Airplane Boys at Platinum River

by E. J. Craine

Glancing at the altimeter, Austin saw that he had climbed nearly two thousand feet and out of the corner of his eye he saw the gunner on the gang’s plane swing his deadly weapon onto its standard and stand ready to send a round of bullets into them the instant they flew across his sight. There was no doubt of their evil intention and Jim’s mind worked fast. Below them was the rugged rim of one of the ranges of the Andes mountains, and far ahead, the boy knew there were deep sandy plains. Any kind of landing where they were would mean a smash-up and his passengers, if they were not killed outright, would surely be badly injured, so he made up his mind that he would keep in the air as long as he could.

Austin wished heartily that some of them had weapons of longer range so they would have a chance in a gun fight, but only the luckiest sort of sharp shooting would avail them anything in their present predicament. If the light was not a revolving one the machine gun was, he knew, and for him to fly close enough to get in a shot that would cripple the pilot would mean that the woman crouched beside him, and probably all of them, would be raked with vicious bullets which would put an end to them speedily. Some queer streak in his brain made him think of Pedro’s earnest plea to save his wife at least so their little son would not be motherless. Austin had lost his own mother when he was a boy and he remembered vividly the awful loneliness without her. To be sure, he had Dad, who was the best yet, and later Dad had married Bob’s mother, who had almost succeeded in making her step-son forget that he wasn’t her own “born-boy,” but step-mothers as a general rule do not turn out so well, but yet, if Pedro were killed the little lad waiting in Cuzco would be mighty forlorn.

“We’ve got to get out of this,” Jim said grimly to himself. He was still climbing and the second plane was following close on his trail, and its gunner had an eye cocked to his weapon. Banking sharply, Jim curved to the right, then executed a half loop which brought him up behind his enemy. Climbing a few rods he managed to get his plane’s nose so dangerously close to the tail of the other, that its pilot tried to shake him by dropping a bit and making a curve, but the Flying Buddy was tensely alert and kept after the machine, realizing that for the moment he had the advantage. He did not forget to keep a watchful eye on the control board and dials so that he would not be led out of his course.

“Another plane is coming,” Arto spoke in his ear.

“Which way?”

“Below and behind,” Arto answered. “I just saw it, but it has no lights I can see.”

“Thanks.”

Certainly the situation was not improving. Glancing ahead and above the boy saw some dark clouds forming, and when his eyes returned to the enemy plane, he realized that its pilot was looping down and intended to come back on his tail. The maneuver was a good one, as Jim knew, but in this case it would mean a few second’s delay, so ignoring their pursuers, he put on every ounce of additional speed and raced for the protection of the thick mist. In a moment its moisture was on their faces, then Jim dived low, leveled off and shot forward. He was mighty thankful they had the extra tanks of gas Pedro had supplied and making a hasty calculation he figured they could keep in the air many hours. His watch told him that it was nearly half past ten and he recalled that Cardow had said he was going to be present at the dynamiting of Amy-Ran. Taking his bearings carefully, then estimating the distance to the ancient fortress, Austin knew that it would require forty minutes at least for the gang to reach their destination so they had little time to waste trying to bring him down. If he could possibly dodge them for fifteen minutes, they would probably give up the chase; that is, unless the second machine was detailed to keep after him.

Flying through the blanket, blind and unable to hear the enemy planes was nerve-racking, so Jim zoomed upward and when he had gained two thousand feet he put his machine into a glide and listened. For a moment he heard nothing, then he realized that probably the other pilots were doing the same thing, but he had the advantage of having shut off his motor last and he hoped they would be compelled to start their engines before he did and give him an idea of their locality. He reasoned that they were flying close together for they must have signaled to each other. According to the chart in front of him he was still over the rugged mountain section and his eyes rested anxiously on the altimeter. If it was faulty they were out of luck.

“Have we escaped from them?” Mrs. Gonzalas asked.