THE “FATE” COMES HOME

“I thought we had the border patrolled,” scoffed Hugh somewhat later. “We haven’t seen a patrol since we crossed. No wonder Roza finds it dead easy to make his raids!”

“Hm,” Jack commented. “Ever consider that there are some thirteen or fourteen hundred miles of said border, sonny? Putting patrols even a quarter of a mile apart would take somewhere around five thousand of them.”

“Well, what of it? We’ve got that many in the army, haven’t we? I should think that would be better than letting Roza and the other bandits run across whenever they like and steal everything in sight!”

“I guess we’re not as fast asleep as it looked,” answered Jack. “There’s a plane coming.”

“About time,” grumbled the other. “If we were one of Tito Roza’s outfits we could have bombed a couple of villages and got away without hurrying. That’s a De Haviland, old son. I trained in one of those at Pensacola. Wish we could get a message to them. I don’t believe those chumps back there at Tiamina will do anything with that message but look at it.”

“We might try the megaphone,” Jack suggested.

“No good. The engine sounds would drown it. And they won’t dare come very close, I guess.”

Nor did they. The flyers swept down from the northeast, probably from Fort Phillips, and, keeping at a respectful distance from the big aircraft, circled and waved, the observer standing up and putting much gusto into his greeting.

“Guess they had us down as lost,” said Hugh, “and the fellow is saying ‘Welcome Home.’” The boys waved back and the airplane shot away again toward the west as it completed its circle. Soon after a squad of cavalry was sighted some three or four miles northward, but it was decided not to change the dirigible’s course in order to give them a message since, as Jack pointed out, they were probably further from a telegraph or telephone than the _Fate_ was. For some time they skirted the southern foothills of the mountains that lie jumbled together in the Big Bend country, on several occasions having to alter their course rather than try for more elevation. The sight of a railroad following the winding course of a small river brought from Hugh the remark that it looked like they were at last back in civilization. There were small towns along the line of the shining rails and a second message was dropped, this time with more prospect of attention. The passing of the dirigible occasioned little interest, so far as they could see, but their message was rescued from the roof of what appeared to be a livery stable, and, since there was a telegraph office there, they concluded that Fort Stanton would soon learn of the _F 8’s_ safe return. It was close on six o’clock when they crossed over the Pecos River at a point some fifty miles north of the border, and nearly eight when, in the lingering twilight, they sighted Fort Phillips. News of their arrival had evidently preceded them, since when, with engine throttled low and the balloon making scarcely more than headway into a light easterly breeze, they nosed down toward the big landing field west of the long line of hangars, a force of groundmen awaited and the big searchlights were focused on them. That, to Hugh and Jack, was trying work. There were acres of space in which to land, but it was all new stuff to them and they were horribly afraid that they would make a mess of it. They had remembered in time to splice new cable onto the forward and aft guys, and these they dropped long before the dirigible was near the ground. Fortunately, the planes answered the controls perfectly and after many minutes of misgivings and nervousness the _F 8_, with engine running idle, came to a halt, her cables manned and the boat swinging just above ground. Hugh shut off the engine and sank on to the bench.

“_Gee!_” he gasped.

“I’ll say so, too,” said Jack fervently.

“Toss the ladder over,” muttered Hugh meekly. “Some one’s jabbering down there.”

Jack obeyed, and a grizzled major whose jacket bore the Army Aviation Corps insignia popped his head over the side.

“Who’s in command here?” he asked.

“I am, sir,” answered Hugh, getting his feet under him again. “Ensign Clode.”

The major scrambled into the cockpit. “Glad to meet you, sir! My congratulations. Quite a trip, you must have had. My name’s Warren; Aviation.” He shook hands heartily with Hugh and then with Jack. “We got word from Camp Stanton about an hour ago that you were coming and so we got ready for you. Understand the Navy had given you up for lost. Must have quite a yarn to spin. Soon as you’re ready I’ll show you over to the quarters. Got some food waiting over there for you, my boys.”

“Thank you, sir,” said Hugh gratefully. “Food’ll taste pretty good to us. Jack, see that everything’s all right for’ard, will you? Have you any way of anchoring this ship, sir?”

