By that time they were miles out of their course and bringing the plane’s nose about the Flying Buddy reset his route toward Cuzco. Studying the chart he saw that they would soon be traveling over valleys and that there were a few scattered settlements in the neighborhood. He had never happened to come down near any of those they would pass over, and he hesitated about making a landing lest the gang, which he knew was well organized, should have men posted on the watch for them to come out of the sky. He considered landing on one of the plantations, but he might pick the very one where gang-operators had a hang-out. After all, he decided, probably the best course was to keep flying, so he increased the speed and roared forward into another cloud bank. In its protection he listened a few minutes but not a sound came to him and with a sigh of relief he opened her up again. At least they had thrown off the other fellows for a while.
“Wonder what I’d do in their place,” he asked himself, and then he did his reasoning along those lines. Assuming that the men were determined to capture him he was not long in reaching the conclusion that they would surely fly toward his destination as soon as they lost him in the clouds, and probably they would have men stationed on watch for him at scattered points; places where messages could be sent out. It was more than likely that the bigger of the two machines was equipped with radio and could be quickly informed of their whereabouts.
“Gosh, if this were only the ‘Lark’,” he sighed, but it wasn’t and he felt as helpless in the machine as if he were in the midst of a squadron of planes. He thought about Bob and wondered idly how long he had remained at Amy-Ran and if the new radio had been installed. He knew a little about its capabilities and hoped that the night’s adventure would not end so badly that he would never fly the loved machine again. Thinking about his Flying Buddy he suddenly straightened. When Bob reached home he would inquire for his side-kick the very first thing and when Jim didn’t appear, the younger boy might go raring in search of him. There was some hope in the possibility, and then Jim recalled that the Pass he was supposed to go to with Gonzalas was nowhere near the one to which he really went. At that moment, Bob was probably flying hundreds of miles away.
“A plane comes from the right,” Arto spoke into his ear. Jim looked quickly and a moment later picked out the machine rushing across a patch of light directly toward them. Mechanically he tipped up, zoomed without leaving his course, and then he saw a second machine tearing some distance from the first. They were both headed his way and as he climbed, the other pilots soared up swiftly and began to close in with an unmistakably vicious purpose. For a moment he thought of turning again, but changed his mind. He would make them turn instead, so he opened her up and rushed on, the wires whistling a shrill protest.
“If we come close, Pedro and I are ready with the guns,” Arto said grimly, and Jim, with teeth set and body almost rigid, watched every move. Once he glanced back over his shoulder and just as he did his heart gave a leap, for a third plane was racing up from behind.
“Are they coming?”
“Three, all together,” Jim told her and his lips were set.
“Why should they be so obsessed—so determined to kill us?”
“Reckon your husband was sort of foolish to ask me to fly him. There is a gang of chaps who have been raising heck with my father and me too. They probably know that I am flying his plane and have made up their minds to get me,” he explained, then added, “I’m sorry you are in such a hole.”
“We did not mean to place you in danger,” she said anxiously. “It is not then just because of the platinum that they chase us?”