The Thunder Bird

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  "MY JOB'S FLYING"

  The stopping of the motor wakened him finally, and he sat up,stretching his arms and yawning prodigiously. His legs were cramped,his neck was stiff, he was conscious of great emptiness. By the starshe knew that it was well toward morning. Hills bulked in the distance,with dark blobs here and there which daylight later identified as liveoaks. Cliff was climbing out, and at the sound of Johnny's yawn heturned.

  "We'll camp here, I think. There's no road from here on, and I ratherwant daylight. Perhaps then we will decide not to go on. How would acup of coffee suit you? I can get out enough plunder for a meal."

  "I can sure do the rest," Johnny cheerfully declared. "Cook it and eatit too. Where's there any water?"

  "There's a creek over here a few yards. I'll get a bucket." With histrouble-light suspended from the top of the car, Cliff moved a roll ofblankets and a bag that had jolted out of place. In a moment he hadall the necessary implements of an emergency camp, and was pulling outcans and boxes of supplies that opened Johnny's eyes. Evidently Cliffhad come prepared to camp for some time.

  Over coffee and bacon and bread Johnny learned some things he hadwanted to know. They were in the heart of the country which Cliff hadshown him on the relief map, miles from the beaten trail of tourists,but within fifteen miles of the border.

  "There's a cabin somewhere near here that we can use for headquarters,"Cliff further explained. "And to-day a Mexican will come and takecharge of camp and look after our interests while we are over the line.I have ordered a quantity of gas that will be brought here and storedin a safe place, and there is a shelter for the plane. I merely wantyou to look over the ground, make sure of the landing possibilities,and fix certain landmarks in your mind so that you can drop down herewithout making any mistake as to the spot. When that is done we willreturn and bring your airplane over. It is only about a hundred andforty miles from Los Angeles, air line. You can make that easilyenough, I suppose?"

  "I don't see why not. A hundred and forty miles ain't far, when you'relined out and flying straight for where you're going."

  "No. Well, one step at a time. We'll just repack this, so that we canmove on to the cabin as soon as it's light enough. I don't think itcan be far."

  Daylight came and showed them that the cabin was no more than a longpistol shot away. Johnny looked at Cliff queerly. City man he mightbe--city man he certainly looked and acted and talked, but he did notappear to rely altogether upon signposts and street-corner labels toshow him his way about. Just who and what was the fellow, anyway?Something more than a high-class newspaper man, Johnny suspected.

  That cabin, for instance, might have been built and the surroundingsordered to suit their purpose. It was a commonplace cabin, set againsta hill rock-hewn and rugged, with a queer, double-pointed top like twinsteeples tumbled by an earthquake; or like two "sheep herders'monuments" built painstakingly by giants. The lower slope of the hillwas grassy, with scattered live oaks and here and there a huge bowlder.It was one of these live oaks, the biggest of them all, withwide-spreading branches drooping almost to the ground, that Cliffpointed out as an excellent concealment for an airplane.

  "Run it under there, and who would ever suspect? Mateo is therealready with his woman and the kiddies. Has it ever occurred to you,old man, how thoroughly disarming a woman and kiddies are in anyenterprise that requires secrecy?"

  "Can't say it has. It has occurred to me that kids are the limit forblabbing things. And women--"

  "Not these," Cliff smiled serenely. "These are trained kiddies. Theydo their blabbing at home, you'll find. They're better than dogs, togive warning of strangers prowling about."

  He must have meant during the day they were better than dogs. Theydrove up to the cabin, swung around the end and turned under a live oakwhose branches scraped the car's top, while four dogs circled themachine, barking and growling. Still no kiddies appeared, but theirfather came out of a back door and drove the dogs back. He waslow-browed, swart and silent, with a heavy black mustache and a mop ofhair to match. Cliff left the car and walked away with him, speakingin an undertone what Johnny knew to be Spanish. The low-browed oneinterpolated an occasional "Si, si, senor!" and gesticulated much.

  "All right, Johnny, this is Mateo, who will look after us at thisend--providing there's nothing to hinder our using this asheadquarters. How about that flat, out in front? Is it big enough fora flying field, do you think? You might walk over it and take a look."

