The Radio Boys on the Mexican Border Part 24

Von Arnheim had only one arm free, the other was pinioned to his side.

With this free arm he plucked futilely at Roy's arm across his throat, unable to reach the guarded face. It was a grip Von Arnheim was powerless to break, and it was only a question of time until he would be throttled into submission.

With a leap of the heart, Frank realized this. And bending down with his lips to Stone's ear, he said:

"I've got his gun. If you can hold him now I'm going into the cave after Morales. He's still at the phone."

A grunt was Stone's only reply as he pressed his chin deeper into the other's shoulder. Von Arnheim's body was beginning to arch like a bow.

If he did not surrender soon, his back would be broken.

Frank darted off down the slope.

Morales was seated at the telephone as Frank entered the cave, captured revolver in his hand. His own weapon hung forgotten at his side, so little used was he to the handling of small arms. Frank had tumbled, fallen, rolled down the slope, taking no precautions, fired only with anxiety to prevent Morales from radioing while there was yet time.

The Mexican also, in his anxiety to reach the ranch and give the warning, had cast caution aside.

Across the outer room dashed Frank, scarcely noting the trussed-up figure of Tom Bodine flung in one corner. No hangings obscured the brightly-lighted interior of the inner cave, for they had been torn down the night before to form a pallet.

Morales sat with his back turned, the headpiece clamped over his ears.

Frank darted forward and brought the b.u.t.t of the revolver cras.h.i.+ng down on the Mexican's head. Without a sound, without a gurgle or a cry, Morales swayed in the chair, then slumped to one side and slid to the floor.

With nervous haste Frank pulled the headpiece from the other and clamped it on his head. At once a crackle of Spanish words filled his ears. He could make nothing of them. What little knowledge of Spanish he once had possessed was not at his command now.

"Jack, Bob," he cried, pulling the microphone toward him. "This is Frank. Do you hear me? Frank."

The chattering ceased as if by magic.

"Frank? What in the world?"

Glory be! It was Jack's voice in reply.

"Use the code," cried Frank. In this emergency his brain was working lightning-fast. And in their own private code he added:

"It's all right now. They captured Tom Bodine while we were down in the valley seeing you off. But we've recaptured the cave."

"You saved our lives," came back Jack's voice. "I heard your Mexican friend call the ranch while we were flying, and at once started to interfere. It's been a job and my throat's hoa.r.s.e. But he never got his message through, I can tell you that. Whatever it was he had to tell, I never did find out. I just started interfering, singing, talking, shouting. The ranch never found out what he was trying to say, and neither did I. But, boy, you're just in time. We can see the lights now. What? What's that?"

What he heard was a shout.

But Frank was too busy to answer his question. Morales had recovered consciousness and was on his knees and struggling to his feet, when out of the tail of his eye Frank saw his peril. s.n.a.t.c.hing the instrument from his head, he flung himself sideways. The impact of his body hurled Morales again to the floor.

Frank had placed the captured revolver on the table, as he telephoned.

He would have to fight with his bare hands. Well, he would not let the Mexican overcome him and regain possession of that radiophone unless he killed Frank first. With hands gripped about the other's throat and legs twined about his body, Frank fought as he never thought he could fight. Morales was a heavy man, heavier even than Von Arnheim who had overcome Frank in that tempestuous fight in the darkness the night before. But his senses were still somewhat numbed from the blow on the head dealt him earlier by Frank, and the boy was fighting with a strength born of desperate resolve.

Frank's grip on the Mexican's throat tightened. Morales was unable to pluck those cruel hands away. His face became purple. His eyes started from his head. Suddenly he went limp beneath Frank, and sank to the floor.

Frank stood up swaying. The excitement and the strain of the combat had had their effect on him. There are mighty few boys of his age and build who could have gone through what he did and still keep their feet. Dancing points of light swam before his vision. He brushed a hand across his eyes to clear them. He reeled and would have fallen, but his hand clutched the table and steadied him.

What was it he must do? There was something which had to be done. Oh, if his head only would clear. Call Jack! Yes, that was it. Had to tell the old boy to go ahead--radio plant still Frank's--enemy couldn't get any warning from that Mexican fellow--had to tell him, had to.

Clutching the table, swaying, but with lips tightly pressed together and teeth clenched, Frank made his way to the microphone. Holding the headpiece to his ear, he set his lips to the telephone instrument and called:

"Jack, Jack, you there?"

"Yes, yes," came back the anxious reply. "What happened?"

"It's all right, Jack. Go ahead. I licked--him."

The headpiece fell from his grasp. Frank sank to the floor.

It was there a moment later that Roy Stone found him, fallen in a heap across the body of the Mexican. Both were unconscious.

Stone was shaky himself. His battle with Von Arnheim had been a severe one, and the wound in his shoulder had started bleeding again. But as his gaze took in the situation, he turned to Tom Bodine, whose bonds he had cut on his way through the outer cave, and said in a tone of warmest admiration:

"Some boy."

CHAPTER XXV

DANGER AT HAND

Bob as well as Jack had heard Frank's explanation of the occurrences at the cave, for he also wore a headpiece as he piloted the airplane.

And it was with warm admiration toward the absent chum who so heroically had thwarted Morales' attempt to betray their hazardous expedition that he circled now above the two groups of lights which marked the Calomares ranch and radio station.

Smaller and smaller grew the circles, as with engine shut off he volplaned. The field was hard-packed and smooth and the plane alighted finally with practically no jar. When it came to a dead stop at last, Bob drew a long breath of relief. He had not been up for several weeks. And night flying above strange country to a landing on unfamiliar ground had been a strain upon him.

There were no mechanics running out to greet the alighting plane and trundle it into its hangar. Had this been a well-appointed landing field, such absence would have been suspicious. But to Bob and Jack it meant only confirmation of Roy Stone's remark that they were a "careless lot at the ranch."

"Now for it," said Jack, clambering out of the plane.

The two chums stared around them, trying to pierce the darkness. They were in the middle of a long and wide field. A ring of low hills encircled them, the tops clearly outlined against the velvety sky.

Overhead twinkled stars, brighter, warmer and apparently closer than when viewed in their Long Island home.

The hills on either hand were close. So, too, was the rampart at their back, over which they had flown. Those ahead were more distant, for it was in that direction extended the valley. Behind them was the radio plant with its tracery of tower and antenna against the sky and the windows of the power house gleaming from the light within. Ahead was a long, irregular clump of buildings set among trees. Some were dark.

But the main structure, which they knew from Stone's description was the ranch house, was brightly lighted.

Try as they would to pierce the darkness, the boys were unable to discern anything other than this. There was not a human figure in sight.

They gazed with especial interest toward the ranch house, because it was somewhere within those walls that Mr. Hampton was held prisoner.

Soon, if all went well, Jack would be making his way within in search of his father. At the thought, his heart which heretofore had been calm enough, began to beat rapidly and for a moment he felt as if he were about to suffocate. His breath almost failed him. It was a not unnatural feeling, and soon pa.s.sed, but Bob noting the labored breathing climbed from the airplane and put an arm over his chum's shoulder.

"Steady, Jack," he said. "Everything's going to be all right."

The friendly gesture and the sympathy in his chum's voice did steady Jack.

"All right, now, Bob," he said. "Just at first, though----"