Drenched with perspiration, their breath coming in great gasps, and all but exhausted, Phil hurled himself out into the clearing. Tom and Dick laboring close behind. Heads down, and traveling sheerly on will power, the boys sprinted for the machine.
“You fellows get her started,” gasped Phil, “I’ll stand them off until you get moving.”
Dick waved his hand in token of understanding, and he and Tom leaped for the plane, Dick throwing himself into the control compartment, while Tom summoned up the last vestige of his waning strength to turn the propeller. The engine was cold, however, and it was not until the fourth time that it consented to start.
Meantime, Phil kept on until he had passed the plane and was between it and the oncoming Mexicans. Their leader had outdistanced the others, and Phil had barely passed the airship when this man dashed into the clearing. He was a squat, powerfully built man, and as he rode he spurred mercilessly at his horse. Some hundred paces behind him rode the rest of his band, shouting and cursing. Phil had only four cartridges left in his revolver, but as the leader, who was none other than the notorious Espato, broke into the clearing, Phil emptied his revolver at him. The first shot went low, and the bandit’s horse pitched to earth, hurling its rider headlong. But the Mexican was on his feet like a cat, and sprang at Phil.
The latter heard the roar of the engine, and a shout from Dick told him that the Arrow was moving. His revolver was empty, but as Espato sprang at him, Phil clutched the barrel, and brought the butt down on the bandit’s head in a sweeping blow that cut his swarthy face to the bone.
The Mexican staggered back and slumped to the ground, and Phil, hurling the empty weapon at the oncoming horsemen, turned and ran like a deer after the Arrow which was gathering speed rapidly. As he neared it, Tom reached over the fuselage, and Phil made a flying leap just as the wheels left the ground. He caught Tom’s arm, swayed dizzily in the air a moment, and then half climbed and was half dragged into Tom’s compartment.
“The bomb, Tom, drop it!” gasped Phil.
The Mexicans had leaped from their horses, and were grouped below the aeroplane, unslinging their rifles in preparation for a volley. In obedience to Phil’s command, Tom reached down and pressed a lever, releasing a small bomb containing a charge of high explosive.
Swift and sure as doom itself dropped this missile. It landed close to the group of bandits, and exploded with a terrific report.
The aeroplane rocked and pitched violently in the terrific uprush of air that followed. As the smoke cleared away the boys could see the surviving Mexicans rushing wildly in all directions, leaving several of their number where they had been thrown by the force of the explosion. Spent and well nigh exhausted, but victorious, the Radio Boys winged their way into the calm evening sky, and straightened out for the flight to camp.