Ambrose Newcomb - The Sky Pilot's Great Chase; Or, Jack Ralston's Dead Stick Landing

To save time he and Perk dropped into the dining room of the hotel without visiting the office so they might have dinner before going up to their room. This was pretty much of a daily habit with them and so far there had not been any disadvantage arising from the arrangement.

They had almost finished their dessert when one of the bellhops came along and being familiar with the pair from rubbing up against them so often, he asked no questions but laid down a telegraph envelope addressed to Mr. John Jacob Astorbilt.

“Gosh!”

That was all Perk could gasp when he saw that presumably the orders they had been expecting for so long must have arrived. He watched Jack reach out and pick up the sealed envelope – noted that there did not seem to be the slightest quiver of his hand – indeed, if it were an ordinary dunning epistle Jack could not have acted more carelessly – so far as outward manifestations showed – than was the case just then.

He opened the envelope and then, still as cool as a cucumber grown in the shade of a cornstalk, drew out the enclosure which Perk’s devouring eyes told him was unusually long.

Food was quite forgotten – for once – by the enthralled Perk who sat there, fascinated, watching Jack’s face as though in anticipation of being able to tell from what he might read there something of the nature of the communication that had been telegraphed from far distant Washington.

It was quite useless, however. Had Jack been glancing over a casual invitation to some party he could not have evinced more unconcern. Of course the message was so fashioned that in order to glean its full meaning a recourse to his code would be necessary but then as Perk knew, Jack would be able to pick up a word here and there and in this way get an inkling as to its purport.

“On your way, partner – gimme a clue to save me from crashin’!” begged poor Perk, his wits in a huddle that would have made any football enthusiast take a back seat.

“It’s our order to get busy, okay,” said Jack with a gleam in his eyes his pal loved to see, since it meant action and plenty of it.

“Where bound, for the love o’ mike?” continued the other.

“I’ve made out one name here which may be our destination, Perk.”

“Yeah?”

“Spokane,” he was told at which Perk lifted his eyebrows as if to denote more or less surprise, likewise disappointment.

“Huh! ’bout a short day’s flyin’ from this joint,” was the way the ambitious Perk voiced his feelings, just as if his expectations had been taking wings and soaring across the Pacific or some such long distance.

“Go slow, brother,” his mate advised him, “give me half a chance to make this puzzle out – so far I’ve caught just a word or two here and there. From the size of this message there’s a heap back of it. If you’re done stoking, let’s pass up to our den where I can get out my code and decipher this thing.”

Perk was out of his chair in a jiffy.

“I’m with you, laddie so let’s get a move on. I kinder guess now I’ll jump out o’ this here lowdown fit in a hurry, once we get goin’.”

He already looked a hundred per cent more awake than he had been for several days and Jack chuckled as he led the way to the elevator, knowing how new life had been pumped into his chum’s veins by the receipt of the order to go.

Once seated in the room they shared in common, Jack took his secret code from its hiding place and set to work in earnest. Perk could see him writing down word after word and filling in vacant places. The minutes fairly dragged like lead to the impatient one and when Jack sat back, nodding his head as if wholly satisfied, the other again begged him to lift the lid and give him a peep-in.

“What’s the matter at Spokane? Some o’ them Bolshevik miners broke loose over in Idaho an’ threatenin’ to kick up general hell again like they’ve done so many times?”

“A rotten guess brother,” Jack told him. “Nobody said we were going to stop long at Spokane – just ordered to look up a certain party there who’d pass on a bunch of information he’s been collecting this long while back and so help us on our way.”

Perk beamed again, as though quite a load had been lifted from his chest.

“Sounds better to me, ol’ hoss,” he hastened to say. “An’ tell me, where do we go from Spokane?”

“Due north!” snapped Jack smilingly, “in the direction of an old stamping-ground of yours.”

“Across the border – into Canada, partner?” demanded Perk.

“Just where we’ll be aiming for and moreover, buddy seems to me I’ve even heard you speak of a fur-trading post known as Frazer’s, with a Scotchman as factor of the Hudson Bay Company, name of McGregor!”

At that Perk let out one of his whoops as though unable to contain his overpowering delight.

“Ol’ Jimmy McGregor you mean, Jack! Don’t I know him from his moccasins up, the queerest but straightest man in the whole Northwest Territory? Why, I was located not many miles away from his store an’ many a time dropped in to get my ’baccy at his counter. I’ll be as happy as a lark to shake his honest hand again. Now wouldn’t that jar you though – such great luck?”

“Here’s another name you may chance to know. We’re to pick up one of the Mounties at the post and take him along as a sort of guide and backer, so as to show we’re playing our game in conjunction with the legal authorities of the region. Ever meet up with Sergeant Lowden, Perk?”

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See “ Wings Over the Rockies .”

See “ Eagles of the Sky .”