A MESSAGE TO THE HEATHEN

It was all so sudden and, to Jack, at least, so unexpected, that it was not until the airplane lay, a crumpled mass, far back on the desert, that speech came to either of the boys. Then it was Jack who spoke.

“Wha――what happened?” he gasped.

“I got him,” said Hugh. “Through the shoulder, I think. Anyway, he fell over sideways and lost his controls. I――somehow, I hope I didn’t kill him.”

“Oh, the other man!” exclaimed Jack. “I’d forgotten all about him! Had we better go back? Maybe they’re badly hurt, Hugh, and we can do something.”

But Hugh shook his head gravely. “If we landed we couldn’t hold her, Jack, and maybe we couldn’t get up again. I don’t think either of us know enough about the game to try it. Besides, they brought it on themselves and they’ll have to take their medicine. I hate to leave a wounded man like this, but our orders are to make the border. And that village we saw can’t be more than ten miles away.”

Hugh had slowed the engines down, but now, having reached his decision, he speeded up again. Jack was looking back through the binoculars. At first a cloud of dust and vapor had obscured the wrecked plane, but presently it lifted and to his relief he saw two figures emerge from the confusion of twisted wood and metal and tattered fabric. One was evidently seriously hurt, for the other half carried him away from the wreck and eased him to the ground.

“They’re both alive, anyhow,” he proclaimed. “I hit the observer chap somewhere, but I guess I didn’t hurt him much. Your man, though, looks pretty sick.” He handed the glasses to Hugh and the latter studied the wreck a moment.

“The fellow on the ground is sitting up,” he announced. “I dare say it was only a flesh wound. Lucky for them the plane didn’t take fire. Maybe he turned off the ignition when I got him. Well, they got out of it pretty well, and we got out of it a heap better. Funny that neither of us was touched, for I could hear the bullets coming thick. Look at the holes along here, will you? How the dickens we got by without being plugged is a blooming miracle, Jack!”

“We――we didn’t,” said Jack apologetically. “That is, I――I got winged, I guess.” He held his right arm out. The khaki canvas of his wool-lined coat showed a great dark stain between shoulder and elbow. “It isn’t much, though. Hardly knew he’d hit me. It――――”

“Get that coat off,” growled Hugh. “Why didn’t you tell me, you silly chump? Here, give me hold. That’s it! Gee, what a mess! Have to rip the sleeve up, I guess. Wait till I fetch some water and a bit of gauze.” He plunged down the little ladder and presently scrambled back into sight, a roll of gauze in his hand. Quite deftly he cleaned the blood away from the wound and examined it. “Went right through,” he said finally. “Look here. You can’t see where it came out, though. But I can, and you’ll have to take my word for it. You’ll have a lame arm for a few days, but I guess there’s no great harm done. Does it hurt?”

“Of course it hurts, when you squeeze it like that, you crazy loon! Quit it!”

“Have to do that to clean it,” answered the other, grinning. “Hold still! Say, there’s some antiseptic solution somewhere aboard. Now where is it? I know! Hold that gauze there a minute.”

Five minutes later the wound was neatly dressed and bandaged, and when Jack had carefully donned his coat again a loop of gauze was tied about his neck and the arm placed in it. “See that you keep it there, too,” ordered Hugh sternly.

“But I can’t use it!”

“Who wants you to use it? Haven’t you any sense? Look here, I’m the ship’s doctor and what I say goes!”

“Who made you doctor?” grumbled Jack.

“I did. As commander of the ship I can make myself anything I please, old son. Just you remember that. And I can put you in irons, too, if you don’t behave yourself. Now you keep that arm where I’ve put it; at least until to-morrow; and hustle for’ard and look at your compass. Bet you a million pesos we’re headed south instead of north!”

