Ambrose Newcomb - Eagles of the Sky - or, With Jack Ralston Along the Air Lanes

Jack had about decided on his course of action. He did not mean that either of those boats should get safely ashore with their loads, if he had anything to say about it, and he reckoned he had.

Still, it was not politic to be too quick on the trigger–they could just continue to hang around and be ready to pounce down on their intended prey after the fashion of a hungry eagle striking a fat duck that had been selected out of the flock on the feeding grounds.

One thing he did do was to cut his intended wide circle short and again head toward the scene of action, a move that certainly afforded the eager Perk more or less satisfaction, he being thrilled with the expectation of breaking into the game without much more loss of time.

But you never can tell just what may happen when rival forces are striving against one another. The best laid plans often go wrong and there was always a chance of the unexpected happening.

Hardly had the airship whipped around again so as to head into the north than Perk became aware of the fact that there was a sudden accesssion of weird noises springing up from the goal toward which they were now aiming. Jack, too must have caught the increased volume, for he sheered off as if to hold back a bit so as to grasp the meaning of the new racket.

Men were no longer simply talking or laughing as they so cheerfully labored in transferring some of the contraband from the sloop to the deck of the speedboat–their voices were raised to shouts in which surprise, even the element of near-panic, could be detected.

Then came a flash, succeeded by a sharp report, undoubtedly standing for the discharge of some species of firearm! Others of a similar character immediately followed until there were all the elements of a genuine rough and tumble fight discernible in the growing confusion and uproar.

Perk was astounded by such unaccountable goings-on. Whatever could possess these smugglers to start a fight among themselves, when such a disturbance was likely to be heard by any Coast Guard boat that might happen to be cruising within ten miles of the spot and bring down all manner of serious trouble on their heads, certainly breaking up the fine combination that had been effected for that especial delivery?

“Holy smoke! they sure must a’gone looney!” Perk was telling himself, lost in wonder and dismay, for he began to suspect that this would be apt to mix their own plans and upset all Jack’s calculations.

It would seem to be the only explanation possible–that some of the case goods had been tampered with, the result being that the willing workers were not only hilarious, but ready to start a rough-house then and there on the deck of the schooner.

Then suddenly remembering how both he and Jack had their head-phone harness attached, and could thus exchange words when they pleased, Perk broke loose in his usual impulsive fashion, seeking the light which he somehow had reason to believe his chum could give him.

“Gee whiz! partner, what’s broke loose, would you say?” he demanded. “Them guys act like they’d been tryin’ out the high power stuff they fetched all the way from the Bahamas. Danged if it don’t sound to me like a reg’lar old Irish Tipperary Fair fight–listen to ’em shootin’ things up to beat the band! Say, if they keep agoin’ like that, they’ll smash every case they got an’ we won’t find any evidence to grab. Got a line on the racket, old boss?”

“It’s a fight, and a lively one at that,” admitted the pilot, “but I reckon you’re away off when you figure it’s a ruction between those on the schooner and the boys of that speedboat.”

“You got me guessin’ partner,” said the puzzled Perk; “then who’s mixed up in the shindy, I want to know?”

“Sounds a whole lot like hijackers to me, Perk.”

“Ginger pop! Is that what it means then, Jack–some tough guys been out there on the gulf keepin’ a close watch on the schooner that came up the coast loaded to the gun’ls with case goods, an’ crept in with small boats to make a big haul! Listen to ’em squabble, will you, boy? What wouldn’t I give for daylight so’s to see that boss shindy–shootin’ keeps a’goin’ on like the old days over there–wow! They must be a bunch o’ rotten marksmen, or the whole lot’d be wiped out afore this time. What’re we a’goin’ to do ’bout it, Jack–we ought to have some say what’s to be done with all that stuff–no use bein’ eagles o’ the skies if we gotter stick around an’ let a measly set o’ hawks get away with the game.”

“Don’t worry, that’s what we’re not aiming to do!” snapped Jack, as he banked, and once again headed in the direction of the spot where all that wild commotion was taking place.

“I get you, boy–the machine-gun, is it?” barked Perk, starting up from his seat as though to make ready.

Before he could throw off his head-harness Jack stopped him.

“Wait–you got me wrong–let the gun lie where it is. You know we never expect to use it unless our lives are in danger. Get the bombs, Perk–the simple tear bombs–they ought to fill the bill!”

Perk evidently not only understood now but was fully in sympathy with the scheme Jack had hatched out under the spur of necessity–quick thinking was one of young Ralston’s strong points and his cleverness along those lines had served him wonderfully on more than a few previous occasions, where the situation looked desperate.

They were sliding down a steep glide with the engine shut off. The deck of the nearby schooner was plainly visible due to the lights aboard, and the successive discharges of firearms, each looked like a miniature flash of lightning. As they approached the scene of confusion the racket grew in volume,–a dozen men seemed to be whooping things up as though under the impression that the battle could be won by sheer noise–and broken heads.

Perk kept his wits, and managed to locate the small stock of tear bombs that had been given into their charge, with the idea they might find them more or less useful should they strike a superior force of reckless law breakers and get into what Perk would call a “jam.”

Already he had succeeded in clutching a couple of the round missiles that were charged with the acrid gas that could play such havoc with human eyes as to render the strongest men as weak as babes and settled down in a position where he could throw them to advantage.

It was certainly a thrilling moment for Perk as he crouched there in his awkward cubicle back of the pilot and waited for the proper second to arrive when his accuracy at throwing the bombs would be tested.

Jack meanwhile had his hands full attending to his part of the business–it was of course of prime importance that they should drop down as close to the deck of the schooner as possible so the full effect of the bursting tear-bombs might be felt by those struggling smugglers and hijackers, but there was the mast of the cruising vessel to bear in mind since it towers many feet in the air.

To strike this spar would entail danger of a crash, or having their landing-gear torn away, which would prove a disaster. Consequently Jack held himself in readiness to once more start his engine when sufficiently near the object of his attack.

Perk knew just when their downward velocity terminated, for not only were they again on a level keel, but the motor commenced working with its customary intensity and the whole fusilage quivered as usual when they were under way.

All this had consumed mere fragments of a minute and Perk had already drawn back his hand to make ready for his first toss. It was his intention to follow this up with a second bomb, hurled in double-quick order, for a dual fire would make the results more complete.