"Whilligers, where'd he come from!" whispered Fred, as the boys stood perplexed and amazed at this apparition. Nobody had heard him approach, or seen him, until they discovered him standing like a carved statue, coolly regarding Carl.
"Hello, what do you want?" chirruped Carl, cheerfully, not at all abashed.
The older Indian drew himself straighter, if possible, and replied in his own tongue, which Carl afterwards said was original Apache.
"Where did you learn that call?" demanded the tall stranger, almost fiercely.
"It belonged to my tepee," responded the boy.
"You Apache?"
"Yes."
"Umph," grunted the Indian, and stood silently, with his penetrating eyes fixed on Carl.
"You are no true Apache," he said finally. "You wear the clothes of the palefaces, and live with them. You hunt with them. You care nothing for the trials and sufferings of your fathers—the big chiefs in the land of the happy hunting ground."
Carl said nothing, but watched his critic curiously. He had unconsciously drawn himself up to his full height, and, though slighter, his form matched in symmetry, grace and stateliness that of the older man.
"I bring back to my people the religion of their fathers," continued the stranger. And he threw open his blanket. Carl and the others started, almost with horror. The broad, brown chest was entirely tattooed in flaming vermilion with the design of a huge and ferocious form of an eagle.
"I go to look for the Thunder Bird and his shrine," said the Indian, wrapping himself again, and pointing majestically upward. "My people shall worship him again, and thus shall I gain favor with the Great Spirit whom I have displeased."
He turned and started off in the direction from which the boys had come.
Suddenly he stopped short and turned back. "Where is your tepee?" he demanded of Carl.
"At the fort."
"The tepee where you learn the call?" impatiently reiterated the questioner.
"In the far-away country," answered the Indian boy. "I do not remember now. I was taken away when a child."
The older Indian looked at him steadily, as though he would penetrate the boy's soul and read the history of his life. Then he grunted and went on.
"Well, I never saw him before," was Carl's first remark, as the retreating figure disappeared around a bend. Then he translated to the boys the queer conversation.
"And he's looking for the Thunder Bird," repeated Hawke. "That does seem odd, doesn't it?"
"He went in the direction of the tower, too," put in Fred, glad to have his contention strengthened by this occurrence.
"Acts to me as though he'd sort of lost his mind," went on Carl. "Some of the Indians get to thinking about their wrongs until they go bugs."
"Better lookin' than any of the old Indians around here," remarked Dunk, thinking of wizened and wrinkled old Tommy.
"Funny he knew that old call," reflected Carl. "Wonder where he came from anyhow?"
"Well, I suppose he'll turn up again, if he's wandering around here long," commented Jerry. "Looks kind of savage."
"Anyhow, that's not findin' our pony," reminded Fly, and Carl started off to explore the near-by timber.
"Or gettin' home and gettin' warm," added Herb, registering the first complaint.
"If Fly don't dry his hair it'll get rustier," chimed in Jerry.
"Might as well go back," advised Carl, returning from a short, unsuccessful search. "No use of us standing around here shivering. Maybe our friend the big chief took him along."
"Perhaps he thought he was white man's property and would take him for some of the debts we owe the race," suggested Herb. "But I don't care for nothin' but the grizzly."
Two hours later, when they reached the fort, dirty, tired, muddy and damp, they found, to their great surprise, lying on the captain's front porch, stretched out at full length, the dead bear.
"Hello, fellows," shouted Captain Crawford, coming out of the house. "We were getting worried about you. Glad you showed up. The pony came back, and I see you got acquainted with a grizzly."
The ladies appeared in the doorway, while Jerry's father went over and gave the bear a push with his foot.
"That's a beaut," he exclaimed. "Who bagged him?"
"Hawke," came the instant response.
"We all did," corrected the aviator. "And we had a great time doin' it."
"Gee, we've had a corker of a day," exclaimed Jerry. "Lots of things happened."
"Get inside here now," ordered the captain, and the ladies quickly approved this advice. "Take off your wet duds. Jerry, give the boys some clean things."
"Guess we'll go home," said Fly, speaking for Carl and Dunk. "Say," he added, anxious to break the news, "we think we've found the Thunder Bird nest."
"You better get under cover before you catch the rheumatics," laughed the captain.
It was nearly dusk now, and the white moon had appeared in the east, floating gently over restless, shifting clouds, but the evening was as serene and clear as if it had succeeded a calm, uneventful day.
After putting on an outfit of dry clothes, Herb and Tender started for the ranch, where they found Mr. Phipps waiting for them, and Hop on hand to take care of their wants. After some warm broth they sat up late into the night relating the day's events to the interested rancher.
As for Carl, he sat up for an hour studying as was his custom, then lay awake for some time staring thoughtfully into the darkness of his little room, which was a small one over Fly's machine shops.
"Wonder who that Indian was," he pondered. "A real Apache, and he knew that old call. Lookin' for the Thunder Bird. What if he had known my folks?" But soon his thoughts trailed off into dreamland, and he slept as only active boys can, until another day of promise dawned. For every sunrise in the life of a boy foretells a day of events.
When Ike returned from his customary daily trip to Silver City the following Wednesday morning, he brought with him two large boxes addressed to Herb Phipps, and a letter for Fred bearing the return address of a large Boy Scout furnishings firm.
"I'll bet it's the uniforms," exclaimed Jerry, referring to the boxes. "See what the letter says, Windy."
"Guess it's answerin' the letter I wrote 'em about the patrol," remarked Fred, tearing open the envelope.
"Yep," he announced, "it's from the scout commissioner at Albuquerque. Listen to this:
"'Dear Sir:'" (Fred swelled his chest, and looked very dignified.) "'I am glad to know that you have formed a scout patrol at Fort Bayard and I certainly wish you every success. I am sending under separate cover a Boy Scout Handbook for each member of your patrol, badges bearing the insignia of an Eagle, the nearest thing that we can get to the name of your patrol. Learn the call of the eagle, if you do not know that of the thunder bird, as it is the signal of your patrol. You will also receive a flag with a picture of your patrol animal stamped on each side.
"'I happen to be acquainted with Mr. Hawke, who is sojourning in Fort Bayard. He would make a capital scout master and I am asking him by this mail to accept that appointment. I am sure he will be of great assistance to you in training the members of your band, and in helping them to earn merit badges and medals, for I know you are all ambitious to gain as many as you can.
"'Yours very truly,
"'George Stanton,
"'Scout Comm'r.'"
"Whoopee, what do you think of that?" yelled Fred, throwing up his hat. "With Hawke to help us we'll make a crackerjack out of this patrol and run them out of merit badges and medals. Maybe I can get the eagle medal."
"What's that?"
