CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Tim kept the contents of the Sky Hawk's message to himself. There was noneed to alarm Ralph for he felt that it was a personal matter, but itdisturbed him more than he cared to acknowledge. On the verge of whatshould have been his greatest success, the attainment of the goal towhich he had been striving, the aviation editorship of the News, hadcome the mysterious message from the Sky Hawk, and Tim promised himselfthat he would keep himself fully prepared and alive to every emergency.
Their return to Atkinson brought a round of banquets and series ofspeeches at civic clubs. By early fall he was back in the pleasantroutine, but this time with a desk of his own and the sign, "AviationEditor," on a small card.
For days he watched the news, listened to the gossip at the airport butthere was no sign of the Sky Hawk--no sign since the day he had lootedthe wreck of the mail months before in the fastnesses of the GreatSmokies. Yet Tim felt that the Sky Hawk was about to strike again and heknew that the next time it would be a battle to the end.
Then the smouldering fires of revolt burst into flame in Mexico. GeneralEnrique Lopez, an officer in the federal army, had broken with thegovernment and had taken the field against the federals. His army,recruited from the ranks of disgruntled federal soldiers, Yaqui Indiansand peasants, enjoyed startling success in the first days of therevolution. Then Lopez played his hidden card and bombed Mexico Cityfrom the air.
The daring of his feat fanned American interest in the revolt and thefront pages of the papers blazed with headlines which told of theprogress of the revolt.
Young airmen, attracted by the high salaries offered by both the federaland rebel armies, flocked toward the border, only to be met by thestern, hard flying men of the U.S. army's border patrol. There they werewarned to turn back or take their chances at being shot down in theirattempt to fly into Mexico. The majority of them returned but a few ofthe more daring ran the gauntlet of fire from the border patrol and madetheir way into Mexico.
A few pictures of the fighting between the troops came straggling upfrom the border but they were far from satisfactory and so far as couldbe ascertained, there were no actual photographs of the rebel chieftain.Within a short time American news picture services were offeringfabulous prices for pictures of General Lopez but the wily rebel leaderevaded every effort of the photographers. The luckless individuals whopenetrated through his lines were imprisoned and their plates andcameras smashed.
Tim, who had been watching the course of events below the border, wasnot greatly surprised when, one morning late in August, Carson calledhim to his desk.
"Can you be ready to start for Mexico in half an hour?" asked themanaging editor.
Tim had halfway expected to be sent to the border but to be asked to getinto the interior of the strife-torn country was another thing. But hisanswer was quick in coming.
"In less than that, if it's necessary," he said.
"I'm not ordering you to go, Tim," went on the managing editor. "It's upto you, but it's a great chance for the News to scoop the world if youcan get inside Lopez' lines, gain his confidence, and get back here withexclusive pictures of the rebel camp. It will be dangerous and your lifewill be in your own hands."
"I'll be ready to start in half an hour," was Tim's even-toned reply.Inwardly he was seething with excitement for it was his biggestassignment.
"I was fairly sure you would go," smiled Carson, "but I don't want youto take an unnecessary risk. I've had your equipment ordered, a highspeed camera, and plenty of plates for the long distance shots. Inaddition, we have a small pocket camera that may come in handy if theyseize your big machine. Here's plenty of money for expenses on the firstpart of the trip and we'll authorize the bank at Nogales, Arizona, tohonor your checks for any amounts that you may need."
Tim had turned away from the managing editor's desk to tell Dan Watkinsof his big assignment when Carson called him back.
"I think you ought to know," he said, "that if you get those pictures wecan sell the national rights on them to a news picture service. Thatwill mean several thousand dollars and I'll see that you get a fairshare if you succeed."
Dan, at the copy desk, was enthusiastic, but he cautioned Tim to becareful.
"We'll miss you, Tim, and will be looking for your return," he added asthey said goodbye.
Tim hurried to his room, gathered the few essentials he would need forthe trip, and drove out to the field. There he inspected the cameras andmade sure that everything was in readiness for the long flight. It wouldbe a good 1,000 miles to Nogales, on the border, and another 200 milesdown into the mountains of Sonora before Tim could hope to come incontact with the rebel forces.
Confident that he had all the equipment necessary for his hazardousundertaking, Tim swung into the cockpit of the Good News. The motor waspurring impatiently, as though the plane sensed its mission and wasanxious to be clear of the ties that kept it earth-bound.