“I’m afraid not, Mr. Clode, but we’ve got two infantry details to look after her until morning. There are orders for you at quarters. Rather think they expect you to take the balloon on to Punta Rio.”

“I hope not,” replied Hugh. “I’ve had enough for awhile. These things weren’t made for two men to sail.”

“I should say not! Guess we can give you some help, though. That you, Lieutenant? Come aboard. Meet Ensign Clode, Lieutenant Groat; and Ensign Sterling. If you’re ready we’ll go across.”

“What about riding lights, Hugh?” Jack asked.

“Blessed if I know. Guess you’d better switch ’em on, though. No chance of a wind to-night, is there, Major?”

“No, no fear of that. There hasn’t been a cupful of breeze since the storm that you chaps got into, and no prospects yet. All right now? After you, Lieutenant.”

The boys found a warm and admiring welcome awaiting them in the officers’ quarters, and, after a doctor had attended to Jack’s wound, such a meal as they had not enjoyed for many days. Major Warren and the dozen or more officers who had flocked from all points of the fort left them to themselves during the meal and they were able to do full justice to it without having to make apologies. Afterwards Hugh received and initialed for a copy of the orders addressed to him from headquarters at Punta Rio.

“Clode, Ensign, commanding S. D. _F 8_; Congratulations. Afford all information regarding detention of your officers to Commanding Officer Fort Phillips. Report at once whether _F 8_ is fit for further immediate service. If so can you bring her here with aid of working crew from Army Aviation Corps and how soon? Thomas, R. A.”

Hugh handed the orders to Jack. “What about it?” he asked. “Want to try to make home, old son?”

“Sure! With a couple of these fellows to help, and some more gasoline, we can do it, can’t we?”

“I think so. We’ll try it, anyway. I’ll get an answer off and see the C. O. Want to come along?”

“Not unless you need me. You can tell the yarn better than I can. All I want now is about ten nights’ sleep!”

But if Jack thought he was to escape without telling his story he was much mistaken. The officers allowed Hugh to get away, but they nailed Jack, sat him in a comfortable chair out on the wide veranda, drew close and told him to get at it! And so Jack, fighting off sleepiness, told the story of the _Fate’s_ journey from start to finish to a much interested audience. And when he had ended he had many questions to answer. Some of the younger officers expressed fear as to the fate of Lieutenant Commander Weeks and his companions, but Major Warren, who had fought along the border before entering aviation, was optimistic.

“That Roza hombre has plenty of sense,” he said. “Some of those fellows, half-breeds, most of ’em, might start shootin’, but Roza knows we’d get him sooner or later if he tried that game. What he’ll do is break camp and hide out somewhere in the hills, taking his prisoners along with him. We’ll have to find him. That’ll be our part of the game, gentlemen. I wouldn’t wonder if some one had to pay those ransoms, either. That’s a fierce country down there when it comes to finding any one who doesn’t want to be found! Look at the time we had trailing Villa!”

“Think they’ll leave the job to us, Major?” asked a young lieutenant.

“No, they won’t. I wouldn’t be surprised if they dumped a couple of regiments of cavalry over the line. Of course the Navy Aviation fellows have the first call, and they won’t let us in on it unless they have to. But I guess they’ll have to. We’re two or three hundred miles nearer than they are, you see, and quick action’s going to count. Guess some of us’ll be going up on S. D. to-morrow!”

“Hope so!” said one of his hearers, and others grunted agreement.

More discussion followed, to which Jack listened sleepily until Hugh returned. After that, with Hugh there to attend to conversational demands, Jack settled down in his chair and relapsed into a delicious state that was neither waking nor sleeping and into which the talk flowed in soothing murmurs. He was never fully and entirely awake again until morning.