"It's the medal they award to the scout gettin' twenty-one merit badges. You know I only have four now," answered Fred.
"Let's call up Herb before Ike starts over to his place, and tell him the things have come."
"All right," assented Fred eagerly, as he followed Jerry into the house and to the telephone.
"Hello, Herb," called Jerry, when he had obtained the connection. "Things doing over here at the Fort."
"That so? What now?"
"Think the uniforms are here—at least there are two big boxes—one from Kansas City and another from New York."
"Gee whiz," shouted the southerner. "That's what they are, all right. Dad got a letter yesterday sayin' they'd be here soon. Say, yuh just hold 'em till Tender and I get over there; we're just gettin' ready to ride over to the fort."
"All right. Hurry up. Got somethin' else to tell you," said Jerry, remembering Hawke's appointment.
"What is it?" asked Herb eagerly.
"Just wait till you get over here," teased Jerry.
"All right, stingy."
"And say, Herb, father's got some business on hand this morning with a fellow from San Jose. Guess we can't have the mix-up here; makes too much noise. Let's have Ike take the boxes to Carl's room."
"That's fine. And don't open 'em till we get there. Tender an' I will be over in a jiffy."
"Fine work!" declared Carl heartily, when Jerry and Fred called on him and informed him that the uniforms had arrived. "Sure, bring them all over here."
"I'll go and get Dunk and Fly," volunteered Jerry; "Fred can look around at your things," for he noticed that his companion had already begun an inspection of Carl's small library.
The Indian had built a workmanlike row of shelves around his room, and these were crowded with books of all sorts, some of which he had bought out of his scant earnings, and some of which had been given him. Everybody at the Fort knew that Carl was what they termed a "bookworm" and at Christmas he was well remembered with the article he craved. There was very little fiction, but Fred found ten grammars, six arithmetics, four histories—two of the United States—spellers, algebras, two biographies of Lincoln and Franklin, and the life stories of nearly all the great men of America. There were even text books on chemistry, astronomy and architecture, for, in his thirst for knowledge the young Indian found all subjects attractive. The Clevelander was also surprised to find a Bible, which his interest prompted him to open and examine. There were marginal notes in a youthful hand, presumably Carl's writing, and passages underscored.
The Indian boy then, thought Fred, was as straight and true as his stature, and the high degree of honor which the boys and all at the Fort ascribed to him was well deserved.
There was a cot and several chairs in the room, all of which had been made by Carl himself. A worn blanket was stretched across the spotless floor. In one corner stood an old bow over six feet long, the one Carl had spoken of as belonging to his father.
There was but one picture, and it puzzled Fred somewhat. It was a large engraving of an imposing structure, much like a university building. There was no inscription, and the style of engraving stamped it as old.
"What's this?" he asked Carl, who was stringing his bow and seeming to take no notice of Fred's examination.
"One of the soldiers here gave it to me and said it was the college he graduated from. I like to look at it." Then in answer to Fred's look of inquiry, the Indian added: "It helps me to save my pennies when I want to spend them for a traveling show at Silver City."
"Helps you save your pennies?" puzzled Fred, not comprehending the Indian's meaning.
"Yes. I'm trying to earn enough to go to a real school when I'm twenty. Never too late, you know. I've been through the grammar grades."
"You have!" exclaimed Fred. "I thought the boys told me you hadn't been to school."
"Correspondence school," explained Carlito. "Here's my certificate."
He had arisen and taken a long envelope from the top drawer of the chest.
The certificate testified that Carlito had satisfactorily passed all examinations, and was a full-fledged graduate of the correspondence school.
"How did you do it?" exclaimed Fred, his frank eyes shining with admiration. Just then Jerry, Fly and Dunk came into the room.
"Do what?" inquired Jerry.
"I was looking at Carlito's certificate," replied Fred, assuming that the other boys had seen it.
"Oh, I studied nights a little, and whenever I got a chance," answered Carl, modestly.
"A little!" echoed Fly. "He just studied his old head off."
"Why didn't you go to college when Phipps wanted you to, Carl?" asked Dunk. "He was willin' to pay your way."
"I was afraid I could never pay him back," said Carl. "An Indian has no business owing anything to a white man, anyway."
"Here's Herb and Tender," shouted Fly, who had gone to the window.
The southerner and his cousin were soon in the room, hot and perspiring from their rapid ride over.
"Good mornin', gentlemen," greeted the rancher's son cheerfully, throwing aside his hat, and pouring out a glass of water from a pitcher which stood on the table. "Have a drink, anybody? No? Then I'll drink it myself," and he drained the glass. Carl quickly brought another one for Tender Gray.
"Make room for Ike," ordered Herb, as the darky came laboring up the stairs, a huge box on his back. The boys met him at the landing, and helped him to deposit his heavy load on the floor.
"Dere's some more," announced Ike. "Greaser just brought one over for Mr. Fred Windham."
"What's that," exclaimed the latter in surprise. "Oh, I guess it's that stuff Mr. Stanton spoke about in the letter," he recollected.
"Yuh fellahs must be gwine to start a store foh sure," exclaimed Ike, as he dropped the second box with a thud.
"Look out—that one was full of ripe watermelon," responded Gray.
"Oh, golly," groaned the negro, "An' I 'most drapt it."
"Be very careful of the next one," warned Jerry, with mock seriousness. "It's loaded with spring chickens."
"Oh, das easy—I'll jes' open de box and let 'em fly up," answered the darky, dodging the hat which Gray pitched after him.
"Eeny, meeny, miny, mo—which one shall we open first?" queried Herb, when the three boxes had been set down in the room.
"Let me do it," volunteered Ike, with some curiosity, but a hasty chorus of protest stopped him.
"We want to do it ourselves," explained Fly. "It's more fun."
"You'er gwine to litter up this here room scan'lous," was the negro's comment, as he departed regretfully.
"I'll clean that up," hastily assured Carl.
"The big one first," urged Dunk.
"All hands on deck," ordered Herb.
"Say, Windy," interrupted Jerry, halting the proceedings. "Show the kids your letter."
"I clean forgot that," ejaculated the eastener, pulling a soiled envelope out of his pocket.
"I been readin' it," he explained guiltily, referring to its murky condition.
Work on the boxes was suspended for a few minutes, while Fred read the letter aloud.
"Things sure are comin' our way," said Herb, when the general shout of approval had died down. "Where's Hawke this morning?"
"I saw him right after breakfast, and he said he was coming over. He got the letter about being scout master, and—"
"There he is now," broke in Carlito, hearing a firm step on the stairs.
"Howdy, fellows," hailed the aviator, as he came into the already crowded room.
"Good morning, Scout Master," greeted Dunk, bowing low, while the other boys followed suit.
