, unconsciously digging his heels into his pony, which reared, and started off at a brisk canter.

Mr. Hawke smiled broadly. He was growing more and more fond of the enthusiastic and manly Fort Bayard boys, and was especially amused at Dunk's frank expressions.

After going a few rods, the latter got control of his horse and slowed the animal down for the rest of the party to catch up.

"Do you really mean that?" asked Fly with flashing eyes, when they were all riding quietly again.

"Why not? We can get the material here in a week or less. Then we can probably find a machine shop around here to work in, and, when we need it, build a hangar of our own."

"Gee, that sounds bully," exclaimed Jerry.

"You can use our place," volunteered Fly. "We've got all kinds of tools, a bellows and most everything you'd need, I guess."

"An aeroplane could almost be built in a carpenter shop," replied Mr.

Hawke. "There's very little metal on them. Mostly good strong spruce, bamboo and well-seasoned woods of different kinds."

"What a chance that would be," reflected Fly, more to himself than anybody in the party. "But, what if it shouldn't be a bird after all?"

he asked suddenly, his face growing grave and anxious. "Then we wouldn't need an aeroplane and everything would go to smash."

Instantly a cloud seemed to fall over the faces of all the boys, as they looked instinctively at Mr. Hawke. The latter found the sudden change in affairs too much for his humorous vein, and with a hearty laugh he dispelled the gloom as quickly as it had gathered.

"We'll cross that bridge when we come to it," he said, finally regaining composure.

"Give Fly a good punch, Dunk," exclaimed Jerry. "You're next to him."

"There ain't no use in you givin' us all cold feet like that, Fly,"

admonished Dunk, by way of complying with Jerry's request.

"Oh, it just seems too good to be true," defended Fly. "I think I must be moving in a pipe dream."

"Leave it to Mr. Hawke," a.s.sured Fred.

"By the way," said the aviator genially; "Hawke is good enough for me.

Cut out the _Mister_."

"All right, Hawke," returned Fly, with a strong accent on the name.

The path turned to the left at that point, and took them through a rather scant growth of pine trees. The boys welcomed this meager shade, which was the first cool spot they had reached since leaving the Fort.

They stopped under the trees for a few minutes, and turned aside from the main road while a large freight wagon, loaded several feet above its top and covered with canvas, pa.s.sed, drawn by six strong horses. It was followed by a smaller two-horse wagon. Both of the drivers were Greasers.

"What you got on there," yelled Dunk mischievously.

The Mexicans replied with a curious glance, and one of them gave the usual, "No sabe!"

After wiping their perspiring faces with their handkerchiefs, the boys and Hawke pulled out from under the trees and rode out into the sun again. It was not an unusually warm day for New Mexico, but warm enough to give them some discomfort.

"We might go out of our way a little and get a drink at the river over here," suggested Dunk.

"We'll have something better'n that to drink when we get to Phipps' I bet," answered Jerry scornfully. "He always treats us great whenever we go over there--and besides, we got company to-day."

"I don't want to say nothin'," interjected Fly, who had been thinking on the subject since his last remark. "But I do hope it is a bird."

"Say, you joy-killer, you calamity howler, cut that out, will you?"

Jerry pulled his pony over and gave Fly a jab in the ribs. "If you don't quit, this will turn into a funeral procession. I'm gettin' cold feet already."

At that moment Carlito, who had been riding silently a little in advance of the others, spurred up his pony, and with a hasty "I think I see something," dashed on ahead.

After a moment of surprise and hesitation, the others galloped after him. Carlito did not go far, however, but before he stopped the others saw what he was after. When he pulled up, four or five chattering magpies flew complainingly from the ground, where they had been feeding on a dead lamb.

Carl slipped off his pony and the others followed his example. The party gathered around the Indian, who was stooping over the animal and examining it closely. It was frightfully torn under the belly and its back was broken.

"There's been somethin' doin' in the sheep stealin' line again," said Jerry. "What do you think about it, Carl?"

"It's so badly smashed up I can't tell much, but it does look to me as if there were marks of claws--large claws," answered the Indian finally.

"But I can't tell for sure."

"This must be one of the B. P. herd," conjectured Dunk.

"Does it look like some bird had him?" asked Fly, eager to settle the doubt which had arisen.

"It looks like talons, all right. But I can't say positive. He's too riddled. I'll look around."

Carl separated himself from the circle and patrolled the ground round about.

"If there was any tracks the rain last night washed them away," he said finally, satisfied that nothing could be learned by further search.

"There could be no tracks of a bird, could there?" asked Hawke.

"If it's a big one, sometimes there's the sweep of the wings when they bear down on something."

"Well, let's ride on and see what Mr. Phipps has to say about it,"

suggested Dunk, after they had thoroughly inspected the animal a second time.

It was a hot, dusty and rather excited party that greeted Herb half an hour later at the B. P. corral.

"Lost any sheep last night?" asked Fly, as soon as the few words of greeting had been said.

"Half a dozen of 'em," replied the rancher's son. "Dad's mad as all get out. Says he's goin' to watch every night, and when that thing comes again he's goin' to blow it to kingdom come."

"Well, we saw one sheep down the road," informed Dunk, "all cut to pieces."

"A nice little lamb too," said Fred regretfully.

"Shouldn't be surprised. We found a couple, and they sure was done for.

Now's the time for us to hit dad hard for that aeroplane."

"Glad to know yuh; come right up," was Mr. Phipps' cordial greeting as he came halfway down the veranda step to meet the aviator and welcome the boys. His cool, spotless linen suit was quite a contrast to the somewhat grimy appearance of the visitors.