But they weren’t. The _F 8_ was evidently a craft to be trusted, for in spite of happenings that might have made any dirigible nervous and caused it to fall off its course the _Fate_ had plugged along without a tremor, attending strictly to its business of getting there! By this time the wrecked airplane was only a spot in the sunlit distance, and not even that to the naked eye. The desert was rapidly changing its character. Acres of close-growing chaparral and clumps of fat, stunted trees clothed the ground. Aroyas and dry washes took the place of the former monotonous flatness, and all the time the earth was gradually falling further and further away from the balloon. Northeast by east the hills that they had sighted earlier were now quite plain, a long barrier stretching from southeast to northwest, some forty miles away. The distance was Hugh’s guess: Jack would have placed the range much nearer. Pale blue, with pockets and streaks of a darker shade, the mountains showed to the crew of the dirigible. At their feet lay a valley, and from where the _F 8_ flew the land descended slowly to its floor. The scene, viewed from their elevation, was really beautiful, the first scene, according to Hugh, that merited that description. But it was far less the beauty of the view than the evident fact that the range of low mountains did not reach far enough to the west to dispute the progress of the dirigible that pleased Jack. Ahead of them lay, so far as they could yet determine, only gradually descending country, flat save for occasional dry water-courses and outcroppings of rock. And the map that they had recourse to verified their vision. Only one small settlement was indicated on the line of their flight, and that lay close to the river. It was for sight or signs of the latter that they strained their eyes now, but the air had lost its clearness and visibility was lessened, and at twenty minutes before two, the _F 8_ then having logged 112 miles, the Rio Grande was still hidden. There had been, all along, a discrepancy between the Mexicans’ estimate of the distance to the nearest point on the border and that of their maps. At Perdero the distance had been variously stated as from one hundred and ten miles to one hundred and thirty, whereas, if Perdero was correctly placed on the military maps the actual distance was nearer a hundred and fifty. If, as Hugh pointed out, a hundred and fifty was right, they ought to sight the river by two o’clock. It was shortly after he had made this hopeful statement that Jack gave a cry and pointed over the port side. There, far below and well eastward, the afternoon sunlight sparkled on water, and presently, aided by the glasses, they were able to follow the stream northward for some miles. The river was not the Rio Grande, however, but a small, tributary stream. Nevertheless, sight of it brought encouragement, for the map showed that it flowed into the larger river but twenty miles away.

They sailed directly over a village a few miles further on and could see the excitement that their appearance was causing, even though the _Fate_ was now well over two thousand feet up. The country beneath showed much cactus and, along what in the rainy season were apparently water-courses, much vegetation. But for the rest it was dry and unprofitable looking. Here and there a small plantation made a patch of green and now and then a peon’s hut showed like a dull drab speck. Roads wandered uncertainly beneath, losing themselves in jungles of chaparral or on bare and rocky hillsides.

Just before two the starboard engine showed signs of overheating, and, since American soil was near and high speed no longer necessary, Hugh shut it off and ran on the port engine alone, making just under thirty miles. It was a moment after that Jack, gazing eagerly forward from the cockswain’s seat, caught his first glimpse of the Rio Grande, far to the northeast. He pointed it out to Hugh and even as they looked the river appeared again directly ahead at a distance of ten or a dozen miles, its course now easily followed by the marching lines of vegetation.

“Hurray!” cried Hugh. “There’s the little old U. S. A. again, son! Don’t she look good?”

“I’ll say she does!” agreed Jack fervently, although as a matter of fact the country beyond the distant river looked no different from that above which they were flying; and it would have required a lot of patriotism to see anything attractive in the latter! But the sight of the arid land across the wide, nearly dry river bed meant that they had succeeded in their undertaking, and so it appeared to the two boys a veritable Promised Land, and they indulged in a good deal of cheering and self-congratulation in the next few minutes. They were still laughing and joking when Hugh gave an exclamation and pointed down over the side.