"I see I have another job on my hands now," said Hawke, good-naturedly, "But then I don't think you'll be hard to train."
"We're sure glad you're going to be one of the bunch," answered Herb cordially.
"These are our scout outfits," explained Fred, noticing that Hawke was regarding the packing boxes with wrinkled brows.
"Just going to open them," added Fly, anxious to get at the work.
"Let me help," exclaimed Hawke, peeling off his light coat, and rolling up his shirt sleeves before any protest could be made.
For the next few minutes they busied themselves with the lid of the largest box.
"Uniforms," they shouted, when Herb had opened one of the smaller pasteboard boxes of which there were a number contained in the larger enclosure.
"This is yours, Fly," he added, noting the name and measurements which were pinned on the trousers.
As the packages were properly labeled, each boy was soon in possession of his own suit.
After a quick but admiring inspection of the outfits, the second box was eagerly torn open. It contained a hospital corps pouch for each boy, penknives, haversacks, mess kits, signal flags, whistles, sanitary drinking cups, canteens, Red Cross first aid outfits, camp supplies, and last, but not least, seven brand new shining Remingtons.
Each new article was met with shouts of delight and surprise.
"I don't remember ordering these," gasped Fred, when at last they had reached the bottom of the box.
"Oh, dad thought yuh might as well have a good supply," explained Herb, "so he wrote to a friend of ours in New York and got these to surprise yuh."
"Ain't your father never going to quit doing things for us kids?" asked Dunk, stroking the slender, glittering barrel of his new gun.
"I wish we could do somethin' real fine for him," chipped in Jerry.
"Dad don't want thanks. He just likes to be doin' somethin' for somebody all the time," Herb assured them. "He always was that way."
"Well, we're certainly going to get after that sheep stealer," declared Carl.
"You bet," echoed Fly, with a will.
The third box, addressed to Fred, proved to be from Mr. Stanton, containing the handbooks, badges and patrol flag.
After distributing the badges, and admiring the flag, each of the boys made a hasty examination of his book.
"How we goin' to learn about first aid to the injured?" inquired Gray.
"Oh, dad'll teach you that," responded Dunk readily. "He said he would."
"And Hawke's going to teach us aviation, and Carl can show us trailing," began Jerry.
"And my dad'll show you craftsmanship and machinery, and we all know swimming," cut in Fly.
"Whoopee, fellows," shouted Fred, "we've got nearly all the badges now!"
"Who knows all the states in the union?" asked Hawke with a smile, reading from the Scout Handbook.
It was found that only Carl and Fred could stand this test.
"Who can tie a bowline knot?" demanded Dunk.
"Say, this ain't no schoolroom," objected Jerry. "I see we've got to work some for those badges," he added thoughtfully, "but it's fun just the same."
"Tell you what we'll do," burst out Herb suddenly, throwing down his book, his dark eyes snapping.
The boys were ready in an instant for anything he might suggest.
"Let's get on all these duds," proposed the rancher, "have a regular scout tramp over to the ranch and surprise dad with a dressed-up parade."
"Bully for you," shouted Fred.
"Can't we borrow a drum somewhere?" suggested Dunk.
"Dad's got one I can get," offered Jerry.
"Jerry's some drummer too," said Fly.
"All right, get a move on you," ordered the southerner. "It's just ten now, and if we start right soon we'll get there about time for dinner."
About a half hour afterwards, Captain Crawford was drawn to his window overlooking the parade grounds, by the martial sound of drum beats.
"Well, I never," he exclaimed to his wife, who hurried to join him.
Filing past the house two by two, in regular order and military step was the new Boy Scout Patrol, uniformed and carrying bright new rifles. Fred, bearing the flag, was slightly in advance, while just behind him was the tall form of their son, dexterously flipping the drumsticks and rolling out rhythmic march time.
Not once did any of the paraders turn in the direction of the house, although they felt they were being observed.
Captain Crawford leaned out of the window.
"Hurrah for the 7th infantry," he shouted. "I mean the seven infants," he amended laughing.
The boys maintained their composure with difficulty at this sally, but following Fred's leadership, wheeled and marched up, abreast, to the front steps, where they stood marking time.
"At your service, Captain," announced Fred, saluting.
"Present arms, shoulder arms, port arms, order arms!" commanded Jerry's father.
The bewildered company started to comply, but the orders came too fast for them, and soon their efforts were checked by a merry shout from the captain.
"Back to training camp," he ordered. With a general laugh the boys broke ranks.
"We're goin' on a scout tramp over to Phipps' ranch," announced Jerry.
"This is a good day," assented the captain. "Been kind of cloudy all morning, so you won't find it very warm walking."
"How do you like us," asked Fly, looking down at his khaki trousers, while the others looked up expectantly.
"You look like regular soldiers," commented Mrs. Windham, who had joined the captain and his wife at the window.
"Your suits are very pretty," put in Mrs. Crawford.
"Ha—Ha!—your mother says the suits are pretty," reiterated the captain. "Guess that's handing it to you."
"Oh, as for us," retorted Fred. "We're just plain handsome."
"Tell Phipps he's spoiling the whole bunch of you," enjoined the captain, as the party started down the road that led to the ranch.
They had been unable to bring all their new equipment, but the canteens were strapped on and each boy carried his Remington. The whistles, drinking cups and penknives were safely stowed away in trouser pockets. On their shirts were pinned the new Boy Scout badges.
"Sorry Hawke couldn't go," said Dunk. The aviator had some business letters on hand, and chose to remain at the Fort.
"Ever develop that picture you took in the mountains?" asked Fly of Fred.
"Yes, but it was no good. Something the matter with the plate. Hawke's got the proof," responded Fred. "Order, now," he added, with pretended severity. "Remember, left, right, left, right, ready," and the boys started off in correct step.
About midway in their tramp they met a group of Indians, of which Tommy was one, returning from a search for customers for their baskets and bead work.
"Pike along slow, fellows," said Carl. "I'm going to see if Tommy knows anything about our friend of yesterday."
He engaged the old Indian in conversation, while the other boys parleyed with the squaws over their wares. After some good-natured teasing, Fred bought a particularly attractive woven basket for his mother, and Gray purchased a bead belt, which he intended to take to his sister when he went back to New York.
"Tommy doesn't seem to know very much about him," informed Carl when he joined his companions. "Says he showed up here about a week ago, and wanted to know if anyone could tell him where he could find the old Thunder Bird shrine."
"Did Tommy ever see him before?" asked Dunk.
"No. None of these Indians around here ever did. He says he has been down in the Mexico mining districts, but claims to be an Araviapa Apache. That's what my father was, and he looks to be of the same tribe."
"Looks somethin' like you," remarked Fly.
"I think so too," chimed in Fred.
