Читать книгу Radio Boys in the Flying Service; or, Held For Ransom by Mexican Bandits - J. W. Duffield - Страница 3

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“Hands up! Quick!”

The command, barked out in sharp, staccatto tones, was emphasized by the ugly muzzle of a revolver thrust through the window of the paying teller.

It was a bright Spring morning in the town of Castleton, a thriving city of some ten thousand population, located in a prosperous section of the Middle West. As it was Saturday, there was a little more stir and animation in the streets than usual, for it was the day on which farmers and their wives of the rural district served by the town drove in to do their shopping. Already, though it was no more than eleven o’clock, there was a fair sprinkling of cars and buggies standing in the open square in front of the court house, and the number was constantly being augmented by new arrivals.

In the Castleton Bank, the only one that the little town boasted, there was unusual activity, for the cashier and his two clerks were busy making up the money for the payrolls of the three mills on which the commercial prosperity of the town largely depended.

A large touring car, whose every line denoted speed, came rapidly up the street and stopped at the door of the bank. The man at the wheel kept his seat, without shutting off the engine, while four men climbed out. One took his stand at the side of the machine, and the other three quickly ascended the steps of the bank.

There were four customers in the bank at the time. One, a woman, was having a check cashed, two men were depositing cash and checks with the receiving teller, while a fourth man was at a desk making out a slip.

The man who appeared to be the leader of the newcomers and whose face was marred by an ugly scar on his right cheek went straight to the window of the paying teller, roughly thrust aside the woman standing there and pointing his revolver at the teller ordered him to hold up his hands.

At the same instant his companions drew their weapons and herded the four customers up against the wall, where they held them at the muzzles of their revolvers.

The startled teller stood for a second as though paralyzed, and then slowly obeyed. A second rough command brought similar action on the part of the receiving teller. Then the bandit vaulted over the low railing, and still holding his revolver ready for action, began to thrust great bundles of bills into the capacious pockets of the ulster that he wore.

Just then the cashier of the bank, Mr. Weston, stepped out of the door of his inner office. He took in the situation at a glance, darted back, snatched a revolver from his desk and reappearing in the doorway fired at the robber but missed him. At the same instant the bandit’s revolver cracked and the cashier fell with a bullet in his shoulder.

With a muttered imprecation at the necessity for the shooting, which made him hurry his movements, the robber gathered in the rest of the packages of bills in sight, jumped over the railing and rushed for the door accompanied by his confederates.

The sound of the shot had attracted attention outside and men were already hurrying toward the bank. The robber at the curb fired several shots and halted them for an instant. That moment of grace was sufficient to permit the miscreants to leap into the car, which started up instantly and sped down the street in a cloud of dust.

Three young men came around a corner as the car whirled by. They were laughing and jesting, and evidently on good terms with themselves and the world.

“Look at that car,” exclaimed Phil Strong, a stalwart, vigorous young fellow, slightly taller than his companions. “It’s going like a blue streak.”

“Smashing the speed law into bits,” agreed Dick Weston. “I guess that—Hello!” he cried, as he saw the commotion and heard the shouting in front of the bank. “What’s up?”

They broke into a run and in a moment were in the midst of the excited crowd. Another moment sufficed to learn of what had happened. They rushed into the bank, Dick frantic with grief and apprehension at the news that his father had been shot. A doctor who happened to be in the crowd was already ministering to the wounded man.

“Only a flesh wound,” the doctor assured Dick, bringing him an immense relief.

“Don’t mind me, Dick,” said Mr. Weston, trying to summon up a reassuring smile. “It’s the bank I’m thinking of. It’ll be seriously hurt if those scoundrels get away with all that cash. Get after them as fast as you can. Every minute counts.”

Dick was loth to obey, but Phil, standing beside him, put his hand on his arm.

“Your father’s right, Dick,” he said. “He’s getting good attention here, and you can’t serve him better than by trying to run down the thieves. Come with me and come quick. I’ve got a plan.”

They hurried out of the bank, pushing their way through the constantly increasing crowd that congested the doors. In the street, men were piling into cars and starting out in the direction that the robbers had taken.

