Radio Boys in the Flying Service

Radio Boys in the Flying Service

CHAPTER IA Daring Hold-Up

“Hands up! Quick!”

The command, barked out in sharp, staccatto tones, was emphasized by the ugly muzzle of a revolver thrust through the window of the paying teller.

It was a bright Spring morning in the town of Castleton, a thriving city of some ten thousand population, located in a prosperous section of the Middle West. As it was Saturday, there was a little more stir and animation in the streets than usual, for it was the day on which farmers and their wives of the rural district served by the town drove in to do their shopping. Already, though it was no more than eleven o’clock, there was a fair sprinkling of cars and buggies standing in the open square in front of the court house, and the number was constantly being augmented by new arrivals.

In the Castleton Bank, the only one that the little town boasted, there was unusual activity, for the cashier and his two clerks were busy making up the money for the payrolls of the three mills on which the commercial prosperity of the town largely depended.

A large touring car, whose every line denoted speed, came rapidly up the street and stopped at the door of the bank. The man at the wheel kept his seat, without shutting off the engine, while four men climbed out. One took his stand at the side of the machine, and the other three quickly ascended the steps of the bank.

There were four customers in the bank at the time. One, a woman, was having a check cashed, two men were depositing cash and checks with the receiving teller, while a fourth man was at a desk making out a slip.

The man who appeared to be the leader of the newcomers and whose face was marred by an ugly scar on his right cheek went straight to the window of the paying teller, roughly thrust aside the woman standing there and pointing his revolver at the teller ordered him to hold up his hands.

At the same instant his companions drew their weapons and herded the four customers up against the wall, where they held them at the muzzles of their revolvers.

The startled teller stood for a second as though paralyzed, and then slowly obeyed. A second rough command brought similar action on the part of the receiving teller. Then the bandit vaulted over the low railing, and still holding his revolver ready for action, began to thrust great bundles of bills into the capacious pockets of the ulster that he wore.

Just then the cashier of the bank, Mr. Weston, stepped out of the door of his inner office. He took in the situation at a glance, darted back, snatched a revolver from his desk and reappearing in the doorway fired at the robber but missed him. At the same instant the bandit’s revolver cracked and the cashier fell with a bullet in his shoulder.

With a muttered imprecation at the necessity for the shooting, which made him hurry his movements, the robber gathered in the rest of the packages of bills in sight, jumped over the railing and rushed for the door accompanied by his confederates.

The sound of the shot had attracted attention outside and men were already hurrying toward the bank. The robber at the curb fired several shots and halted them for an instant. That moment of grace was sufficient to permit the miscreants to leap into the car, which started up instantly and sped down the street in a cloud of dust.

Three young men came around a corner as the car whirled by. They were laughing and jesting, and evidently on good terms with themselves and the world.

“Look at that car,” exclaimed Phil Strong, a stalwart, vigorous young fellow, slightly taller than his companions. “It’s going like a blue streak.”

“Smashing the speed law into bits,” agreed Dick Weston. “I guess that—Hello!” he cried, as he saw the commotion and heard the shouting in front of the bank. “What’s up?”

They broke into a run and in a moment were in the midst of the excited crowd. Another moment sufficed to learn of what had happened. They rushed into the bank, Dick frantic with grief and apprehension at the news that his father had been shot. A doctor who happened to be in the crowd was already ministering to the wounded man.

“Only a flesh wound,” the doctor assured Dick, bringing him an immense relief.

“Don’t mind me, Dick,” said Mr. Weston, trying to summon up a reassuring smile. “It’s the bank I’m thinking of. It’ll be seriously hurt if those scoundrels get away with all that cash. Get after them as fast as you can. Every minute counts.”

Dick was loth to obey, but Phil, standing beside him, put his hand on his arm.

“Your father’s right, Dick,” he said. “He’s getting good attention here, and you can’t serve him better than by trying to run down the thieves. Come with me and come quick. I’ve got a plan.”