"Well, Tommy says the old scout has an idea he has done something to offend the Great Spirit," continued Carl, "and, unless he makes some kind of reparation, he won't get into the happy hunting ground with his ancestors."
Carl smiled at this fallacy which he had long since abandoned.
"Did he say what he had done?" inquired Herb.
"No, merely said that a medicine man told him he was on the wrong side of the deity and that he'd better make up. Seems that he thinks if he puts the Thunder Bird back on its shrine again everything will be all right. I think he's got the talk of some missionaries and his own ideas mixed. It isn't like an Indian to be making up for bad deeds."
"Get in line there, you scouts," ordered Fred, for his patrol had disorganized during Carl's conversation.
"Remember you have to stick to the rules," added the leader, trying to be severe.
The boys fell back at once, and started on two and two, keeping step and order the rest of the way.
Though shorter than any of the other boys, young Windham had the personality of a commander, and, as he marched on ahead, his head erect, and square shoulders set, he gave promise of being an influential leader later on in life.
It was about two hours afterward that they reached the outskirts of the Bread Pudding ranch, tired but by no means fagged.
They stopped for a few minutes' rest and adjustment. After a long drink from their canteens, which they had filled with ice water before leaving the Fort, they laved their faces and hands. Then refreshed but somewhat excited, they started for the ranch-house.
It was agreed that Jerry should not begin drumming until they had come very near, planning to take a path on the other side of the house which brought them very close without disclosing them until they were within full view of the veranda.
As they came up, the drum rolling, they saw Hop Sing, who was gathering vegetables for dinner, stop, look, and then make for the kitchen as fast as his thin legs would take him.
"Look at those chop suey drumsticks," laughed Fly, as the Chink vanished through the doorway.
"Never recognized us," laughed Jerry, giving his sticks an extra twirl, and, consequently, producing more noise.
They saw Mr. Phipps before he sighted them. He had arisen from his seat on the veranda, where he had been enjoying his newspaper before dinner should be announced, and was looking down the road for the source of the commotion. As the boys turned sharply at the east wing of the big house, they were brought into full view. They walked steadily on, as straight as comfort would allow them, keeping step like a squad of trained soldiers, and looking neither to the left nor the right, although several of them could not help smiling. Mr. Phipps gave them one puzzled glance, then threw up his hands, and bending back his head, laughed long and loud.
"You young rascals," he roared. "Here I thought the state militia was out after my hide."
Fred led his small company around in a circle in front of the house, then made several zigzag figures which he had learned for a drill while in Cleveland. Finally they drew up, abreast, before Mr. Phipps, and, solemnly saluting, gave three hearty cheers.
"Fine, fine!" exclaimed the rancher. "My, but you all look brave and ferocious. You might be able to meet a real enemy—with his back toward you. Let's see how they fit."
The small army marched up onto the veranda, while the rancher gave them a critical survey.
"Couldn't be better," he finally announced satisfied. "Not if you had had them tailor made."
"They're certainly great," returned Fly, a little awkwardly.
Then he looked at Jerry, and the other boys followed his example.... There was a sudden silence, as they drew in a closer circle around Mr. Phipps. It had been planned that Jerry should make a short speech of thanks to their generous patron. But though he was brave enough when the suggestion was made, now that the time had come the boy felt himself growing shaky and confused.
The surprised rancher looked around at the quiet group a little puzzled. Finally Fly gave Jerry a nudge, at which the latter collected himself as well as he could, and with something of a tremble in his voice, which seemed suddenly weak and faint, he began what he had planned to make a very grand speech.
"Mr. Phipps," he said, his cheeks growing rapidly redder and hotter, while his knees shook, "we—we—we all want to thank you very much for—"
"Oh, forget it," entreated the man, giving the relieved Jerry an affectionate pat on the back. "Why, you boys have nothing to thank me for. You're just like my own sons—you're Herb's playmates. Yuh see Herb hasn't any mother to—to—but I tell you, I like to have him associated with a fine lot of lads like you. Get into the house here, and we'll see if we can pick up some grub." The rough rancher spoke cordially, but there was a slight shake in his voice.
"We're always grabbin' fodder over here," apologized Fly, as they made for the dining room.
"And I guess we're here with our appetites to-day," put in Dunk. "That was a fine tramp for a hungry fellow."
"Well, go to it."
"Lose any sheep lately?" asked Dunk, as the usual hearty meal progressed, or rather disappeared.
"They haven't bothered us since Sunday night," responded Phipps. "About time for something to be doing."
"I've got to get back early this afternoon and go to work," said Fly, when they arose from the table—"filled to the eyes," to use Gray's words.
"Guess we'd better go back," said Jerry.
"I've got to go to Silver City to-day myself," said Mr. Phipps. "Suppose you all pile in my hack and we'll drive over."
This was a welcome suggestion and the boys quickly accepted it.
Thinking that experience was the best teacher, Hawke decided to discontinue lessons on aviation until the materials for the biplane arrived and they could begin actual work.
During the rest of the week, therefore, the boys, with the assistance of Captain Crawford, Dr. Rivers and the aviator, put in their time mastering some of the Boy Scout requirements.
They organized a bucket brigade, and, by several mock fire fights fitted themselves to take care of a blaze should one occur at any time.
"That's what we've been needing at this fort for a long time," remarked Captain Crawford, when he saw the young fire fighters practicing. "In case of a fire here we'd have to depend on the volunteer bunch at Silver City, and everything would be up in smoke before they could get here."
Dr. Rivers gave the young scouts a thorough drilling in first aid to the injured. In his laboratory, which was a large and heretofore mysterious room at the top of the house, he taught them many things which they did not know about the human body and its needs in case of accident—how to construct an emergency stretcher, prepare splints, roll and apply bandages, and stop the flow of blood from an artery by means of the tourniquet.
"I guess I'm beginning to know something," said Jerry, a little proudly, when they left the doctor's office just at dark Friday evening after an interesting lesson.
"I got real well acquainted with that handsome skeleton," remarked Gray, who had been a little sensitive at first about approaching the uncanny bony structure which Dr. Rivers called one of the "ornaments" of his experimenting room.
Although Herb and Tender were urged to remain at the Crawford's for supper, the former thought it best to go on home.
"I can't be very long away from dad," he explained, "or he has a search party out after me."
"I didn't realize how much this Boy Scout affair was going to do for you," observed the captain that night at the supper table, when Jerry and Fred had been relating their new accomplishments. "I was a little skeptical at first—thought it was a waste of time—but I'm getting pretty much interested in it now myself."
"I think it is a splendid idea," agreed Mrs. Windham, who, mother-like, was in favor of anything that safeguarded the interest and welfare of her boy.