The _F 8_ cast off at 6:10, Hugh at the engines and Jack in the cockswain’s seat. With them went three young officers of the Army Aviation Corps, highly delighted with the adventure. None of the latter had had balloon training, but all possessed sound common-sense and a general knowledge of aëronautics. The dirigible found her level at slightly over two hundred feet, for her buoyancy was low owing to depleted balloonets; and helium gas was not to be had nearer than Punta Rio. But a study of the map showed that an elevation of two hundred feet would carry them safely over all obstacles. Jack swung her nose southward toward the river and when that was reached its course became the general course of the balloon. They had to buck a southeast breeze that grew fairly stiff as they neared the coast. Hugh started out with the starboard engine, but at the end of the first hour it developed sounds that he didn’t like, and he shifted to the port. Eventually he was obliged to alternate them for brief stretches, as neither worked smoothly and the troubles were beyond his knowledge. He managed, nevertheless, to average just over thirty-two miles an hour, and, greeted with acclaim at every town they flew over, they sighted the radio towers at Punta Rio shortly after seven o’clock. An hour later the _F 8_ was once more back in her shed and the amateur navigators had delivered Lieutenant Commander Weeks’ dispatch to Rear Admiral Thomas and were doing justice to a late supper in the officers’ mess-hall. Afterwards they made their way back to headquarters and found a good-sized audience awaiting them. Spreading a map of Northern Mexico on the table, Rear Admiral Thomas asked them to indicate as nearly as they could the location of Perdero. To their bewilderment they found the word set down a good thirty miles north and east of where it should have been placed according to their belief. “Don’t let that bother you,” they were told. “There isn’t a map of Mexico that isn’t chock full of errors. I saw one once that showed Mazatlan nearly a degree north of where it belonged! Point out where you believe Perdero to be, Mr. Clode.”

“About here, sir,” said Hugh, after some study. He glanced inquiringly at Jack and the latter nodded confirmation. The admiral marked the spot with a pencil. Then, while the other officers and the boys looked on, he plotted distances with a pair of dividers. At last:

“Call it an even four hundred miles in a direct line,” he said. “Seven hours, we’ll say, for the F Class ships, four hours for the planes. You told me, I think, that your engines were not working properly to-day, Mr. Clode. Do you know what the trouble was?”

“No, sir. I――I’m not enough of an engineer to be able to say.”

“Naturally. Well, never mind. We’ll get a report soon. Now tell us what military resources you believe this General Roza to have at or about Perdero. Sit down, please. There are several things Commander Weeks doesn’t tell in his dispatch that we ought to know.”

At the end of an hour the ordeal ended. “Now you two had better turn in,” advised the admiral. “Get all the sleep you can. You may have a busy day to-morrow. And, by the way, it would be a good plan to telegraph your folks that you’re all right. The papers have been rather full of the _F 8’s_ disappearance and I’m afraid the impression got out that she was lost.”

“Guess she was,” observed one of the officers, “but she found herself again! Anything from Washington yet?”

“No, but I’m expecting a message every minute and―――― What’s that, Griggs? Oh, you’re decoding it now. Good! Just a minute, gentlemen, and we’ll see what the verdict is. Sound promising so far, Lieutenant?”

“Yes, sir.” Lieutenant Griggs looked across from under the green-shaded drop-light at his desk and smiled. “Discreet but――promising, sir.”

“Hope so, I’m sure. Can’t let that brigand get by with this last outrage. Besides, those officers too good to lose. One of our best, Weeks. Traine’s another, eh? Ah, thank you, Griggs. Hm!” The admiral set his glasses half-way down his long nose and swung to the light. As he read the others leaned forward a little in their chairs, perhaps without realizing it. After an instant of silence the admiral chuckled. Sympathetic smiles appeared. Some one cleared his throat.

“Here we are, gentlemen. ‘The Department believes that the entry into Mexico of any military expedition at this present critical stage of negotiations would be unwise, and your request is therefore denied. This decision should not, however, be held to prohibit the dispatch of unarmed aircraft into territory controlled by anti-Federal forces for purposes of observation if in your judgment such action is advisable. In such case you are directed to strictly prohibit the use of arms save in defense of life or property. Re A N 161: The matter of payment of fines levied against certain officers of Scout Dirigible _F 8_ under restraint at Perdero, State of Coahuila, Mexico, referred to Department of State. Pending a decision it is believed that the Department will duly enter into negotiations for the release of the officers in case other means of persuasion fail.’”

There was a moment of silence. Then some one laughed softly. “Sort of contradictory, isn’t it? We’re allowed to send unarmed aircraft and to use arms only in defense!”

