Then he drifted into the lumber camps, and played logger for a few seasons. After that Perk, who was proud of having a strain of Canadian blood along with his Yankee heritage, turned up among the Mounties in the Far Northwest regions and spent some years doing service with those dashing officers enforcing the Law of the wilderness.
Meeting up with Jack Ralston—after being coaxed to throw his fortunes in with the Secret Service at Washington, he took a strong liking for the bright-witted youngster, and they had been boon comrades ever since, sharing their blankets, meeting all manner of peril in company, and becoming what might be called real “blood brothers.”
So, too, had Jack been through some interesting experiences, although not of the same thrilling character as those Perk could look back to, when musing of the past.
He had had a run of circus training, being a natural athlete; and on the bills had been advertised as a famous trapeze performer. Then naturally the lure of the air gripped Jack, and forsaking the sawdust ring he began making parachute drops with one of those barnstorming aviators possessing a dilapidated crate with which he was wont to give exhibitions at Harvest Home festivals, and County Fairs all over the West—just as Lindbergh did in his school days.
It was in this fashion that young Ralston learned to be a clever pilot; and possibly his skill at the controls was one leading factor bringing about an earnest invitation for him to join up with the Secret Service—about that time it became evident that a new branch of the Law organization must be built up, in order to compete with the lawless smuggling gangs that were already using airplanes with which to fetch contraband of every description into the country.
So well did the pair co-operate that they worked as two parts of the whole machine—as one hand knows what the other hand requires to make a finished product so their brains often worked in unison, thus adding additional strength to their united efforts.
As they continued their walk, meaning to return to the city in time for lunch, Perk continued to ramble on with observations covering much ground; for he had a decided opinion on every variety of subject, and could be depended on to exploit his ideas at the slightest invitation.
“No use talkin,’ Jack,” he was saying, as he tapped his pocket significantly, “that same Jerry Slocum’s a crackin’ good locksmith an’ gunsmith. I took up with his offer, yeou know, to put my ol’ six-shooter, used in France with my work in the sausage balloon corps, in apple-pie condition; an’ he done a smart job. He happened to have some ammunition to fit the gun, so I laid in a bunch o’ cartridges, meanin’ to shoot at a target when time hung heavy on my hands. But listen, will yeou, ol’ pard, what’s all that whoopin’ mean ’round the corner jest ahead—sounds like a reg’lar stampede was takin’ place, I’d say if yeou asked me?”
| [1] | See “Sky Pilots’ Great Chase.” |