"And his aeroplane stunt strikes me as pretty fine," went on Jerry's father. "As a whole, this vacation is doing more for you boys than a year of schooling, and—" he was interrupted by the ringing of the telephone bell.
"Hello—Phipps, yes, this is Crawford," they heard him say. "What's that? Well, that's strange. Oh, I don't think it can be anything serious. The doctor is not at the house? Gone to Silver City? Well, we'll start right out."
"What is it?" cried Mrs. Crawford, as the group at the table arose and surrounded the captain.
"Phipps says Herb's horse came home alone, wounded in the back. He's afraid something has happened to him and Graystock. Thinks it may be that thing that's killing the sheep—or thieving Greasers," explained captain, speaking hurriedly, at the same time putting on his hat and ringing for the maid.
"Tell Ike to get the horses and saddle them at once—three of them," he ordered when the servant appeared. "Tell him to stop and get Carlito, and have them all here as soon as possible."
"Come on, boys—Phipps says he's just starting. He says he telephoned for Dr. Rivers but he isn't home. What'll we do in case either of them is badly hurt?"
"We fellows ought to put our learning into practice," spoke up Fred at once.
"Yes, we'll take our emergency kits," said Jerry.
"I doubt if you can do anything," replied the captain, as they left the house. "You haven't had any practical experience yet."
"We'll do anything we can for Herb," responded Jerry warmly.
"Why not get Dunk?" suggested Fred. "He was the best of the bunch, his father being a doctor."
"All right," agreed the captain, swinging into his saddle, just as Carlito dashed up.
"What's the matter?" he asked, breathlessly.
They told him the situation in a few words.
"I'll go right on," he exclaimed, digging his heels into the pony's flanks.
On the way over to the Rivers' residence, the captain and the boys met Dunk and Fly mounted on their horses. Mr. Phipps' telephone message for the doctor had told them the news.
"Well, if anything's the matter," said the doctor's son, "both of them have their Red Cross materials with them, if they're able to use them. You go on ahead," he added. "Fly and I are going to bring that stretcher we made to-day, and some bandages and stuff. We'll be right along."
The two boys wheeled their ponies, and the rest of the party galloped into the darkness after Carl.
It was an unusually dark night, and very few stars relieved the dense blackness overhead. Fortunately, the riders were familiar with their road, or it would have been impossible for them to keep up the pace they did.
"Carl'll be sure to find them if they're anywheres along here," said Fred, breathlessly, when they were obliged to slow up at a particularly rough place.
They urged on their horses again, and for a time nothing was heard through the moonless silence of the night but the sound of hurrying hoofs and the croaking of the frogs as they vied with the monotonous singsong of the crickets. Occasionally, from somewhere far out on the prairies, a lonesome coyote would wail dismally.
After about a half hour of riding, the party on horseback descried through the darkness a glimmering light almost in the center of the road. As they came nearer, Jerry blew his whistle.
"We're here," came the answer.
"That's Phipps." The captain breathed a sigh of relief.
"He's not badly hurt," Carlito was saying as they drew up to where the Indian and Tender Gray were bending over Herb, bandaging his arm while the father held the boy's hand.
"I'll be all right," faintly assured Herb. "Don't you—" but his voice trailed off into silence, and the upraised arm grew limp.
"Here, I brought some ammonia," exclaimed Fred, springing forward, and placing a small bottle to Herb's nostrils, while Gray and Carl rubbed his arms and legs vigorously.
"I wish we had a stretcher," exclaimed Mr. Phipps, his voice shaking with anxiety.
"Dunk and Fly are coming along with one," responded the captain.
"Thank heaven for that," exclaimed the rancher gratefully. "Carl snatched some branches off of the trees coming along," he continued "and made some splints on the run." He laid his hand affectionately on the Indian's bent shoulders.
A few moments later Dunk and Fly came up, bearing a stretcher between them. Riding had been rather difficult with this clumsy load.
It was not long before Herb was comfortably stretched out on the improvised bed, and, resuscitated by the liberal whiffs of ammonia which Fred faithfully applied, and the constant massage, he soon opened his eyes and smiled, as a sign that he had regained consciousness.
"It's mostly jolt," said Dunk, who began applying more bandages. When the arm was well bound up, he went over Herb's body carefully in search of more injuries.
Finding none, Mr. Phipps suggested that they start for the ranch.
Carl, Dunk, Fly and Fred immediately picked up the stretcher.
"Feeling better, son?" asked the father gently as they started off, the four boys carrying the stretcher, while those on horseback led the ponies.
"Better all the time," answered Herb, trying to speak firmly. While his voice was not normal, it was stronger than when he first spoke.
"What happened anyway?" asked Fly of Tender Gray.
"All I can say is, it's just about like that time you got mixed up when you met Windy at Silver City," answered Tender. "I didn't know anything was wrong until I heard Herb yell, and the next minute he was thrown from his horse, while the critter ran off like wild."
"Didn't you see anything?" urged Fred.
"It was too dark—anyhow I didn't look for anything. I got busy with Herb," responded Gray.
"That's right," approved Mr. Phipps. "But it looks to me as if it was the same devil that's been botherin' my sheep—horse's back is cut pretty deep."
When they reached the ranch-house, Sing informed them that Dr. Rivers had telephoned, and was on his way over. They had scarcely put Herb on the bed before the doctor arrived. After listening to a hasty explanation, he made a thorough examination of the wounded boy.
"Well, it's just a minor fracture of the forearm," he announced finally. "Nothing serious. I'll have to set it though.
"It may hurt you a little," he warned Herb, as he removed the bandages and splints, but, though his patient did wince once or twice, he set his lips tightly, and did not emit a sound of complaint.
After it was all over, however, he sank back with a sigh of relief and exhaustion. With the aid of a sleeping potion, he was soon quietly resting.
Mr. Phipps, though relieved by the doctor's reassurance, was greatly agitated over the accident, and continually paced the floor in the big library, his face pale and his lips set.
"I'll be over early to-morrow," the doctor told him. "It's only a green stick break and will soon knit. The bandaging was splendidly done—I couldn't have put those splints on better myself," he added. "By the way, did you do it?"
"The boys did," answered the rancher, with a faint smile, looking affectionately around the anxious group.
"You certainly did well," said the doctor heartily. "I had some doubts about instructing you at first, but I must admit you have profited by your lessons wonderfully."
As there was nothing more to be done, the party from the fort prepared to start back, the doctor going ahead with his machine.
"We've got to get that confounded animal that's causing all this trouble," exclaimed Phipps as vigorously as his shaking voice would permit.
"We're goin' to get him, all right!" responded Jerry heartily.
"You bet we are," reiterated Fred, with determination, while the other boys made similar assurances.
