CHAPTER XV.
THIRST--AND A PLOT.
While the lads in the auto were thus discussing the doleful prospectahead of them, Frank and Harry were making good time through the upperair on the run toward Cow Wells, which they had noted on their maps asthe spot by which they would stop for refreshment. As they neared it indue time, from a distance of a mile away they noted its desolateappearance.
"There doesn't seem to be much of anything there," remarked Frank, as helooked ahead of him at the collection of ramshackle buildings that theyknew from their observations must be Cow Wells.
"I don't see a soul moving," declared Harry.
"Neither do I," was the other lad's response. "Maybe they are all awayat a festival or something."
"Well, we'll get water there, anyhow," remarked Frank. "I'm so thirsty Icould drink a river dry."
"Same here."
As the boys neared it, the lifeless appearance of Cow Wells became evenmore marked. The timbers of the houses had baked a dirty gray color inthe hot sun, and what few buildings had been painted had all faded tothe same neutral hue. The pigment had peeled off them under the heat inhuge patches.
Of all the towns the boys had so far encountered on theirtranscontinental trip, this was the first one, however small, in whichthere had not been a rush of eager inhabitants to see the wonderfulaeroplane.
"They must be all asleep," laughed Harry; "here, we'll wake them up."
He drew his revolver and fired a volley of shots.
For reply, instead of a rush of startled townsfolk, a gray coyotesilently slipped from a ruined barn and slunk across the prairie.
The truth burst on both the boys at once.
"The place is deserted," exclaimed Harry.
"We can get some water there though, I guess, just the same," repliedthe other. "There must be some wells left."
They swooped down onto the silent, deserted town, in which the sand haddrifted high in front of many of the houses. Eagerly they climbed out ofthe chassis of the aeroplane and investigated the place.
"Hurray," suddenly shouted Harry, rushing up to a large building with along porch, that had evidently once been the hotel, "here's a pump."
He pointed to an aged iron pump that stood in front of the tumbled downbuilding. But the boys were doomed once more to disappointment. A fewstrokes of its clanking handle showed them that it was a long time sincewater had passed its spout. They investigated other wells with the sameresult.
The boys exchanged blank looks as they realized that they were to get nowater there, but suddenly the realization that the auto was back therein the desert somewhere with a tank full of water cheered them.
"They've lots of water in the tank," suggested Harry.
"I guess that's right; we'd better wait till they come and get a drinkof it. I'd almost give my chances in the race for a big glass oflemonade right now."
"Don't talk of such things, you only make it worse," groaned Harry."Just plain ice water would do me fine. I could drink a whole coolerfull of it."
"Same here--but listen--here comes the auto."
Sure enough the chug-chug of their escort was drawing near down therough desert road.
"Say, fellows," shouted both boys, as the auto rolled up, "how about adrink of water from the tank?"
"Gee whiz," groaned Billy, "that's just the trouble. There's not a dropin it."
"What, no water?" exclaimed Frank blankly.
"Not a drop, and Bart says we can't get any here."
"That's right; we've investigated."
"What are we going to do?"
"Keep on to Gitalong, that's the thing to do. If you don't get therewithin half an hour of our arrival we'll start out after you withwater."
"I suppose that's all we can do," groaned poor Billy.
"And the quicker we do it, the better," briskly announced Frank. "Comeon, Harry; ho for Gitalong, and to the dickens with Cow Wells, wherethere are no cows and no wells."
"That's why they gave it the name, I guess," commented Lathrop, with asorrowful grin.
It grew hotter and hotter as the afternoon wore on. Billy finally,although he stuck to the wheel pluckily as long as he was able, wascompelled to give it up to Lathrop. After that he lay on the floor ofthe tonneau, suffering terrible torments from his raging thirst.
Old Bart sat grimly by Lathrop's side, encouraging him as well as heknew how, and the boy bravely smiled at the old miner's jokes andstories, although each smile made his parched lips crack.
"Why, what's the matter?" remarked Lathrop suddenly, as the auto seemedto slow down and come to a stop of itself.
"I dunno; you're an auto driver, you ought to know," said Bart.
"The engine's overheated," pronounced old man Joyce. "Look at the steamcoming from the cap of the radiator."
He pointed to a slender wisp of white vapor. It indicated to Lathrop atonce that Mr. Joyce was right. The accident they had dreaded hadhappened. It might be hours before they could proceed.
"What can we do?" demanded Bart Witherbee.
"Nothing," responded Lathrop, "except to let her cool off. The cylindershave jammed, and the metal won't cool sufficiently till the evening toallow us to proceed."
"We're stuck here, then?"
"That's it, Bart. We had better crawl under the machine. We shall getsome shade there, anyhow."
"A good idee, youngster; come on, Mr. Joyce. Here, Lathrop, bear a handhere, and help me get poor Billy out."