They hurried out of the bank, pushing their way through the constantly increasing crowd that congested the doors. In the street, men were piling into cars and starting out in the direction that the robbers had taken.

“It’s well meant but of no use,” said Phil, pointing to the cars. “They haven’t a Chinaman’s chance to catch up with them this side of kingdom come. The robbers’ car can run rings around any of these. But I know something that’s faster than any car.”

“The airplane,” exclaimed Dick, a light breaking in on him.

“Right you are,” replied Phil. “But that isn’t all. There’s something faster than the airplane.”

“Radio,” cried Tom Hadley.

“Now you’ve hit it,” approved Phil, relaxing for a moment the speed at which all three had been racing down the street. “Now, fellows, here’s the dope. Tom, you run to my house and get busy with the radio. Call up every town within a radius of fifty miles. Tell the police of the robbery and describe as well as you can the kind of car that the men are escaping in. Don’t forget the scar on the face of the leader. Hustle now, old scout. Dick and I will get out the airplane.”

Tom was off like a shot.

“Now Dick,” said Phil, taking the lead, as he always did in a crisis that demanded quick thinking and swift action, “it’s us for the airplane. Lucky, isn’t it that you and I spent almost all of last week in getting the Arrow into shape? She’s in splendid condition and fit to fly for a man’s life. It will be strange if we don’t give those thieves a run for their money—or rather for the bank’s money.”

In a few minutes they had reached the hangar in which their airplane was stored, at a flying field on the outskirts of the town.

They unlocked and flung open the door and wheeled out the machine, a biplane of the latest make and one with whose operation both of them were thoroughly familiar.

They wheeled her out into the open, made one last hasty examination to make assurance doubly sure and climbed into the fuselage. Phil gave her the gas and the machine after a short run made a perfect takeoff from the grassy field and soared into the air like a bird. Phil turned her in the direction, as nearly as he could guess, that the robbers had gone, and she clove the air with the speed of the arrow after which she was named.

The roar of the motor made it difficult to carry on much conversation, but Phil’s brain was working hard. He figured out that the robbers would not continue far in the direction that they had taken at the start, since that would be too obvious and easy for their pursuers to follow. At some point of the road they would turn at right angles, or possibly double on their tracks, in the attempt to bewilder their would-be captors.

The only way in which Phil and Dick could circumvent such strategy was to describe a wide curve that would take in not only the road ahead of them, but a large extent of the cross roads to the right and left. This disadvantage however was counterbalanced to some extent by the lofty position of the plane, that permitted the landscape to be seen for many miles in every direction. They had also a splendid pair of field glasses, which Dick kept glued to his eyes while Phil drove the plane.

The superb condition of the plane also favored them. The engine never missed a stroke, but ran with the steady hum that is music to the ears of the aviator. Encouraged by the way the Arrow was working, Phil let her out until she was traveling at the rate of nearly ninety miles an hour. At this rate it seemed inevitable that they would soon sight their quarry, despite the start that had given the latter the advantage.

The roads beneath were dotted with cars coming and going, and two or three of them seemed so like the robbers’ car that Phil swooped down near enough to establish that they were not the one he had in view.

After several such disappointments, Dick suddenly straightened up with a sharp exclamation.

“Spotted them this time,” he cried. “It’s dollars to doughnuts that’s the car. Same shape, same color and it’s going like all possessed.”

He passed the glasses to Phil, who turned them in the direction that Dick indicated. There, sure enough, on a road to the right, was a machine that answered the description they had hastily been able to gather of the car in which the bandits had made their getaway. It was going like the wind.

“There’s another car about half a mile behind it,” Phil remarked after a moment’s keen scrutiny. “The top’s down and I can see that it’s full of men in uniform.”

“Good old Tom!” exclaimed Dick jubilantly. “He’s got busy with the radio all right, and that second car’s chasing the first one. Do you think it can catch up?”

Phil studied the situation for a full minute before replying.