It was a sober party that rode slowly away, and for a long time nothing was said.
"It's so quiet to-night it makes me think of spooks," remarked Jerry, finally breaking the silence.
"Something makes me feel queer too," said Fred.
Just then a shrill, weird inhuman shriek came from somewhere in the direction of the mountains: "Kreee-kreee-ee," almost blood-curdling in its penetrating sharpness, cutting through the air like a keen knife blade, and sending unpleasant shivers down the backs of all who heard.
Again and again it came, threatening, foreboding, like some evil spirit about to swoop upon its prey.
They listened, spellbound, thrilled in every nerve. It was not fear that seemed to clutch at their hearts and make them pound, or that struck them silent, it was an awing sense of something supernatural, something not quite real. It was as though they had suddenly caught a glimpse of a demon of the underworld.
The dread cry continued for some minutes, then gradually grew fainter, until it seemed smothered by the intervening hills.
Before any of the party gathered courage to speak, a tall figure, like a fleeting shadow, glided across the path in front of them, and rapidly disappeared into the darkness. He seemed bent on an errand and was going toward the northeast mountain ranges.
"It's the Indian," whispered Carl, as the form hurried into the darkness.
"What do you suppose that noise was?" queried Jerry in a low tone.
"Was it a hawk?" asked Fly cautiously, crowding nearer to Carl.
"I've heard hawks cry and eagles scream, but never like that," returned the Indian, his voice growing louder.
"What was it then?" asked Fly in a natural voice, gathering courage as the conversation progressed.
"I never heard one, of course," replied Carl slowly, "but I think that was the Thunder Bird."
"That's just what it was," exclaimed Dunk at once.
For some moments nobody spoke, then Carl said reflectively: "I suppose that Indian friend of ours heard it too, and is on the trail."
"You'd better look out or he'll get it before you do," commented the captain, who had heard of the mysterious stranger.
The following day the first box of material arrived from Kansas City, and was taken to Mr. Giles' machine shop, which, having formerly been the army stables, was a great deal larger than was needed for the machinist's work, and he was able to give Hawke and the boys a roomy space at the rear.
A box from Denver came on Monday morning, and in the afternoon there was a consignment from New York. The engine was to be sent by freight from Fort Omaha, and would take some time to reach Silver City, but, as Hawke explained, it was the last thing to be used and the delay would not matter.
By Wednesday morning, therefore, which was the day after the Fourth, all was ready to go ahead on the aeroplane. The Fourth had been unusually quiet for the boys because Herb could not take part in any active festivities. While his injury had been slight, and was now practically healed, his father insisted that he should remain perfectly quiet and not become excited by unwarranted celebration. This was a hardship for so active a boy as Herb, but to please his father he obeyed without complaint.
As reparation, the rancher ordered a lavish display of fireworks from Albuquerque, and in the evening the boys were entertained by an exhibition that was worthy of young princes.
The exhilaration which followed this event, their sympathy for Herb, the gratitude they felt for the generous rancher, and their eagerness to solve the mystery of the Bread Pudding ranch, which was heightened by the incidents of the last few weeks, coupled with their growing interest in aviation, gave the boys an enthusiasm for the work of constructing the biplane which guaranteed success.
Hawke set up his model in the shop for their guidance, and, desiring to start them with fundamentals, he dissected the wing of a hawk, and, the first thing Wednesday morning, explained to them the first principles of plane construction, using the formation of the wing as an illustration.
"The early planes were straight," he explained, "but we have since learned that the curved surfaces are far more efficient. Keep in mind the idea of the bird, the shape of his wings, and you have the best working basis for building a plane." The aviator believed, with some other specialists, that examples taken from nature were the best sort of instruction for the novice.
The materials were unpacked, including all necessary tools, and without wasting much time on preliminaries, the boys set heartily to work.
"I am planning to equip this machine with swinging wing ends," said Hawke. "This is something not used on many biplanes, but it will be necessary to have them if we are to follow the maneuvers of a bird. If the wing tips are made with a down curve at their ends, the result of swinging them to the rear will be to increase the lifting power, while at the same time reducing the resistance of the air to forward movement. This would afford an ideal method of steering, being exactly like that employed by birds."
Later, when work was begun on these wing tips, the boys fully understood Hawke's theory.
Another innovation which Hawke planned for the machine was a mica window in the forward part of the fuselage, which would enable them to see what was passing below them, without leaning over or altering the angle of the planes.
While the boys worked and followed directions, Hawke explained the parts and their use on the machine. Fred and Fly proved themselves the most accomplished at first, owing to their previous experience with mechanics and aeroplanes. Gray also had a previous knowledge of the possibilities of aeronautics, and it was not long before all of the boys were intelligently working on Hawke's model and making progress.
Mr. Phipps rode over from the ranch almost every day to see them at work, and was much pleased with the rapid advance his son was making. Entirely recovered from the accident, Herb was as useful as any of his companions, and, besides evincing a great deal of mechanical skill, which he had never been called upon to display before, he readily grasped the principles Hawke continually ground into his pupils.
"You see, Dad," Herb said, when the rancher had inquired, on the occasion of one of his visits five or six days after work had been begun, about the use of the propeller, the particular part on which Herb was working, "the propeller is everything on an aeroplane. It's got to be made just right, or the whole thing goes to smash. If it wasn't for the propeller the machine wouldn't go at all," he finished triumphantly.
"Oh, indeed," remarked the southerner, an amused twinkle in his eye. "And what's the reason for that?"
"Well, yuh see," replied Herb, seriously, not noticing the smile playing about his father's mouth, and anxious to display his newly acquired knowledge, "it's the thing that moves the machine forward, and it has almost everything to do with the pitch and speed. The surfaces of the aeroplane are called the skin, and there is some friction of air against these surfaces, and that is called skin friction. Well, yuh see, the propeller has to make the machine move through the air with the smallest amount of skin friction. It has to travel through as large an amount of air as possible in a certain time, and take as little power as possible. Yuh understand?"
"Oh, yes," exclaimed the rancher, unable to restrain a short laugh. "How about that, Hawke?"
"He's right," responded the aviator, slapping his young pupil on the back. "He's got the dope exactly."
"Yes, but a good deal depends on the operator," chipped in Fly, who was ambitious to excel as an aviator, and could scarcely wait until the machine was finished to try his hand.
"I'm working on the box-girder," said Dunk, feeling called upon to give an account of himself.
"What's that," asked Mr. Phipps indulgently.
"It's the part that really bears the greatest weight—a sort of a beam with the weight in the center, fixed so it bears the load equally distributed. You can see one on Hawke's model."
"And one of the important things," said Jerry, not to be outdone, "is to build the plane so the guy wires remain taut, and the main spars, ribs and struts are properly placed."