There were hasty last-minute farewells and then Tim sent his planedusting over the field and into the air. He was away on his biggestassignment--that of securing pictures of the leader of the Mexicanrevolt.
The trip to Nogales was uneventful and Tim took two days to cover the1,000 miles, landing at the border city shortly before noon on thesecond day. He circled over the airport while one of the ships of the U.S. army border patrol took off and climbed to have a look at him.
When the pilot of the army craft saw the sign on Tim's plane, he waved afriendly greeting and sped away into the east on his lonely patrol.
Tim soared down out of the cloudless sky and brought the Good News to astop on the brown, sunbaked field at the edge of the city. He wentthrough the usual formality of registering his plane and his credentialswere accepted without question.
Before he left the field to run into the city for lunch, an incomingplane attracted his attention. It was one of the border patrolmen,flying fast and low. The machine made a dizzy sideslip and broke onewheel in landing but the pilot managed to check its wild course andbrought it to a halt before it crashed into one of the hangars near themain office.
Tim was one of the first to reach the plane and helped pull awhite-faced flyer from the cockpit. The army man had been shot throughthe right shoulder and his arm hung limp and useless. He had managed,somehow, to land with only one hand on the controls.
"What happened, Kennard," demanded Captain John Talbot, commandant ofthe Nogales field.
"Ran into a chap trying to cross the border," replied Lieutenant NedKennard, "and he decided to shoot it out with me. You'll find what'sleft of him about twenty-five miles west of here."
Tim pieced the story together and secured enough material for a dandyyarn on the first airplane battle along the border. He hastened intotown to the telegraph office where he filed a 1,000 word story to theNews. When he returned to the field after lunch he found a message fromCarson, congratulating him on the story. Tim's yarn had been much morecomplete than the story carried on the press association wires and hadreached Carson's desk two hours before it came through the regularchannels. It had enabled the News to score a clean beat on their rivalafternoon papers in Atkinson on the big story of the day.
Tim was forced to wait a few minutes before he could obtain an interviewwith the commandant of the field. When he finally entered CaptainTalbot's office, he received a cordial greeting.
"I understand you want permission to cross the border and hope to getpictures of Lopez and his rebel camp," said the commandant.
"That's right," said Tim, "and I'll appreciate all the advice and helpyou can give me."
"Then my advice is don't go," replied Captain Talbot. "General Lopez isa thoroughly capable military man but his chances of success are slim.Even now he has been driven into the mountains of Sonora and only hisair force of a dozen planes has saved him. He may have to make a breakfor the international border almost any day and he doesn't want hispicture broadcast. As it is now, I haven't any idea what he looks likefor we have no p
hotographs. But if you succeed in your mission he willbe recognized instantly at any border post."
"Do you think the revolution Lopez has started is justified?" asked Tim.
"No, I don't," said Captain Talbot, emphasizing every word. "I've beenon the border for ten years now and I know Lopez is nothing more than abandit, and not a very high class one at that. He's using the revolutionas a guise to rob banks, loot towns and generally blackmail all of thebusiness interests in the territory which he controls. It's simplybanditry on a wholesale scale and when he gets his pockets filled, he'llslide across the border and leave his subordinates to face the federalfiring squads."
"Nice sort of a fellow, isn't he?"
"Yes," said the military man. "Nice when you have him in front of youwhere you can watch him every minute."
"I've been assigned to get pictures of Lopez and that's what I'm goingto do," said Tim. "It looks like I may be helping a lot of poor fellowsif I do get those pictures and spread Lopez' likeness all over the frontpages."
"I don't envy you the task. You're putting your head in the lion's mouthand you'll be so far down in Sonora that we won't be able to help you.If you were only ten or twelve miles across the border, we might helpfor we stretch the boundary once in a while when our people get introuble," said Captain Talbot while a slight smile played around thecorners of his mouth.
"I might as well make plans to start first thing in the morning," saidTim, "and if you'll lend me a bucket of dope, I'll paint out the sign onthe side of my plane. It would be fatal to go barging into Mexico withthat kind of an identification for everyone to shoot at."
Captain Talbot agreed to let Tim have all the material he needed andalso assigned a mechanic to help him. By late afternoon the Good Newshad been completely disguised and some fake bullet holes, to indicate aclash with the border patrol, were made in the wings and the fuselage.
Tim had decided on the role he would play. He intended to stake thesuccess or failure of his plan on a bold approach of Lopez' camp, wherehe would present himself as a free lance flyer ready to join the rebelcause.