  Stiffly, Johnny climbed down and walked obediently out across the openflat. It was fairly smooth, though Mateo's kids might well be setgathering rocks. The hills encircled it, green where the rocks werenot piled too ruggedly. He inspected the great oak which Cliff hadpointed out as a hiding place for the plane. Truly it was a wonder ofan oak tree. Its trunk was gnarled and big as a hogshead, and itleaned away from the steep slope behind it so that its southernbranches almost touched the ground. These stretched farther thanJohnny had dreamed a tree could stretch its branches, and screenedcompletely the wide space beneath. It was like a great tent, with theback wall lifted; since here the branches inclined upward, scraping thehillside with their tips. The Thunder Bird could be wheeled aroundbehind and under easily enough, and never seen from the front andsides. It was so obviously perfect that Johnny wondered why Cliffshould bother to consult him about it. He wondered, too, how Cliff hadfound the place, how he had completed so quickly his plans to use itfor the purpose. It looked almost as though Cliff had expected him andhad made ready for him though that could not be so, since not evenJohnny himself had known that he was coming to the Coast so soon. Butto have the place all ready, with a man to take charge and all in a fewhours, was an amazing accomplishment that filled Johnny with awe.Cliff Lowell must be a wizard at news-gathering if his talents were tobe measured by this particular achievement.

  "Well, do you think it will serve?" Catlike, Cliff had come up behindhim.

  "Sure it will serve. If you can think up some way to hide the track ofthe plane when it lands, it wouldn't be found here in a thousand years.But of course the marks will show--"

  "Just what kind of marks?"

  "Well, the wheels themselves don't leave much of a track, and the windfills them quick, anyway. But the drag digs in. If you've ever beenaround a flying field you've noticed what looks like wheel-barrowtracks all over, haven't you? That's something you can't get awayfrom, wherever you land. Though of course some soil holds the markworse than others."

  "That will be attended to. Now I'll show you just where this spot ison the map." He produced the folded map and opened it, kneeling on theground to spread it flat. "You see those twin peaks up there? Theyare just here. This is the valley, and right here is the cabin. Youmight take this map and study it well. You will have to fly high, toavoid observation, and land with as little manoeuvering as possible.For ten or fifteen miles around here there is nothing but wilderness,fortunately. The land is held in an immense tract--and I happen toknow the owners so that it will be only chance observers we need tofear. You will need to choose your landing so that you can come downright here, close to the oak, and be able to get the machine undercover at once. I'll mark the spot--just here, you see.

  "Now, I shall have Mateo bring the blankets here under the tree. Ifeel the need of a little sleep, myself. How about you? We start backat dark, by the way."

  "How about that duck hunting?"

  "Ducks? Oh, Mateo will hunt the ducks!" Cliff permitted himself asuperior smile. "We shall have sufficient outlet for any surplusenergy without going duck hunting. You had better turn in when I do."

  "No, I slept enough to do me, at a pinch. If Mateo can get a horse, Iwant to ride up on this pinnacle and take a look-see over the country.I can get the lay of things a whole lot better than goggling a month atyour doggone maps."

  Cliff took a minute to think it over and gave a qualified consent."Don't go far, and don't ta
lk to any one you may meet--though there isno great chance of meeting any one. I suppose," he added grudgingly,"it will be a good idea for you to get the lay of the country in yourmind. Though the map can give you all you need to know, I shouldthink."

  On a scrawny little sorrel that Mateo brought up from some hiddenpasture where the feed was apparently short, Johnny departed, aware ofMateo's curious, half-suspicious stare. He had a full canteen from thecar and a few ragged slices of bread wrapped in paper with a littleboiled ham. In spite of the fact that he had lately forsworn so tame athing as riding, he was glad to be on a horse once more, though bewished it was a better animal.

  He climbed the hill, zigzagging back and forth to make easier work forthe pony, until he was high above the live-oak belt and coming intoshale rock and rubble that made hard going for the horse. Hedismounted, led the pony to a shelving, rock-made shade, and tied himthere. Then, with canteen and food slung over his shoulder, Johnnyclimbed to the peak and sat down puffing on the shady side of one ofthe twin columns.

  Seen close, they were huge, steeple-like outcroppings of rock, withsoil-filled crevices that gave foothold for bushes. In all the countryaround Johnny could see no other hilltop that in the least resembledthis, so it did not seem to him likely that he would ever miss his waywhen he travelled the air lanes.

  For awhile he sat gazing out over the country, which seemed asuccession of green valleys, hidden from one another by high hills orwooded ridges. Mexico lay before him, across the valley and a hill ortwo--fifteen miles, Cliff Lowell had told him. It would be extremelysimple to fly straight toward this particular hill, circle, and landdown there in front of the oak. Cliff had spoken of risk, bat Johnnycould not see much risk here. It must be across the line, he thought.Still, Cliff had said he had friends there, which did not sound likedanger. They had considered it worth fifteen hundred a week, though,to fly across these fifteen miles into Mexico and back again. Johnnyshook his head slowly, gave up the puzzle, and took out his wallet tocount the money again.

