The Girl Aviators on Golden Wings Part 3

"Not if we can help it," rejoined Red Bill Summers, wrinkling his low forehead, "but I ain't goin' ter let them stand in our way."

"Of course not," chimed in Buck Bellew, playing with the ta.s.sels on his red sash, and jingling his silver-mounted spurs in a somewhat dandified fas.h.i.+on, "pretty girls, too," he added.

"Ther point's just this," struck in Red Bill, apparently paying no attention to the other's conversation, "Jim Bell's got a desert mine some place out thar yonder. This young chap he had with him, what's his name--"

"Prescott," suggested Buck Bellew.

"Ay, Prescott, that's it. Wal, this yer Prescott has invented some sort of an air s.h.i.+p, I read that in the papers. It's pretty clear to my mind that this air s.h.i.+p is going to be used in getting the gold out of the desert. That's plain enough, eh?"

"Yes, if your first idee is right. If he's got a paying mine in reality," agreed Bellew.

"Oh, I'm satisfied on that point. Jim Bell's too old a fox to go inter the desert onless he had st.i.thin' worth going arter."

"Well, what are we going to do about it?" asked the third man with a grin, "build an aeroplane, too. For myself I'm free to confess I ain't no sky pilot and don't never expect to be one."

"This ain't a minstrel show," scowled Red Bill.

"Couldn't help laffin' though," said the black-mustached one, "talkin' uv aviators reminded me of that story of the feller who went ter see I lier doctor and git some medicine. Ther doc he says, 'I want you to take three drops in water very day.' Ther young chap fainted. When he recovered they asked him what the matter was. He says, 'I'm an aviator. Three drops in water would finish me in a week.'"

"That'll do from you," grunted Red Bill, without the trace of a smile at this little anecdote, "let's git down to bizness. Those folks leave here to-morrow. They'll go early in the morning. "We can't follow them too close without excitin' suspicion. The problem is to keep track of them without they're knowing it."

"Don't they take any servants or help?" asked Bellew after a pause.

"Yes, they do."

"You're certain?"

"I made it my business to find out. They are going to take a guide.

Have him engaged, in fact."

"Who is he?"

"Oh, a no good Mexican, a chap named Juan Baptista."

"Juan Baptista!" exclaimed Bellew slapping his leg, "that's fine.

Couldn't be better."

"You know him?"

"So well that he'll have to do anything I say."

"You can make him obey you then?"

"I know of a horse stealing case in which he was mixed up. If he won't do what we tell him to I'll threaten him with exposure."

"Good. He is sleeping in the corral with their ponies. Let's go down there now and rouse him out. Then we'll have part of the business settled."

"I'm agreeable. Come on."

As noiselessly as possible the three plotters crept from the room and tip-toed down the corridors. Following a long pa.s.sage they presently emerged into a star-lit stable-yard. In that part of the west doors are not locked at night, so they could go out without bothering about a key.

"Where's the corral?" whispered Buck as they came out of the hotel.

"Right over there. See that haystack. The greaser's asleep this side of it. Right under where that saddle is hanging on the fence."

"All right. Come on."

Led by Buck Bellew, whose spurs gave out an occasional jingle, they crept across the yard. Presently they came upon a dark bundle lying huddled at the foot of the corral palings.

Bellew stirred the inanimate bundle with his foot. The spurs gave out a tinkling, musical jingle. The thing moved, stirred and finally galvanized into life. It was finally revealed as the figure of a rather ill-favored Mexican, unusually tall for one of his race who are, as a rule, squat and small.

"Buenas tardes, Juan!" greeted Buck Bellew.

"Buenas tardes, senors," was the response. "But what for do you disturb me in thees way. Know that to-morrow with the rising of the sun I have to awake and saddle the beasts, and fare forth into the alkali with party of gringoes."

"That's all right. That's what we came to talk to you about, Juan,"

said Bellew. He bent low and pushed his face almost into the Mexican's brown and sleepy countenance.

"Do you know me!" he grated out.

"Todos Santos! Caramba! It is the Senor Bellew!"

"Not so loud Juan. There may be somebody around who would recognize that name. It is enough that you know me."

"What do you wish with me, senor?"

The Mexican's voice shook. Evidently he feared this tall, good-looking, though dissolute, young Gringo.

"You are to escort a party of gringos headed by a Senor Bell as far as Steer Wells, are you not?"

"Si senor. As I said to-morrow before the rising of the sun must I be awake. I must saddle and pack, and--"

"All right. Never mind that. I have a little bit of work for you to perform, too. If you do it well you will be rewarded. If not--"

"If not senor--?"

"If not--well don't let us dwell on unpleasant subjects. I want you to ride with these gringos. Listen to all that they say. Talk to them and learn from them all that you can."

"Of what?"

"Of their destination--of where they are going--what they are going to do when they get there, and so on. You understand?"

"Perfectly senor. But they have paid me well and promised more.

Senor Bell is a good man. He is--"

"Will you do what I tell you?"

The voice was sharp and imperious.