Below them, little oblongs against the parched green of the plain, lay several buildings of what appeared to be corrugated iron sheeting. Above them a flag hung limply on a pole, too limply to show its colors. About the buildings tiny brownish specks moved excitedly, like ants about a disturbed ant-hill. At a short distance from the cluster of shacks a number of the specks had congregated, and even as the two boys looked puzzledly down, there was a puff of whitish vapor there and, a moment later, a faint report.

“Why, the dirty little greasers are firing at us!” cried Hugh indignantly. “What do you know about that? Gee, I wish I had a couple of bombs! I’d like to drop ’em and see those rascals run!”

“Do you mean that’s an anti-aircraft gun they’ve got?” exclaimed Jack.

“Sure as you’re an inch high! I suppose they call that thing a fort, eh? Wonder how near they got to us. There she goes again! Say, maybe it’s a good thing we didn’t come down when I suggested it!”

“Yes, and if you’ll take my advice,” answered Jack uneasily, “you’ll start the other engine and get out of here. I don’t know how far that thing can shoot, but two thousand feet ought to be easy for it!”

“Maybe you’re right, old son. And why not swing her off toward the east there and follow the bend of the river? As for their ever hitting us, though, they couldn’t do it in a thousand years.” Nevertheless, the starboard engine was speedily adding its roar to that of the other, and, with the rudder swung to port, the dirigible turned lazily, as though scorning such foolish doings, and headed her red-white-and-blue nose into the east. Whether the shells fired from the fort came near enough to endanger the balloon the boys never knew, for, look and listen as they might, they saw nothing of them, and shortly the _F 8_ had left the menace well behind. Once out of possible range, Hugh again shut off the starboard engine and, traveling steadily at slightly under thirty miles an hour, the big dirigible followed the winding course of the Rio Grande, at that part scarcely more than a muddy apology for a river.

“Watch for a patrol or any sort of a station on the American side,” directed Hugh when, the balloonets having been partly deflated, the dirigible sailed some three hundred and fifty feet above the treetops. “I’ll write some messages and we’ll drop them the first chance we get. The sooner they get word at Camp Stanton the better, and it’ll take us six hours to get to Fort Phillips at this speed.”

“Phillips!” exclaimed Jack. “But I thought we were going to make Punta Rio!”

“We were――if we could, son, but have you had a look at the gasoline gauge?” Jack shook his head. “Well, I have. We’ve got enough in the tanks to make Punta Rio, if we run like this on one engine, but Punta Rio’s a good five hundred miles from here and, at thirty miles an hour, it would take us until eight o’clock to-morrow morning to get there, always supposing we can keep aloft that long.”

“Why can’t we?” asked Jack.

“Maybe we can, but suppose we can’t? How’d you like to tell the C. O. that you brought the balloon back safely as far as Tie Siding or Chile Concarne or some other place along the American side and then let it go dead? No, sir, Jack, we can make a fine triumphal arrival at Fort Phillips and report by wire, and I don’t want to take any chances on wrecking the old jitney by trying too much. I’d like landing nonchalantly in front of Number 6 Shed as well as you, old scout. I’ve got a perfectly corking picture of myself climbing carelessly out and flecking the dust from my sleeve and saying, ‘Walk her in, boys. I’m through with her!’ And there’s no denying that you’d make a wonderful hit with that arm of yours in a sling, when you faced the C. O. _But_ I’m for safety first, son, me!”

Jack grinned. “All right,” he said. “Get busy with your pencil then. There ought to be some of the doughboys along here somewhere.”

“More likely the Eighth Cavalry, I guess. Get your map and set her course for Fort Phillips, Mr. Sterling.”

“Ay, ay, sir!”

“And keep that arm where I put it!”

“It is!”

“Yes, but you keep jiggling it around. Let’s see that chart. There’s Phillips. Make your course northeast three-quarters east.”

“Get out of my station! You belong aft with the engines, you oily, dirty swab! Say, isn’t that something ahead there?”

“Where? I see. Yes, a ranch house, I guess. Don’t see anything alive around it, though. Guess it’s deserted. We won’t waste a message there. By the way, can you wigwag?”

