Radio Boys in the Flying Service; or, Held For Ransom by Mexican Bandits

by J. W. Duffield

Before they could reach the friendly shelter of the trees, however, one of the bandits turned over restlessly, sat up, and rubbed his eyes. The vacant look turned to one of surprise as he caught sight of the Americans, who were quite close to him. He sprang to his feet, but before he could utter a cry of warning Tom leaped at him like a panther, and struck him a stunning blow with the butt of his revolver. The man sank to the ground, and Tom hastened after the others, who by now had reached the welcome shadows of the forest.

Here progress was slow. Branches and creepers tore at and clung to them, but they kept doggedly on, spurred on by the knowledge that the man whom Tom had felled might regain consciousness at any moment and give the alarm. They had covered about half the distance to the plane, when there was a wild shout from the raiders’ camp, and a bullet whizzed through the branches above them. Other voices took up the cry, and soon the boys could hear men crashing through the forest behind them.

Roused by the sounds of pursuit, the girls regained some of their strength, and insisted that they could run, so the boys set them down. They were still weak, but struggled bravely down the steep mountain-side, assisted by the boys. Progress was slow, though, and they realized that their pursuers were gaining.

“Wait!” commanded Phil, as bullets began whistling uncomfortably close. “We’ll give them a taste of their own medicine.” He drew his revolver, as did the others, and they emptied them in the direction of the pursuing Mexicans. Yells and cries of pain came from the raiders, and the boys knew that their bullets had found a mark. The pursuers hesitated, and taking advantage of this momentary respite, the boys plunged forward again.

They knew that they must be close to their plane by this time, but now the bandits, only momentarily checked, had resumed the pursuit, urged on by the cries of their leader. By the time the little party reached the plane, the Mexicans were close at their heels, and had they not been such poor marksmen the Americans would have had little chance of escape. Bullets clipped the bushes on every side of them, for the moon lit up the clearing where they had left the plane so that it was almost as bright as day.

Phil and Dick caught up the girls, and raced across the clearing to the plane. They had barely reached it, when the bandits came swarming out of the forest, yelling and cursing.

“Quick, fellows!” exclaimed Phil, “Spin the propeller, Tom, and you get the girls in, Dick. If the engine balks, we’re done for.”

But in this time of deadly peril the aeroplane responded nobly. At the first whirl of the propeller the engine took hold with a roar, and Tom leaped for the fuselage as the aeroplane started to move. The Mexicans were daunted a moment by the noise of the engine, but then, urged on by their leader, they rushed forward again.

The aeroplane was headed toward them, gathering speed with every turn of the powerful propeller. The bandits scattered to either side, but as the aeroplane left the ground, one, more courageous than his companions, leaped for the fuselage. He knew nothing of that powerful propeller, backed up by the might of six roaring cylinders. As he leaped the whirling blades caught him fair, and sheared his head from his shoulders.

The shock was hardly felt in the plane, but Phil glanced over the side, and as he saw the headless trunk drop to the ground, he shuddered. He knew that the rascal deserved his fate, however, and wasted little sympathy on him. Other things occupied his mind, for they were still in danger, as the bandits fired a fusillade after them, some of the bullets even tearing through the wings. But the powerful machine was ascending at the rate of seven hundred feet a minute, and they were soon far beyond the reach of their baffled enemies.