“Not a chance,” he answered finally, handing back the glasses. “The first car is steadily increasing the distance between the two. But here’s where we get busy.”

He turned the plane in the direction pursued by the flying cars.

“What’s your plan?” asked Dick.

“You’ll see in a minute,” muttered Phil, all his attention centered on the chase.

CHAPTER IISkillful Strategy

Both of the racing cars kept on at full speed, but a steadily widening gap showed between them as the first continued to draw away from its pursuer.

Soon the Arrow was directly above the second of the two cars. Phil kept moving steadily earthward and was now flying at a height of about two hundred feet. It was plainly to be seen that Phil’s supposition had been correct, for the car held half a dozen policemen heavily armed. It seemed probable too, that Tom in his radio message had told the police of the starting out of the airplane, for the officers seemed to realize that they had an ally in the plane and gesticulated vigorously, shouting and pointing to the road ahead.

Phil waved one hand at them, as a signal that he understood, and darted ahead until he had overtaken the fleeing car. The top of this was up, so that at first the robbers did not see the plane. But they heard the roaring of the motor, and first one head and then another was thrust out at the side of the machine looking upward. At first they did not seem especially alarmed, thinking probably that it was out on a practice flight and just happened to be in their vicinity. But as it continued to keep pace with them and in the same direction, suspicion seized them, and the car leaped frantically forward as the last ounce of speed was extracted from its motor.

Phil’s eyes kept scanning the landscape ahead and at last saw the chance for which he was looking. About a mile in advance was a level field with no bars between it and the road. He quickened speed, swooped down in a graceful curve, landed in the field with scarcely a jar and at just the spot where the wheels under the momentum of the flight carried the plane into the middle of the road blocking it completely.

Quick as a flash the Radio Boys clambered out on the further side of the plane.

“Guess that will stop them,” exclaimed Phil triumphantly.

“It sure will,” agreed Dick admiringly, “but at the same time it will smash the plane.”

“If it does, it will have to,” replied Phil. “But I don’t think they’ll drive into it. They’d wreck their own car or overturn it or at any rate get all tangled up in the gear of the plane. They’ll stop all right. The police car is less than a minute behind them, and I figure it will be right on top of the bandits before they get over their confusion. We’ll soon know, for here they come.”

Around a curve in the road three hundred yards away came the robbers’ car and bore straight down on the plane which seemed doomed to destruction.

And while Phil and Dick stand there with every pulse athrill waiting for the outcome, it may be well for the benefit of those who have not read the preceding volume of this series to tell who the Radio Boys were and what had been their fortunes and adventures up to the time this story opens.

Phil Strong had been born and brought up in the town of Castleton, where his father was a physician with a large practice. From his early years, Phil had been a natural leader among the boys of his own age, and had been foremost in the athletic sports that appeal to all healthy, red-blooded boys. He had been the crack pitcher of his school nine and a speedy full back on the school eleven. His freedom from conceit or meanness of any kind had made him exceedingly popular. His brain was keen and worked quickly, and he was seldom at a loss in extricating himself from any trying situation into which chance might have brought him. He never looked for trouble, but he never sidestepped it when it came, and his coolness and courage made him a valuable friend and a formidable enemy. At the time the incidents here narrated took place, he was eighteen years old, tall, athletic, of fair complexion, with keen blue eyes and brown hair. He had a sister, Phyllis, a pretty girl of sixteen.

His special chum among the Castleton boys was Dick Weston, who, as we have seen, was the son of the cashier of the Castleton bank. Dick was about the same age as Phil, but differed from him in appearance, having brown eyes and swarthy complexion. The two had been friends since their earliest recollections and were almost inseparable. Where one of them was found the other was quite sure not to be far away. Dick lacked the initiative of Phil, but was always ready to follow where the latter led. Where Phil was captain, Dick made an admirable first mate, backing Phil up to the limit and standing by him through thick and thin. He had two brothers, Harry, fifteen, and Joe, thirteen years of age.