“It’s well meant but of no use,” said Phil, pointing to the cars. “They haven’t a Chinaman’s chance to catch up with them this side of kingdom come. The robbers’ car can run rings around any of these. But I know something that’s faster than any car.”

“The airplane,” exclaimed Dick, a light breaking in on him.

“Right you are,” replied Phil. “But that isn’t all. There’s something faster than the airplane.”

“Radio,” cried Tom Hadley.

“Now you’ve hit it,” approved Phil, relaxing for a moment the speed at which all three had been racing down the street. “Now, fellows, here’s the dope. Tom, you run to my house and get busy with the radio. Call up every town within a radius of fifty miles. Tell the police of the robbery and describe as well as you can the kind of car that the men are escaping in. Don’t forget the scar on the face of the leader. Hustle now, old scout. Dick and I will get out the airplane.”

Tom was off like a shot.

“Now Dick,” said Phil, taking the lead, as he always did in a crisis that demanded quick thinking and swift action, “it’s us for the airplane. Lucky, isn’t it that you and I spent almost all of last week in getting the Arrow into shape? She’s in splendid condition and fit to fly for a man’s life. It will be strange if we don’t give those thieves a run for their money—or rather for the bank’s money.”

In a few minutes they had reached the hangar in which their airplane was stored, at a flying field on the outskirts of the town.

They unlocked and flung open the door and wheeled out the machine, a biplane of the latest make and one with whose operation both of them were thoroughly familiar.

They wheeled her out into the open, made one last hasty examination to make assurance doubly sure and climbed into the fuselage. Phil gave her the gas and the machine after a short run made a perfect takeoff from the grassy field and soared into the air like a bird. Phil turned her in the direction, as nearly as he could guess, that the robbers had gone, and she clove the air with the speed of the arrow after which she was named.

The roar of the motor made it difficult to carry on much conversation, but Phil’s brain was working hard. He figured out that the robbers would not continue far in the direction that they had taken at the start, since that would be too obvious and easy for their pursuers to follow. At some point of the road they would turn at right angles, or possibly double on their tracks, in the attempt to bewilder their would-be captors.

The only way in which Phil and Dick could circumvent such strategy was to describe a wide curve that would take in not only the road ahead of them, but a large extent of the cross roads to the right and left. This disadvantage however was counterbalanced to some extent by the lofty position of the plane, that permitted the landscape to be seen for many miles in every direction. They had also a splendid pair of field glasses, which Dick kept glued to his eyes while Phil drove the plane.

The superb condition of the plane also favored them. The engine never missed a stroke, but ran with the steady hum that is music to the ears of the aviator. Encouraged by the way the Arrow was working, Phil let her out until she was traveling at the rate of nearly ninety miles an hour. At this rate it seemed inevitable that they would soon sight their quarry, despite the start that had given the latter the advantage.

The roads beneath were dotted with cars coming and going, and two or three of them seemed so like the robbers’ car that Phil swooped down near enough to establish that they were not the one he had in view.

After several such disappointments, Dick suddenly straightened up with a sharp exclamation.

“Spotted them this time,” he cried. “It’s dollars to doughnuts that’s the car. Same shape, same color and it’s going like all possessed.”

He passed the glasses to Phil, who turned them in the direction that Dick indicated. There, sure enough, on a road to the right, was a machine that answered the description they had hastily been able to gather of the car in which the bandits had made their getaway. It was going like the wind.

“There’s another car about half a mile behind it,” Phil remarked after a moment’s keen scrutiny. “The top’s down and I can see that it’s full of men in uniform.”

“Good old Tom!” exclaimed Dick jubilantly. “He’s got busy with the radio all right, and that second car’s chasing the first one. Do you think it can catch up?”

Phil studied the situation for a full minute before replying.

“Not a chance,” he answered finally, handing back the glasses. “The first car is steadily increasing the distance between the two. But here’s where we get busy.”

He turned the plane in the direction pursued by the flying cars.

“What’s your plan?” asked Dick.

“You’ll see in a minute,” muttered Phil, all his attention centered on the chase.