Boy Scouts of the Air in Indian Land

by Gordon Stuart

  CHAPTER V

  AT THE B. P. RANCH

  Although the sun was hot when the boys and Mr. Hawke started for theride to Phipps' ranch the following Sunday afternoon, the air seemedcooled by an almost imperceptible breeze. It had rained the nightbefore, and while the road was quite dry, there was less dust thanusual. On one hand stretched the refreshed green pastures, spotted withmany-hued wild flowers, making a gorgeous pattern of color. On the otherhand were the towering mountains, their snow-capped peaks in markedcontrast with the thick foliage of the forest which climbed halfway uptheir rugged slopes. Rising above the timber line were bare gorges ofrock. Below lay the irregular foothills, thickly covered with cedars,pines and firs.

  But despite the compelling beauties of nature, which Hawke and Fred wereenjoying in silent admiration, it was not long before the others, moreaccustomed to the sight which charmed the new-comers, began talking ofthe thing which they had all probably dreamed of the night before.

  "Say, Mr. Hawke," queried Jerry, who had been turning the matter over inhis mind, "if Herb's dad'll stand for that aeroplane, how long'll ittake to get it?"

  "If Mr. Phipps should make such a decision as that," replied Mr. Hawke,who really had some doubt that he would, "we'll have it done in twoweeks."

  "We'll have it done?" echoed Fred. "What do you mean by that?"

  "Why, I mean that I want you boys to help me build it," replied theaviator coolly, watching out of the corner of his twinkling eyes for theeffect his words would have on the boys.

  "What's that?" cried the astonished Dunk, unconsciously digging hisheels into his pony, which reared, and started off at a brisk canter.

  Mr. Hawke smiled broadly. He was growing more and more fond of theenthusiastic and manly Fort Bayard boys, and was especially amused atDunk's frank expressions.

  After going a few rods, the latter got control of his horse and slowedthe animal down for the rest of the party to catch up.

  "Do you really mean that?" asked Fly with flashing eyes, when they wereall riding quietly again.

  "Why not? We can get the material here in a week or less. Then we canprobably find a machine shop around here to work in, and, when we needit, build a hangar of our own."

  "Gee, that sounds bully," exclaimed Jerry.

  "You can use our place," volunteered Fly. "We've got all kinds of tools,a bellows and most everything you'd need, I guess."

  "An aeroplane could almost be built in a carpenter shop," replied Mr.Hawke. "There's very little metal on them. Mostly good strong spruce,bamboo and well-seasoned woods of different kinds."

  "What a chance that would be," reflected Fly, more to himself thananybody in the party. "But, what if it shouldn't be a bird after all?"he asked suddenly, his face growing grave and anxious. "Then we wouldn'tneed an aeroplane and everything would go to smash."

  Instantly a cloud seemed to fall over the faces of all the boys, as theylooked instinctively at Mr. Hawke. The latter found the sudden change inaffairs too much for his humorous vein, and with a hearty laugh hedispelled the gloom as quickly as it had gathered.

  "We'll cross that bridge when we come to it," he said, finally regainingcomposure.

  "Give Fly a good punch, Dunk," exclaimed Jerry. "You're next to him."

  "There ain't no use in you givin' us all cold feet like that, Fly,"admonished Dunk, by way of complying with Jerry's request.

  "Oh, it just seems too good to be true," defended Fly. "I think I mustbe moving in a pipe dream."

  "Leave it to Mr. Hawke," assured Fred.

  "By the way," said the aviator genially; "Hawke is good enough for me.Cut out the _Mister_."

  "All right, Hawke," returned Fly, with a strong accent on the name.

  The path turned to the left at that point, and took them through arather scant growth of pine trees. The boys welcomed this meager shade,which was the first cool spot they had reached since leaving the Fort.They stopped under the trees for a few minutes, and turned aside fromthe main road while a large freight wagon, loaded several feet above itstop and covered with canvas, passed, drawn by six strong horses. It wasfollowed by a smaller two-horse wagon. Both of the drivers wereGreasers.

  "What you got on there," yelled Dunk mischievously.

  The Mexicans replied with a curious glance, and one of them gave theusual, "No sabe!"

  After wiping their perspiring faces with their handkerchiefs, the boysand Hawke pulled out from under the trees and rode out into the sunagain. It was not an unusually warm day for New Mexico, but warm enoughto give them some discomfort.

  "We might go out of our way a little and get a drink at the river overhere," suggested Dunk.

  "We'll have something better'n that to drink when we get to Phipps' Ibet," answered Jerry scornfully. "He always treats us great whenever wego over there--and besides, we got company to-day."

  "I don't want to say nothin'," interjected Fly, who had been thinking onthe subject since his last remark. "But I do hope it is a bird."

  "Say, you joy-killer, you calamity howler, cut that out, will you?"Jerry pulled his pony over and gave Fly a jab in the ribs. "If you don'tquit, this will turn into a funeral procession. I'm gettin' cold feetalready."

  At that moment Carlito, who had been riding silently a little in advanceof the others, spurred up his pony, and with a hasty "I think I seesomething," dashed on ahead.

  After a moment of surprise and hesitation, the others galloped afterhim. Carlito did not go far, however, but before he stopped the otherssaw what he was after. When he pulled up, four or five chatteringmagpies flew complainingly from the ground, where they had been feedingon a dead lamb.

  Carl slipped off his pony and the others followed his example. The partygathered around the Indian, who was stooping over the animal andexamining it closely. It was frightfully torn under the belly and itsback was broken.

