Ambrose Newcomb - Wings Over the Rockies; Or, Jack Ralston's New Cloud Chaser

“Hot ziggetty dog! I kinder guess now Jack, we’ve been an’ put the new cloud-chaser through every trick we’ve got up our sleeves – flopped her over on her back, righted her, to turn turtle again, done nose-dives an’ Immelmann turns, made a shivery sixteen thousand foot ceilin’ for altitude – an’ now, after all this circus stunt business, we figger she’s a real ship, queen o’ the air-ways.”

“Perk, you never said truer words and I’m sure proud of the fact that our Big Boss up at Washington appreciated that little Florida job we put through last winter, so’s to put us in charge of such a swell air craft.”

“Ginger pop! we used to reckon our old crate some punkins at speedin’, when real flyin’ was needed but shucks! with this cracker-jack boat we could make all kinds o’ rings ’round the old bus or else my name ain’t Gabe Perkiser.”

The young leather clad pilot at the controls, as if to still further emphasize his good opinion of the spanking, up-to-date plane they had for some days been joyfully testing out, volplaned down on a long coast just as though a merciless enemy craft were on their tail with a babbling machine-gun keeping up an intermittent fire and a hail of bullets filling the air around them.

Then he leveled off, attained a dizzy speed, turned, banked, and came roaring back to execute a dazzling monster figure-eight sweep.

“Great stuff, old hoss!” cried the exultant Perk for they had their earphones adjusted so as to be able to exchange comments at will, despite any racket caused by the madly racing motor and spinning propeller combined.

“I reckon that will be enough juice used up for today,” Jack Ralston was saying in a thoroughly satisfied tone, “and now we’d better make a bee-line for our landing field. It’ll be the same old story, – a gang gathering around to admire our new boat – and all trying to find out just who we are and what big air company we’re connected with.”

Thereupon Perk chuckled in a queer way he had, evidently vastly amused.

“We got ’em right goofy with guessin’, partner, for a fact. How the curious minded boobs do try to squeeze a few grains o’ information out of us with their foxy questions. I’ve heard some wise-cracks along them lines silly enough to make a hoss laugh an’ all o’ the remarks ain’t jest as complimentary as I’d like, not by a long shot.”

“Little we care,” remarked Jack, adjusting his goggles to a more satisfactory angle and releasing the ear flaps of his helmet. They had left the frigid altitude where they had climbed almost as though shot upward by some monster cannon, thanks to the novel wings with which the new ship was equipped.

“Huh! let ’em try to outsmart us,” Perk went on to say, a bit scornfully. “We c’n jest keep our lips buttoned tight an’ mind our own business. Won’t be long, anyway, I guess, till we hear from Headquarters an’ have to jump off on some fresh stunt, roundin’ up the slick crooks who keep puttin’ their thumbs on their noses an’ wigglin’ their fingers at Uncle Sam’s Secret Service boys – counterfeiters, smugglers, aliens crossing the borders, booze from out on the high seas, makers o’ moonshine in the mountings and on the burnin’ deserts like Death Valley an’ such riffraff that scoffs at the law!”

Perk, as he was generally called by his friends, was really a World War veteran, having served aboard a “sausage” observation balloon and later on as a fighting pilot of more than average bravery and ability. He did his “daily dozen” through the whole desperate series of conflicts in the Argonne with a fair number of “flaming coffins” placed to his credit – enemy ships shot down on fire.

Since quitting the army after the Armistice put a stop to all hostilities, Perk had passed through quite a number of vocations that appealed to the unrest in his blood, demanding so strenuously a calling built upon more or less continual excitement.

He had been a barn-storming pilot, giving exhibitions of reckless parachute jumping from high altitudes and similar stunts at county fairs and other public gatherings and had also spent several years as a valued member of the Mounted Police up in the Canadian Northwest country. He finally was drafted into Uncle Sam’s Secret Service by reason of an official having met up with him when moose hunting in the trackless wilds of northern British Columbia.

When Jack Ralston, who himself had gained a little fame in the Secret Service on account of generally bringing in his man, was selected to pilot a speedy ship he picked Gabe Perkiser whom he had known for some time and whose companionable disposition as well as unquestioned courage made him an ideal pal – in Jack’s eyes at least.

Their first assignment called for service carrying the flyers over the Mexican border to apprehend a notorious character who had long been a thorn in the flesh of the Washington authorities, since he came and went, mostly via the air route, crashing Uncle Sam’s frontier gate with cargoes of undesirable aliens, usually Chinese, willing to pay as much as a thousand dollars per head for an opportunity to enter the States, forbidden ground to those of their race. 1 1 See the first volume of this Series, “ The Sky Detectives .”

Having, despite all difficulties, carried out their instructions to the letter and handed over their man to the nearest U. S. District Attorney for prosecution, Jack and Perk were later on dispatched with their efficient plane to the Gulf Coast of Florida, there to break up a powerful combination of smugglers through whose bold and lawless ventures, by air and sea, the whole Southern country was being submerged in a flood of foreign brands of liquor.

Again the two pals proved their calibre and brought home the bacon, having dealt the rum-runners a severe jolt and actually kidnaped the chief offender. 2 2 See the preceding story entitled, “ Eagles of the Sky .”

Now they were daily anticipating still another assignment which, for aught they knew might carry them to the Maine border or even to Alaska – all sectors of our wide country look alike to energetic Secret Service agents especially when they have magical wings with which to annihilate space and carry them through cloudland at a hundred miles and more an hour.

It looked very much as though their excellent record was being fully appreciated at Headquarters for there had come to them a wonderfully equipped new ship, carrying many lately discovered and new inventions calculated to lighten the labors of the man at the controls as well as to secure a degree of safety never before attained in any craft.

Jack was heading for the home port, quite satisfied with the finishing check-up of the amazing attributes of their new acquisition, and as for Perk, he could hardly contain himself, such was his enthusiasm in connection with their trying-out process.

“Beats anything that carries wings,” he vowed in his characteristic fashion, “and it’s bound to be a poor day for any guy who thinks he c’n get away from this race hoss o’ the skies. See how she snorts on her course will you, partner, and us agoin’ at mor’n a hundred an’ thirty right now! This is the life for me, an’ I wouldn’t care much if my legs got so cramped I couldn’t walk a mile – some birds are like that, I understand, buzzards f’r instance fairly wobble on the ground but able to put the kibosh on most other feathered folks when they take off in their clumsy way.”

Jack did not show much desire to keep up the conversation – the fact of the matter was he felt more or less tired after a long day in the clouds and much preferred to pay strict attention to the many dials on the black dashboard just in front, with which he was by degrees becoming familiar.