"Yes, and then we have to remember to build it as light as we can and as strong as we can," put in Gray. "We want to go fast, but we don't want accidents, so we can't make it as light as we'd like. Oftentimes we have to make a part heavier to be sure it's strong enough."
Other technical information was glibly imparted when Captain Crawford dropped in occasionally. Dr. Rivers also paid the shop frequent visits, while the ladies did not neglect to show an interest in the work.
In fact, everyone in and about the fort shared the enthusiasm of the young aviators, and the aeroplane got to be the most important topic of conversation. Hawke was obliged to put a sign on the door of the shop: "NO ADMITTANCE," in order to keep away the soldiers, Greasers, loafers, and even Indians who had a habit of dropping in and interrupting the work.
About eight days after construction started they were ready for a hangar. As Mr. Phipps sent over two of his idle Greasers to erect this, work on the aeroplane was not stopped. The shed was erected just north of the machine shop, facing the old parade grounds, which was an ideal spot for the first try-out.
"I'm anxious to test my new feature of equalizing the stress and distribution of weight," Hawke explained to Mr. Phipps, who had come over with the Greasers. "I want to be able to carry all of the boys, if possible, and this is a difficult feat, for the greater the number of passengers carried the greater is the tax on the stability of the machine. The boys have shown such unusual ability in carrying out my ideas, however, that I think I am going to be able to perfect the device and prove its efficiency in a flight or two."
The day the hangar was completed, the engine arrived. A small truck which Mr. Giles had in the shop was to be used in wheeling the aeroplane out of the shop through the big middle doors of the stable, and into the hangar.
"My, ain't she a beautiful bird," exclaimed Jerry, when they put away their tools, and were proudly viewing the result of their work, for the aeroplane was set up complete with the exception of the engine, and stood mounted on the small wheeled truck ready for removal. A trial flight was to be made in the morning.
"You can't beat that anywhere in the world," said Dunk, proudly.
"I almost feel as though she were alive," commented Herb.
"I must say you did a mighty fine job, boys," said Hawke, "and if she flies as well as she looks, we'll put in our application for medals."
"Is there any chance that she won't fly?" asked Fly anxiously.
"You never know what a brand new plane is going to do," responded Hawke, "and you're never sure till you're gliding safely up in the air, whether or not all the cogs are in tight. But I don't think there's much danger that this one won't fly."
"We'll steer straight for that old tower," said Jerry, "and see if we can't roust out the Thunder Bird—or devil bird, whatever it is."
"Better watch for it some dark night near the sheep fold," suggested Herb. "It's about due to be around here now. We haven't seen it for some time. But another rancher several miles north of father says he's had some sheep hurt and taken, so I suppose it's shifted its hunting ground for a while."
"Gee, I'm awful anxious to find out just what it is anyway," exclaimed Fred. "Certainly is a mysterious animal."
"Have you seen that old Indian snooping around here?" inquired Herb, changing the subject. "I saw him a minute or two ago peeping in through the door over there, but I didn't say anything at the time."
"Oh, I suppose he has some superstitious idea that this is a destroying evil spirit we're building," said Carl. "Only I wish he would keep away. The way he stands around and peers makes me nervous."
"He doesn't seem to pay any attention to the "No Admittance" sign," remarked Hawke, smiling.
"Suppose he can't read English," said Carl. "But I have a sneaking suspicion that he can understand it. It's an old trick of the Indian to stand around and look as innocent as a brick wall, and yet take in everything you say."
"We've been talking a lot about the Thunder Bird lately," observed Fly. "Maybe that's interested him."
"I wouldn't be surprised if he's planning some deviltry," Carl remarked as they left the shop. "He's got some exaggerated notion about the Thunder Bird already."
As they entered the parade grounds they saw the retreating form of the strange Indian.
"I'll bet he's been listening," exclaimed Carl, a little disturbed. "There's no tellin' what a half-cracked, superstitious Indian may get into his head."
"You fellows have certainly made wonderful progress," Mr. Giles said to Fly that evening as he sat on the porch of their residence with his wife and son. "That man Hawke is a wonder. I'm as proud as anybody of that fine aeroplane, and mighty proud that my boy helped in building it."
"You ain't any prouder than I am," said Fly, while his mother stroked his red locks affectionately. "Hawke says he thinks I'm going to make a good flier. Gee, won't it be great to be up in the air sailing around like a bird!"
"I'm a little afraid of accidents," said Mrs. Giles, who had been somewhat worried about the safety of the venture, but had not wished to dampen her son's enthusiasm.
"Oh, leave that to Hawke," exclaimed Fly confidently. "He's going to make the first flight, although I wouldn't be afraid to go with him. Besides, we've got to get that sheep stealer. Herb's dad has been mighty good to us. We fellows are just crazy to find out what that killing thing is anyway. Gee, you ought to hear the way he howled the night Herb got hurt!" Even now, Fly thrilled at the memory of the experience.
"Hello," he broke in, as Dunk appeared some yards from the house. "Come on over."
"I'm tired," sighed Dunk, as he sat down beside Fly on the stoop, "but I can't think of going to bed, I'm so excited over that plane."
"To-morrow we get it in the hangar," began Fly, "then the engine and then, whoopee, up she goes!"
Fred, Jerry and Carlito strolled by at that moment, and, when they had joined the pair on the porch, made the same complaint as Dunk.
"I'm a little cut up over that old Indian, too," pondered Carl. "I wouldn't be afraid to meet him single-handed, but when a redskin gets to plotting things behind his paint, watch out!"
"Oh, don't worry about that," protested Dunk, who did not understand as well as Carl the malicious nature of a semi-wild Indian. "He's just a little bit cracked, that's all."
"Sure," corroborated Jerry. "The bunch of us wouldn't do a thing to him if he got actin' funny."
Carl had apparently dismissed the subject, however, for he was throwing his knife with a dexterity that only an Indian could have displayed. His action invited competition, and soon there was a lively contest in progress. Mr. and Mrs. Giles withdrew and left the boys to their game.
"Say, what's that?" exclaimed Dunk suddenly, in a voice of alarm.
"Smoke," yelled Jerry, jumping to his feet.
"Fire in the machine shop!" fairly screamed Carl as he started off on a run.
"The aeroplane!" gasped Fly.
"Get your buckets, quick!" ordered Fred, the coolest one of the bunch.
The boys ran to the side of the old barracks, just south of the machine shop, where the buckets were kept, yelling "Fire! Fire!" at the same time.
As they turned the corner of the barracks sharply they unexpectedly bumped into the mysterious red man, who was crouching and feeling his way along the wall. They were too excited to attach any importance to the occurrence at the moment, and the Indian was soon making swiftly for the open prairies to the west.
