“Think there is room—I mean think it’s wide enough so we can get into it without smashing the wings?”
“Ask me another. It’s pretty narrow.” Jim studied the situation. “That truck is wide and there’s quite a space on each side, but it will take some fancy landing to get the wheels on the road and miss those trees at the side. They grow like a wall, and as they are coming up to meet us, they look like the bottom of a nice torture chamber bristling with sharpened spikes.”
“Nothing wrong with the picture. Keep your eyes on that truck of Pedro’s. I’m going to try to drop in front of it. They can’t get by, or turn back, and all I hope to do is delay them, but that may help, if I do it. Keep a sharp lookout and tell me if I’m going too far either side. I don’t want to get far ahead of them, not more than a few feet,” Bob explained.
“Bully idea, old man. If we smash up, I’ll meet you at the gate. If you need any help, I’ll tell St. Peter you’re a good kid and to let you in,” Jim promised gravely.
“Go on. I’ll have to do some tall lying to get him even to look at you,” Bob retorted. “Here goes.”
He started to manipulate the controls, slowly bringing Her Highness as he wanted her, and Jim scanned the scene ahead. He could see movement in the brush, men crawling or running on hands and knees, but not a uniform was in sight. He noted one thing in particular for which he was thankful. No one seemed to have noticed the falling plane, and that might be in their favor. Also, he thought ruefully, it might not. If the Mounties heard them dropping out of the sky, it would direct them more quickly to the road, but he thought of those men, armed to the teeth, desperate to get away, and he didn’t try to imagine what they would do to the plane and the boys who threatened to frustrate their plans.
Austin had read of terrific battles with rum-runners who fought to the last ditch for their lives and stopped at nothing, and now he knew that if Her Highness was not hung in those spear-like pines, or wrecked on the treacherous road, the men behind them would instantly open fire and riddle them with bullets before they could move in the cock-pit. He glanced about for a sign of the Canadian officers, but not one did he see, and by now they were so close to the ground that his range of vision was very limited.
Then Bob brought Her Highness out of the spin, glided forward, her float ends scraping the edge of the truck as it slipped over, then, in another breathless second they were over the road, the wheels touched the ground, raced forward a few rods, slowed down, and at last came to a dead stop.
“Hey, what the blazes do you think you’re doing?” It was the belligerent voice of the driver and did not sound at all like the musical tones of Pedro. Jim looked back while Bob loosened the safety strap, but did not get out of it.
“Hop over and tinker about,” Bob directed, and Jim obeyed.