The admiral nodded, smiling. “Sort of,” he conceded. “But the ‘kick’ is at the end of it, Tom. ‘In case other means of persuasion fail.’ Get that?”

“By Jove, I didn’t! Well, then――――”

“Surest thing you know! Start at five-thirty if they can get the _F 8_ in trim by that time. The _9_ had trouble with her machine-gun mounting, and maybe it’ll be the same with the _8_, but we’ll start them off the moment she’s in shape. Fallen’s working two shifts on her and I guess he will get her ready.”

“Planes, too?” one of the officers inquired.

“Five. Ought to be enough, eh?”

“Well, yes,” replied the other dryly, “for a purely observational expedition that ought to answer!”

The admiral chuckled again. “Wish I were going myself! Well, I think that is all to-night. Captain Tweed, I’d like to see you a few minutes, please. Yes, Mr. Clode?”

“Beg pardon, sir,” stammered Hugh, “but are we――could we――er――we’d like to go, sir, if we might! On the _Fate_, sir.”

“I don’t see how you can get out of it, Mr. Clode,” answered the admiral gravely, but with a twinkle in his eye. “You haven’t been detached, have you? Thought not! Well, that’s that!”

Jack found mail awaiting him, and, although it was already getting on toward ten o’clock, he stayed up and wrote a long letter to his folks. Then he and Hugh climbed into their bunks, but not to sleep. Envious and curious young luffs and ensigns demanded a recital of the _F 8’s_ adventures, and even after they had gone away again sleep refused to come to the boys. For his part, Jack was much too excited by the prospect of the morrow’s expedition. But some time after midnight slumber claimed them. Then it seemed but a minute later that they were awakened in the slatey darkness to grope for their uniforms and, dressed, seek the mess hall for coffee and eggs and scorched toast served by yawning attendants. It was still half dark when they hurried out in the coolness of the before dawn hour and made off for Number 6 Shed as fast as their legs would carry them. Ever since becoming fully awake they had been haunted by the direful possibility of the _Fate_ sailing without them!

But they were spared that disappointment. Big and black and formless against the dark sky, the mammoth airship was already out, tugging gently at her cables in a wispy breeze from the southeast. Vaguely, as they drew near, they could distinguish the rows of groundmen at the ropes. Suddenly the darkness further along the row of sheds was dispelled by a flood of white light, and looking that way under the suspended shadow that was the _Fate_ the boys saw the big nose of the _F 9_ move into sight. The flood-lights threw the great envelope into black relief as it emerged slowly from the hangar, and the lines of groundmen, shuffling across the trampled earth, sent queer grotesque shadows scampering across the ground. Finally the airship was out, and when the tail was free of the building the lights went off as suddenly as they had come on, and darkness again enveloped the scene.

The boys made their way to the _Fate’s_ boat, hanging just clear of the earth. Two of their companions of the voyage were already on hand, and the four made themselves known to each other. The eastern sky showed a pale band near the horizon and the stars overhead began to lose their brilliancy. Hugh held his wrist watch close. “Five-three,” he announced. Two other officers came toward them through the deceptive gloom. Overhead, the big bag creaked and rasped. The low voices of the men at the ropes, and the occasional shuffling of their feet, were the only other sounds in the gray-black silence.

“All here?” asked the commander as he joined the little group about the ladder. “Let’s get aboard then.” He led the way, the others following. Lights sprang into sight in the cockpits, at nose and tail, at port and starboard. The engineer officer turned his engines over slowly for a minute. Controls were again tested. In the radio cockpit Hugh, “earmuffs” on, tapped and listened. Men climbed the ladder to confer or report. The minutes went slowly. The eastern sky showed a flush of pale rose. From their station the boys could now see well to the bow of the boat. The _F 9_, a hundred yards further afield, no longer looked like a silhouette cut from black paper, but was rounded and grayish. Her running lights flashed wanly in the coming dawn.

“Five-twenty-five,” announced a voice forward. “All ready, down there?”

“All ready, sir!” answered a voice from the earth.

Interminable moments of waiting. Then the clear call of a bugle at the far end of the camp, taken up nearer at hand. A blaze of golden glory touched the edge of the sea.

“Cast off!”