  "There's been somethin' doin' in the sheep stealin' line again," saidJerry. "What do you think about it, Carl?"

  "It's so badly smashed up I can't tell much, but it does look to me asif there were marks of claws--large claws," answered the Indian finally."But I can't tell for sure."

  "This must be one of the B. P. herd," conjectured Dunk.

  "Does it look like some bird had him?" asked Fly, eager to settle thedoubt which had arisen.

  "It looks like talons, all right. But I can't say positive. He's tooriddled. I'll look around."

  Carl separated himself from the circle and patrolled the ground roundabout.

  "If there was any tracks the rain last night washed them away," he saidfinally, satisfied that nothing could be learned by further search.

  "There could be no tracks of a bird, could there?" asked Hawke.

  "If it's a big one, sometimes there's the sweep of the wings when theybear down on something."

  "Well, let's ride on and see what Mr. Phipps has to say about it,"suggested Dunk, after they had thoroughly inspected the animal a secondtime.

  It was a hot, dusty and rather excited party that greeted Herb half anhour later at the B. P. corral.

  "Lost any sheep last night?" asked Fly, as soon as the few words ofgreeting had been said.

  "Half a dozen of 'em," replied the rancher's son. "Dad's mad as all getout. Says he's goin' to watch every night, and when that thing comesagain he's goin' to blow it to kingdom come."

  "Well, we saw one sheep down the road," informed Dunk, "all cut topieces."

  "A nice little lamb too," said Fred regretfully.

  "Shouldn't be surprised. We found a couple, and they sure was done for.Now's the time for us to hit dad hard for that aeroplane."

  "Glad to know yuh; come right up," was Mr. Phipps' cordial greeting ashe came halfway down the veranda step to meet the aviator and welcomethe boys. His cool, spotless linen suit was quite a contrast to thesomewhat grimy appearance of the visitors.

  "We're pretty warm after that ride," apologized Hawke, mopping hisforehead with his handkerchief.

  "Mebbe yuh'd like to go inside and wash
up," suggested Mr. Phippsamiably, and his invitation was heartily accepted by all the party."Herb, show them around," commanded the rancher, and his son readilycomplied.

  The ranch-house, which Mr. Phipps had built himself, was a duplicate ofthe old homestead in Texas. The roominess which the large, squareexterior suggested was carried out in the great, wide rooms and highceilings within. The spacious halls and stairways reminded one more of amagnificent southern home than of a New Mexico ranch-house. Orientalrugs in delicate shadings covered the highly polished floors, and themassive mahogany furniture and tasteful hangings gave the whole anappearance of elegance and refinement such as sheepmen are not reputedto have.

  "This is one of my venerable ancestors," said Herb, when the party fileddownstairs, refreshed. "Yuh see, father's folks was French. This fellowis General Dupont, and fought some good fights in the Franco-Prussianwar. They say he never would have been killed, born under a lucky starlike Napoleon--only he lingered too long with a wounded comrade at thesiege of Paris."

  "And this lady?" asked Hawke, pointing to a large portrait of a slim,dark beauty, dressed in white, and wearing a cluster of yellow roses ather waist line.

  "That's my mother." Herb lowered his voice a little as he answered. "Shedied when I was a little tad, yuh know."

  "A very beautiful woman," said Mr. Hawke, quickly passing on to spareHerb's feelings. "And this man looks like your father."

  "That was painted a long time ago," said Herb.

  "It looks like you now," put in Jerry, who had been inspecting the samepainting, while the other boys walked up and down the halls and made aninterested examination of the many large oils which lined the walls.

  "This is father's sister, who used to keep house for us. She died a fewyears ago. Then we got Hop Sing."

  There was, then, Hawke reflected, no woman in this immaculately-kepthouse, where there seemed to be so many evidences of the feminine touch.The rough rancher, it seemed, had that strain of tenderness so oftenfound in outwardly brusque men, which expressed itself in his home.

  "This is just the way the house down South looked when mother died,"said Herb, as if in answer to the visitor's thoughts. "Dad never wantsanything changed. Even her room is the same, and no one ever sleeps init. One night we had so many visitors we thought we'd have to use it orbe rude, but father slept in the herder's cottage instead. You'll alwaysfind a bunch of yellow tea roses in her room--she was very fond of them,and father grows them himself in the greenhouse."

  Herb shook his head back with a sudden jerk, as though shaking off apainful twinge, and passed on to some relics which were hung in the nextroom.

  "This is General Dupont's sword, and a medal which Napoleon gave him forhis services."

  After a few minutes they all returned to the veranda, where they foundMr. Phipps mixing some purple colored stuff in a huge punch bowl. Theclink of the ice was an agreeable sound, for they were all thirsty.

  "This is my own grape juice punch," said Mr. Phipps, as he filledglasses for the Chinaman to pass around. "My scheme is to have Sing makeit, and set it out here. Then when the guests appear I am stirring itindustriously, as though it were my own job."

  Sitting in the shade of the vine-covered veranda, and sipping the icedpunch, it was not long before Mr. Hawke and the boys were thoroughlyrefreshed and rested. The aviator felt entirely at home with thehospitable rancher, and they chatted like old friends. Hawke noticedthat besides holding vases of flowers, the tables were stacked with thelatest magazines and popular books. He caught sight of a New Yorknewspaper, and some from other parts of the country. There were hangingbaskets suspended from the roof of the veranda, and the whole scene wasrestful and quiet, and even luxuriously comfortable.