  Half an hour he spent, fingering those bank notes, gloating over them,wondering what Mary V would say if she knew he had them, wishing he hadanother fifteen hundred, so he could pay old Sudden and be done withit. An unpleasant thought came to him and nagged at him, though hetried to push it from him; the thought that it would be Sudden'ssecurity that he would be risking--that the Thunder Bird was not reallyhis until he had paid that note.

  The thought troubled him. He got up and moved restlessly along thebase of the towering rock, when something whined past his ear andspatted against a bowlder beyond. Johnny did not think; he actedinstinctively, dropping as though he had been shot and lying thereuntil he had time to plan his next move. He had not been raised in gunsmoke, but nevertheless he knew a bullet when he heard it, and he didnot think himself conceited when he believed this particular bullet hadbeen presented to him. Why?

  On his stomach he inched down out of range unless the shooter moved hisposition, and then, impelled by a keen desire to know for sure, headopted the old, old trick of sending his hat scouting for him. A deadbush near by furnished the necessary stick, and the steep slope gavehim shelter while he tested the real purpose of the man who had shot.It might be just a hunter, of course--only this was a poor place forhunting anything but one inoffensive young flyer who meant harm to noone. He put his hat on the stick, pushed the stick slowly up past arock, and tried to make the hat act as though its owner was crawlinglaboriously to some fancied shelter.

  For a minute or two the hat crawled unmolested. Then, _pang-g_ cameanother bullet and bored a neat, brown-rimmed hole through the uphillside of the hat, and tore a ragged hole on its way out through thedownhill side. Johnny let the hat slide down to him, looked at theholes with widening eyes, said "Good gosh!" just under his breath, andhitched himself farther down the slope.

  His curiosity was satisfied; he had seen all of the country he neededto see and there was nothing to stay for, anyway. When he reached.the patient sorrel pony a minute or two later (it had taken him half anhour or more to climb from the pony to the peak, but climbing, ofcourse, is much slower than coming down--even without the accelerationof singing rifle bullets) he was perspiring rather freely and puffing alittle.

  For a time he waited there under the shelf of rock. But he heard nosound from above, and in a little while he led the pony down the otherway, which brought him to the valley near a small pasture which wasevidently the pony's home, judging from the way he kept pulling in thatdirection. Johnny turned the horse in and closed the gate, setting theold saddle astride it with the bridle hanging over the horn. He didnot care for further exploration, thank you.

  What Johnny would like to know was, what had he done that he should beshot at? He was down there by Cliff Lowell's invitation-- Straightwayhe set off angrily, taking long steps to the cabin and the great oaktree beside it. The two dogs and five half-naked Mexican childrenspied him and scattered, the dogs coming at him full tilt, the childrenscuttling to the cabin. Johnny swore at the dogs and they did notbite. He followed the children and they did not stop. So he camepresently to the oak and roused Cliff, who came promptly to an elbowwith a wicked looking automatic pointed straight at Johnny's middle.

  "Say, for gosh sake! I been shot at twice already this morning.What's the idea? I never was gunned so much in my life, and I live inArizona, that's supposed to be bad. What's the matter with this darnedplace?"

  Cliff tucked the gun out of sight under his blanket, yawned, and laydown again. "You caught me asleep, old man. I beg your pardon--but Ihave learned in Mexico that it's best to get the gun first and see whoit is after that. Did you say something about being shot at?"

  "I did, but I could say more. Here I am down here without any gun butthat cussed shotgun, and I didn't have that, even, when I coulda usedit handy. And look what I got, up here on the hill!" He removed hishat and poked two fingers through the two holes in the crown. "Somemovie stuff! What's the idea?"

  Cliff nearly looked startled. He called, "Oh, Mateo!" And Mateo camein haste, bent down, and the two murmured together in Mexican.Afterwards Cliff turned to Johnny with his little smile.

  "It's all right, old man--glad you weren't hurt. It was a mistake,though. You were a stranger, and it was thought, I suppose, that youwere spying on this place. While it was a close call for you, itproves that we are being well cared for. Better forget it and turn in."

  He yawned again and turned over so that his back was toward Johnny, andthat youth took the hint and departed to find blankets to spread forhimself. He was tired enough to lie down and sleepy enough to sleep,but he could not blandly forget about those bullets as Cliff advised.There were several things he wanted to know before he would feelperfectly satisfied.

  Since the Thunder Bird was not here, why should strangers be shot at?Their only trouble would be with the guards along the boundary, whenthey tried to cross back from Mexico. But they had not tried it yet.The guards were still happily unaware of how they were going to worrylater on, so why the shooting?

  "Oh, well, thunder! They didn't hit me--so I should care. If Cliffwants to set guards around this camp before there's anything to guard,that's his business. Like paying me before I fly, I guess. He's gotthe guards up there practising, maybe. I should worry; my job'sflying."