“No.”

“Neither can I, worse luck. If one of us could we might make ’em understand that we were dropping a message. I’m going to learn that stuff the first chance I get. Well, keep your eyes open, old son.”

“You get those messages written and stop worrying about me, Hughie. Say, how’d it do to wrap the message around a bolt or something? There are a lot of bolts and nuts and things in the hole.”

“That’s what I intended doing,” answered the other sweetly. “Either that or letting you jump over with it!”

Ten minutes later Hugh reappeared again in the forward cockpit. “I’ve made three copies,” he said. “How does this sound? ‘To the finder: Report me to Naval Aviation Base, Punta Rio. Making Fort Phillips. Commander Weeks and Officers Gandell, Traine, Jordan and Wason held prisoners by General Roza at Perdero, Coahuila. Have commander’s report to Rear Admiral Thomas aboard. Clode, Ensign, commanding.’ All right?”

“Sounds great,” said Jack. “Only you ought to have put Traine before Gandell, you mutton-head. Gandell’s only junior grade.”

“What’s the odds? Anyway, it’s too late to change it now because, unless my eyes deceive me, there’s a town or something ahead there.”

“Of course there is. Look at the chart, ‘Clode, Ensign, Commanding.’”

“You’re envious, old son. That’s right: Tiamina. Never heard of the metropolis before, though. And those must be the Santiago Mountains beyond there, eh? Sure to be soldiers at Tiamina. Maybe there’s a post there. We’ll slow down and make ’em understand that we’re dropping a message and not a pocket handkerchief. I’ll find a hunk of iron or something.”

“Yes, and be careful you don’t drop it on some one’s head,” laughed Jack.

The approach of the _F 8_ caused great and visible excitement in the little village. Long before the dirigible floated above the first of the Mexican huts that bordered the settlement the population of the place, to the last dog and chicken, was gaping upward. You could have counted the inhabitants without getting into three figures, however! Hugh, standing in the second cockpit, waved and motioned, and every man, woman and child below waved enthusiastically back. Of anything approaching military appearance, however, there was a total lack. No one in uniform showed down there. With the single engine throttled well down, the _F 8_ floated slowly and impressively over the village, Hugh still seeking to convey the information that the white thing he held in his hand was a message to be read. In spite of the fact that his voice would scarcely be heard below, he shouted at the top of his lungs and got very red in the face about it. And the more he waved and shouted the more the inhabitants of Tiamina waved and shouted back, moving along in the shadow of the big balloon as delighted and joyous as a lot of children.

“Oh, they’re crazy!” said Hugh in exasperation. “Bet you a dollar if I drop this they’ll try to throw it back!”

Jack was doubled up with laughter. “Well, d-d-drop it and s-s-see,” he called back.

Hugh grunted, hesitated and at last let the message go. Fortunately, none of the villagers were directly beneath, for the sheet of paper was carefully wrapped about a six-ounce steel nut. A score of eager hands sought to pick it up, and for a moment there ensued a mild riot in the sleepy main thoroughfare of Tiamina. At last a man who might have been Mexican or American or Tierra del Fuegoan for all they knew, was seen to emerge with the property proudly in hand. His first act was to wave politely with his straw hat. After that the throng closed in around him and he was lost to view.

“I suppose he’ll take it home and put it on the mantel as an ornament,” growled Hugh. “Did you ever see such a bunch of dubs?” He gazed back at the sleepy village and scowled. They were still waving, those who were not striving for a view of the mysterious package dropped from the wonderful airship. “For the love of lemons, stop your idiotic laughing!”

“I――I can’t help it,” gurgled Jack. “It was so funny!”

“Huh!”

“And――and the funniest part of it,” added Jack, “is that there probably isn’t a single, solitary one of them who can read English!”

Hugh’s jaw dropped. “Gee, I never thought of that!” he muttered.