Argosy All-Story Weekly — page 107: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

A BOOB THERE WAS. Consequently the sight of such a com- pany as he now descried—and that, too, in a section where any justifiable travel was most unlikely—meant only one thing to Bob. It must be the bandit gang making off with Faith to one of their stréngholds, Quickly he mapped out a plan of action. It was idle for him, of course, to think of engaging so numerous a party singlehand- ed. Instead, he must follow them to their destination and mark where they halted. Then, seeking the nearest telephone, he could call for reénforcements; and while the bandits rested and probably slept in fancied security they could be surrounded and taken captive. But for the success of this maneuver it was highly essential that the gang should not know their movements had been de- tected. Bob was up about two thousand feet at the time he sighted the caravan, and as nearly as he could judge between fifteen and twenty miles away from it. In order to prevent being seen, and also to keep the zooming of his flight from being carried in that clear air, he promptly dropped to a five-hundred-foot level. His idea was, since his speed was so much greater than that of his quarry, to occupy time by circling around and around at that height, and rise at intervals for a fresh reconnaissance. In this way he ex- pected to maintain about the same relative distance between himself and the caravan, and while remaining out of sight or hearing by them still to keep them under observa- tion. “Some sweet little taxicab, I'll tell the world,” he praised the plane as she slanted down on the fifteen-hundred-foot descent. Throughout the trip he had been telling himself that never had he piloted a more proficient bus than this. He had attempt- ed no especial stunts with it; but it had proved itself adequate to every demand made upon it—a rather remarkable thing, in view of the fact that it had received no preliminary tuning up. The engine had run along as steadily as a watch; not a skip nor a jar had in- terrupted its rhythmic song. Neither had 733 there been any stiffness or unevenhess in any of the working parts. Rudder, wings, everything responded instantly and smooth- ly to his lightest touch upon the controls. But now as he reached the lower altitude after his coast, and straightened out to a level in that denser air, there came a sudden sharp crack, audible even above the bark of the engine. As Bob turned his head, he saw to his dismay one of the struts snap like a pipe stem, and the next instant his left plane buckled and collapsed. Desperately he tugged at the controls, trying to overcome the disability and right the wabbling machine; but it was a hope- less effort. The plane struggled for a moment to maintain its equilibrium; then relled over to one side and went into a tailspin. Bob had time for just one swift thought as it went down: “This ends any hope of rescuing Faith Howland, and all because I didn’t take time for inspection before I started out. I sure am what they call me—a boob.” Then he crashed into the sand. CHAPTER XVI. WANTED: A SIGNATURE. EFT on the field amid the gaping popu- lace of Guadaljara City, J. P. gazed at that big yellow cart wheel rolling up over the edge of the horizon, and opened his floodgates of profanity. Strictly speak- ing, he did not transgress Juliet’s injunc- tion: “Oh, swear not by the moon, the inconstant moon!” But he certainly swore at it. Fair Luna, to his mind, had robbed him of seventy-five thousand iron men, just as they were about to drop into his claws; and upon her, together with all makers of fountain pens, he lavished his choicest ex- pletives, anathemas and imprecations. Un- questionably he had reason to feel sore. Instead of making the haul upon which he had counted, and which would have en- abled him to get away before the eruption of public fury he felt sure was coming, all he had got out of the incident was to be COMMICLoOolkKks (C@)