Aroused by the commotion, people were now running from all directions, and in an incredibly short time there was a good-sized crowd at the scene of the fire.
Carl had gone immediately to the shop. "Get a hose," he shouted to some idly gaping Greasers and soldiers who stood looking at the smoke which poured from the cracks of the doors and windows.
"Bring some buckets," he ordered to another group.
Carl made for the double doors, where a soldier was struggling to throw them apart.
"Here, keep those shut," he commanded. "Do you want to eat the place up with drafts?"
"We must keep it away from the plane," gasped Hawke, who had arrived a second before.
The small brigade had formed a double chain from the well to the machine shop. One line passed the filled buckets and the other returned them empty. Soldiers and Greasers were put to work.
"It's in the front," Fred announced.
Immediately Carl smashed in a front pane with his fist, for the window was locked on the inside.
"Shove that hose in here," said Fred, as the soldier came up with a small garden hose which gave forth a shallow spray of water.
Carl smashed in the companion window, and started to get inside.
"Here, hold on, Carl," protested Hawke. "That won't do."
But Carl shook him off and sprang through.
"Hand some buckets to me," he said. Fly, standing at the well, filled the buckets, passing them on down the line until they reached Carl, who threw them on the flames and then handed them back.
Hawke leaned through the window and tied a wet handkerchief over Carl's mouth and nose.
It had now grown quite dark, and there was little evidence of the fire from the outside of the building, except for the smoke which poured through the windows and cracks of the doors.
After a few minutes Carl sprang out of the window.
"It's eating its way toward the center," he announced hurriedly, snatching the handkerchief from his face. "We'll have to take a chance on getting the plane out. Keep fighting though."
Fred took up his position outside and they fought the fire as best they could through the open windows. Hawke, Jerry and Carl went to the side double doors.
Captain Crawford and Mr. Giles arrived at this time, and took turns relieving the boys, whose arms were aching from swinging the heavy buckets.
While the structure was of substantial brick, and the equipment of the machine shop consisted mostly of iron and metal and little combustible material, a large amount of debris had been piled in one corner of the shop, awaiting removal, and this burned quickly, giving the fire a good start. The one thought in the minds of the boys was to keep the flames from getting back to the aeroplane.
Hawke, Carl and Jerry had decided to open the double doors and go inside the burning building. As the others were at the front fighting the fire, there was no one to protest, except some of the frightened Greasers who insisted that "You fellows'll get killed."
"Close those doors as soon as we get in," said Carl in answer to their protests. "And the minute we give the signal open them again."
"Don't lose any time opening them, either," warned Hawke. "We'll all be needing air by that time."
"Jump in as quick as you can, Jerry," said Carl, as they slid the door back just enough to make an entrance.
Once inside, all three dropped on their hands and knees, first tying about the lower parts of their faces handkerchiefs which they had dampened.
They crept, wriggled and crawled in the direction of the machine. The air was stifling, and it was with the greatest difficulty that they could breathe, but, groping in the smoke and darkness, Carl finally got his hands on the truck.
Jerry and Hawke were quick to give him assistance, though none of them could do much more than fumble, handicapped as they were by the smoke and heat and their awkward position. The truck was a frail affair, and it would have been slow work at best. Under present conditions, the peril of upsetting the plane and of damaging if not losing it in the fire trap, demanded double caution.
Speech was impossible, but the three rescuers were practically of one mind, all realizing the importance of the hazardous mission they had undertaken, as inch by inch, they cautiously moved the plane nearer to the closed door. Hawke slowly pushed from the rear, while Carl and Jerry crawled on each side, steadying the machine with upraised arms. Their position was awkward and uncomfortable. After a few minutes it grew actually painful, their arms and bodies aching from the strain, and they felt themselves gradually growing weaker.
The fire had now about reached the center of the shop, and they could hear the shouts of the boys and others, ignorant of their plight, outside. Jerry could hear his father's voice raised in command, now and then, but, though he was gaining ground, the voices outside seemed growing fainter and fainter.
"Doctor Rivers has gone to Silver City with his machine to bring down the fire department," said Captain Crawford, his shirt soiled and wet and his face grimy with smoke.
The bucket brigade had kept up a continuous fight, and had done admirably in keeping the blaze in check. The fire had had such a start, however, that it seemed almost impossible to save the building. They were all, therefore, very much relieved to learn of Dr. Rivers' action and that help might soon be forthcoming.
"Maybe we can keep it under way until that time," said Fred, swinging a bucket in his aching arms. Two reels of hose had been found about the fort, and these were being used by Dunk and Captain Crawford. Three or four lanterns had been lit, but their pale light was scarcely needed, for the moon shone down full and bright, and this, aided by the light of the fire, which had eaten through the front of the building, made the fort as bright as day.
"Where's Carl?" suddenly asked Dunk.
"Jerry isn't here either," exclaimed Captain Crawford, hastily inspecting the line of boys.
At that moment a soldier rushed up to the captain.
"Three of your fellows went into the shop quite a while ago," he shouted above the din. "They told us not to open the doors until they gave the signal. Said they were going to get the aeroplane out. Seems they've been there a long time."
The captain paled and dropped his hose, starting after the soldier on a run. After disposing of their buckets, which they put into the hands of two watching Greasers, Dunk and Fred started after them.
A loud toot was heard just then, and Dr. Rivers came dashing up, his machine loaded with men from Silver City, the hose cart being attached to the back of the automobile. The new firemen started to work at once, a great relief to the tired boys and men of the fort. A second after, Herb and his father galloped into the parade grounds.
"Throw open those doors," gasped the captain, when the party reached the rear of the building. Fred and Dunk readily complied. The air poured into the interior, driving the smoke back and a sheet of eager flames mounted to the ceiling.
Within a foot of the door, however, was the aeroplane. As Fred rushed into the building he stumbled over the prostrate body of Carl, who had managed to crawl as far as the door to give the signal but had lost consciousness at the last moment. He was quickly dragged out into the open air, while the captain, Herb, Dunk and Fly, throwing themselves down on all fours, crept after the other two. They located them not far from Carl, by the side of the machine, and all three were soon receiving careful attention from Dr. Rivers.
Jerry and Hawke were soon revived, and taken to the Crawford residence where they were put under the care of Mrs. Crawford and Mrs. Windham.
Carl's condition gave some alarm. All efforts of the doctor to bring him to consciousness seemed fruitless. There was a great bump over his left temple, showing that he had hurt himself in falling, and the blow had partly stunned him.
At last, however, to the great relief of everybody, he opened his eyes. At first he looked bewildered at the anxious faces above him. Then catching sight of a bucket which Fly held in his hand, he seemed to realize the state of affairs at once.