The fleshy young reporter was indeed in a sad state. His stoutness madethe heat harder for him to bear than the others. They rolled him intothe shade under the auto and there they all lay till sundown, pantingpainfully. As the sun dropped it grew cooler, and gradually a slightbreeze crept over the burning waste. As it did so the adventurerscrawled from their retreat, even Billy partially reviving in thegrateful drop in the temperature. But there was still no sign of theaeroplane.
After a brief examination of the engine Lathrop announced that the partycould proceed, and he started up the engine cautiously. It seemed towork all right, and once more the auto moved forward. They had notproceeded more than two miles when they heard a shout in the air overtheir heads, and there was the _Golden Eagle_ circling not far abovethem.
Lathrop instantly stopped the machine, and the aeroplane swept down.Frank and Harry had brought with them a plentiful supply of water incanteens.
The boys drank as if they would never stop.
"I never tasted an ice-cream soda as good," declared Billy.
Refreshed and invigorated, the adventurers resumed their journey towardGitalong as soon as they had fully quenched their thirst, and pouredsome of the water over their sun-parched faces and hands. They reachedthe town late in the evening and were warmly welcomed by the citizens,mostly cowboys and Indians, who had sat up to await their arrival.Several of them, in fact, rode far out onto the prairie and, withpopping revolvers and loud yells, escorted the auto party into town.
The aeroplane was stored in a livery stable that night, while the boysregistered at the Lucky Strike hotel. The Lucky Strike's menu was mostlybeans, but they made a good meal. They had hardly got into their beds,which were all placed in a long room, right under the rafters, when theyheard to their amazement the sound of an auto approaching the place. Itdrew up in front of the hotel and the listeners heard heavy steps as itsoccupants climbed out of it and entered the bar.
They called for drinks in loud tones, and then demanded to see a manthey called Wild Bill Jenkins.
"Why, Wild Bill Jenkins is just sitting in a friendly game o' monte,"the boys could hear the bartender reply, "but if it's anything verypartic'lar I'll call him, though he'll rile up rough at bein'disturbed."
"Yes, it is very particular," piped up another voice, evidently that ofone of the automobile arrivals; "we must see him at once."
The boys, with a start, recognized the voice of the speaker as that ofLuther Barr.
"Must hev
come quite a way in that buzz wagon of yours, stranger,"volunteered the bartender.
"Yes, we've driven over from Pintoville--it's a good twenty miles, Ishould say."
"Wall, we don't call that more than a step out here," rejoined the manwho presided over the Lucky Strike's bar.
In the meantime a messenger had been despatched to summon Wild BillJenkins. Pretty soon he came. He was in a bad temper over beinginterrupted at his game apparently.
"Who is the gasolene gig-riders as disturbed Wild Bill Jenkins at hisgame?" he roared. "Show 'em to me, an' I'll fill 'em so full of leadthey'll be worth a nickel a pound."
"That will do, Bill," put in another voice, seemingly Hank Higgins.
Wild Bill Jenkins' manner instantly changed.
"Why, hello. Hank Higgins!" he exclaimed, "hullo, Noggy Wilkes. Air youin company with this old coyote?"
"Hush, Bill; that is Mr. Luther Barr, a very wealthy gentleman, and hewants to put you in the way of making a bit of money."
"Oh, he does, does he? Wall, here's my paw, stranger. Money always looksgood to Bill Jenkins, and he'll do most anything to get it."
"This will be an easy task," rejoined Luther Barr. "All you have to dois to tell us the location of that mine you know about. I will buy itfrom you. But we must be quick, for others are in search of it--BartWitherbee and some boys that call themselves the Boy Aviators."
"Why, that's the bunch that came in here to-night," exclaimed Wild BillJenkins.
"It is?"
"They are here now."
"Are you sure of that?"
"Sure."
"Where?"
"Right here in this hotel. I guess they're asleep in their little cotsnow, right over your heads."
"You don't think it possible that they can have heard any of ourconversation?"
"Not on your natural, stranger. We're as safe talking here as in theAlloff Gastorium in New York. Is that all you want me to do?"
"That's all. I will pay you well for the information when you deliverthe map to me."
"I'll deliver it, never fear. It was a lucky day for me I stumbled onthat old mine. I've never been able to claim it, though, for they'dlynch me for a little shooting if I showed my face there."
"Those cubs have made good time. We are only twenty miles ahead ofthem," struck in another voice--that of Fred Reade; "if we could onlydisable their machine it would come near putting them out of the race."
"What, bust their fool sky wagon. That's easy enough," said Wild BillJenkins confidently. "Listen here."
But some other customers entered the bar at this point, and the plotterssank their tones so low that the boys could hear no more.
The Boy Aviators in Record Flight; Or, The Rival Aeroplane Page 15
