The Flying Machine Boys on Secret Service. Frank Walton
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rods up the mountain they saw what appeared to be the body of a great grizzly bear half-sliding, half-tumbling toward the valley. At times the lumbering animal retarded his fall by clinging with his claws to the uncertain slope. Again, he rolled over and over for several yards, until his claws secured another hold. The beast was uttering savage growls as he came down, and every bump he received appeared to bring forth snarls more vicious than those which had gone before.
“Cripes!” exclaimed Jimmie. “Look who’s here!”
“He’ll be here in a minute, plumb on top of the tent!” Carl declared.
“Then why don’t you do something to head him off?” asked Jimmie.
“Yes,” the other argued, “I’d like to get in front of a ton of bear meat coming down a mountain at the rate of forty miles an hour!”
It was fortunate for the boys that the descent of the bear was checked for a little by a narrow shelf which ran along the edge of the slope close to the bottom. Here the great body landed with a thud which knocked out what little breath remained.
“That saved our tents and flying machines, I reckon!” cried Ben, as the bear tipped from the shelf and landed in the grass only a few feet from the Louise.
“He certainly would have smashed something if he had gone on at the clip he was going when we first saw him!” agreed Carl.
“Speaking about going hunting to-night or to-morrow!” laughed Ben, “it strikes me that we don’t have to go hunting in this philanthropic country. Fresh meat seems to rain down from the skies!”
The three boys now advanced to the side of the animal and looked him over. He was not quite dead, but it was evident that he had received injuries from which he could not recover.
“We may as well put him out of his trouble,” suggested Ben, drawing an automatic revolver. “He made a fight for life and lost!”
“Wait a minute!” exclaimed Jimmie, standing now at the bear’s head, “here’s a fresh bullet wound now!”
“Do you suppose that’s what made him fall?” asked Ben.
“Of course!” returned Jimmie. “He was up on the mountain and some one shot him, and that’s why he came tumbling down in that ridiculous way.”
“Is the wound still bleeding?” asked Carl.
“Still bleeding!” replied Jimmie. “It looks like a wound about five minutes’ old. The bullet is somewhere inside the grizzly’s head, and I don’t believe he was in his right mind when he was sticking his claws into the rocks on the way down!”
The three boys looked at each other with questioning glances.
“Ask it!” grinned Jimmie.
“Ask it yourself!” Carl exclaimed.
“I’ll ask it!” Ben said with a grave face. “Who fired that shot?”
“The answer is ‘Yes’, so far as I know!” laughed Jimmie.
“No foolishness now!” Ben continued. “Some one fired that shot, and that means that some one is prowling around our camp!”
“The man who fired the shot,” suggested Carl, “may be over on the other side of the mountain!”
“Then he’d be more than half a mile away!” scoffed Jimmie.
“That’s a fact!” Carl admitted. “And, besides,” the lad went on, “a man high up on the mountain wouldn’t be apt to shoot game lower down, unless he wanted a good chase after it.”
“And all this indicates,” Ben said, “that the man who did the shooting is somewhere near this camp. Also it indicates that he has a Maxim silencer on his gun, and that’s a thing natives hereabouts don’t have. Every time we go out on a trip we seem to bunt into a mystery first thing, and we’ve got one now, all right!”
“I wish Mr. Havens would come!” Carl cut in. “It may be that some one out here knows what we’re up to and intends to make trouble.”
While the boys talked a shout was heard in the distance, and two husky, roughly-dressed men made their appearance, heading directly for the camp-fire. The boys laid their hands on their automatics.
CHAPTER II.
A WOBBLING AEROPLANE
The boys stepped back from the bear as the men came up. It was growing dusk now, and as the men drew nearer their faces were seen only by the dancing flames of the fire. They were not prepossessing faces, and the boys wondered if it was the illumination which produced the shifty and suspicious glances they caught.
The two bent over the bear for an instant, and then one aimed his rifle slowly and fired a bullet into the animal’s head. No report followed the shot, and then it was observed that the weapon carried a Maxim silencer. This doubtless accounted for the fact that the shot which had brought the bear down had not been heard at the camp.
After talking together in whispers for a moment, as the acrid smell of powder drifted out into the sweet air of the valley, the men turned questioning looks toward the boys. From the youthful faces their eyes soon roved to the two aeroplanes not far away.
There was more whispered talk, and then the two stepped over to the Louise and began a careful and rather impertinent inspection of the motors. The boys looked on angrily but said nothing.
“Rather fine machines you have there,” one of the fellows said, after the deliberate examination had been completed.
“We think so!” Ben answered shortly.
“Where are you from?” asked the other intruder.
Ben gave Jimmie and Carl a sly nudge to remain silent and answered the question in a manner which, while the exact truth, did not reveal the starting place.
“Denver,” he said.
The fellow bent down and read the names of the machines from little silver plates screwed to the frames.
“The Louise and the Bertha,” he said. “It appears to me that I have heard something of these aeroplanes before.”
“The names are common enough,” Ben answered.
“The machines I refer to,” the visitor went on, “belong in New York. Are you sure you didn’t bring these machines from a hangar on Long Island?”
Jimmie could restrain himself no longer. From the first he had felt a feeling of aversion for the men, and he had inwardly resented not only the question asked but the impudent and uncalled-for examination of the aeroplanes. In spite of a warning hand from Ben he blurted out:
“What do you care where we came from?”
The two intruders eyed the boy sharply for a moment, as if trying to look him out of countenance, and then one of them said:
“None of your lip, now, youngster!”
“Well!” exclaimed Jimmie. “You’ve got your nerve with you!”
The man who had spoken before seemed about to make an angry reply, but his companion drew him away, and again they talked together in whispers.
“What are you fellows doing here, anyhow?” Jimmie demanded. “If you think you’re going to work the third degree on us, you’ve got another think coming! You’re too fresh, anyway!”
Presently the men turned back to the boys again, and the light of the fire on their bearded faces showed that they were about to adopt a new course of conduct. The fellow who spoke smiled as he did so.
“I can’t blame you for resenting our supposedly unwarranted interference,” he said. “We should have informed you at first that we are in the employ of the Canadian government as mounted policemen.”
“Where’s your horses?” demanded Jimmie.
“At the other end of the valley.”
“Where’s your uniforms?”
“We