Closely linked in friendship with Dick and Phil were Steve Elwood and Tom Hadley, who had become acquainted with them through a curious combination of circumstances told in the first book of this series.

Steve Elwood was the son of a prosperous business man living in New York. He was a fine upstanding fellow, generous in the extreme, but hot tempered and impulsive and ready to fight at the drop of a hat. He had a stubby nose, freckled face and red hair, which explained perhaps the fiery disposition that usually goes with that kind of head covering. Phil’s coolness had more than once got Steve out of scrapes into which his headlong nature had carried him.

Tom Hadley was of another type, good-natured, jolly, always ready for a joke or a laugh, and perfectly certain that the world was a good place to live in. His father was an electrical engineer of Chicago. Tom had a firm idea that Chicago was the only town on earth, and as Steve had a similar idea about New York, there were many wordy arguments between the two that afforded immense enjoyment to Phil and Dick, who took an impish delight in egging them on when there was a lull in the battle.

At the time this story opens, Steve was in Texas, while Tom had dropped in on a visit to Phil and Dick in Castleton.

What perils and adventures the four friends had faced in common; how many times they had been within a hairsbreadth of death; how they had served their government in tracking and delivering up to justice a band of cunning and desperate criminals is fully told in the first book of this series, entitled: “Radio Boys In the Secret Service; Or, Running Down the Counterfeiters.”

Now Phil and Dick were facing a peril of another kind, of which no one could predict the result. They had no weapons with them, and they knew that the bandits in the onrushing automobile were desperate criminals and would not hesitate a second in taking life if that would aid their escape. But they had known this when they took the chance, and although their hearts beat furiously, they awaited the result without flinching.

For the first hundred yards the car came on with unabated speed. Then it perceptibly slackened, while the inmates could be seen with their heads together in an excited colloquy. The man in the seat beside the driver leaned far out and motioned furiously to the boys to wheel the plane out of the road. As they stood motionless, he shook his clenched fist at them and shouted out an order to the men behind him.

The next instant a fusillade of shots came whistling over the heads of the boys, who, divining the nature of the command, had thrown themselves flat on the ground. One of the wings of the plane was clipped by a bullet but no other damage was done by the volley.

Again the car leaped forward as though the bandits had determined to take a desperate chance and plough their way through the plane. But when they were a hundred feet away, the driver seemed to lose heart and slowed down.

With a furious exclamation, the man sitting beside him struck the driver and grasped the wheel from him. In the mixup the front wheels of the car slewed violently to one side, and the car ran into a deep ditch at the side of the road where it overturned.

There was a tumult of shouts and oaths as the car went over, and at the same moment the police car came in sight around the turn. Its occupants were quick to grasp the situation, and the boys could see them rising in their seats with their weapons in their hands ready to leap.

Out from the overturned car the bandits came swarming like so many bees. An instant’s glance told them of the trap into which they had fallen. Before them was the plane behind which were at least two men, whether armed or not they could not tell. Behind them were half a dozen officers of the law, fully armed, who were already jumping from their seats and running toward them.

Their only chance lay in reaching a patch of woodland that lay a little ways back of the road. Once in its shadows some of them at least might stand a chance of eluding their pursuers.

At a command from their leader, the bandits fired a volley at the officers and then turned and ran toward the woods. A fusillade from the police revolvers followed them, and one of the robbers was shot in the foot and fell. The rest kept on, the fear of capture lending wings to their feet, and three of them reached the woods. One however, was headed off and ran into the open field where the plane had made its landing. He was fleeter than the two heavily built men who were pursuing him, and would have easily outdistanced them had not Phil taken a hand in the game.

Like a panther he was on the trail of the fugitive. The latter turned and saw him coming and redoubled his speed. There was no shaking Phil off however, and he gained rapidly. The man turned and fired at him but the bullet whizzed by harmlessly. The next instant Phil had launched himself on him and the two went to the ground together.