The next morning Tim secured the latest information on the whereaboutsof the rebel chieftain and found that Lopez was near Cedros, threehundred miles south of the border and well into the mountains of Sonora.From that guarded retreat he was directing his army while his flyersmade raids on the federal troops who were massing for an attack on hismountain stronghold.
With the good wishes of the border patrolmen ringing in his ears, Timtook off from the field at Nogales and headed south, following the lineof the Southern Pacific of Mexico. For a hundred miles he followed thiscourse, then angled southeast. In a little more than two hours and ahalf he was well into the mountains, and according to his map, should benearing Cedros, the village where Lopez had established hisheadquarters.
A sharp droning caught Tim's attention and he turned to find a blackmonoplane bearing down on him. Twin machine guns, mounted on thecowling, were belching tracer bullets in his direction. One thing sure,Lopez' watchdogs of the clouds were on the alert.
Tim had no intention of being shot down and although he was confidentthe Good News could outrun and out-maneuver the other plane, heconcluded he might just as well start his little game. He gripped thestick between his knees and held his hands above his head as the otherplane overhauled him.
The pilot of the black craft stopped his chattering guns and motionedfor Tim to precede him through a gap in the mountains. In less than fiveminutes they were over the sheltered valley where the village of Cedrosnestled close to the mountain-side. It was an ideal retreat for therebel chieftain, practically inaccessible to the federal troops andeasily defended from the air.
Tim, obeying orders from the other pilot, landed in a small field ashort distance from the village. He shut off his motor and waited forhis captor to approach. The pilot of the black monoplane was a chunkylittle man with fiery red hair and watery blue eyes.
"What are you doing down here?" he demanded, as he came up to Tim'splane. He carried a revolver strapped to his waist but made no motiontoward it. "You're nothing but a youngster," he added.
"I'm looking for General Lopez," said Tim. "I heard he was paying goodmoney for flyers."
"You've found Lopez all right," said the other airman. "This is hisheadquarters and unless I'm mistaken, he's hot-footing it down hereright now. You'd better tell a straight story or he'll make you wish youwere never born."
Tim saw a pudgy, brown-skinned little man in a khaki uniform with anabundance of gold braid, strutting down the road that bordered thefield. Trailing him were half a dozen officers of nondescript rank.
"Better climb down," muttered Tim's captor.
The flying reporter slid out of his plane and lounged against thefuselage, as he watched the approach of the rebel leader. So thispig-eye lump of a man was the leader of the revolution. Tim felt a surgeof disappointment for Lopez was anything but what he had pictured him.Tim had visualized a tall, clean cut man with a forceful personality andhe felt cheated at what he saw.
As the general approached, Tim's captor drew himself to attention andsaluted. Tim thought it might make a good impression if he did likewise.His hunch was right for he saw a flash of pleasure in the eyes of Lopez.
The general wasted few words.
"Who is this man?" he demanded of the other flyer. The pilot of therebel plane told how he had sighted Tim and brought him to Cedros. Headded that Tim had told him he hoped to join the rebel air force.
Lopez turned on Tim.
"So," he said, "you wish to join us."
Tim nodded.
"Who are you and where do you come from?" The words cracked through theair like a whiplash and Tim was startled by the forcefulness of thequestion but he had planned carefully for just such a moment.
"I'm Tim Murphy of Blanton," he replied, "and out for anything thatpromises good pay." Tim had decided to use his own name but not that ofhis home town.
Lopez was appraising him through half-closed eyes and Tim felt themboring into him, searching for something false in his appearance.Whatever the rebel chief's shortcomings might be, he was a man ofdecision.
"You can join us," he said, "at $200 a week, but one bad move and--."Lopez did not complete the sentence for a plane careened through the gapin the mountains and settled down swiftly on the field.
Tim, who was busy surveying his new surroundings, paid little attentionto the newcomer until the pilot climbed out of his cockpit and took offhis helmet.
Then he found himself staring into the eyes of Daredevil Dugan!
Before Tim had time to speak or motion Dugan to silence, the daredevilwas striding toward him, hand outstretched.
"How's the flying reporter of the Atkinson News?" he cried.
Tim looked about him quickly. There wasn't a chance in the world for anescape. He'd have to face the music and he wondered if Dugan's words hadbeen intended to get him into trouble.
"So!" the words hissed from Lopez' lips, "you're a flying reporter."
There was no use in denying and Tim felt that he might have a betterchance if he told the truth. Without hesitation, he told who he was andwhy he had invaded the stronghold of the rebel chief.
"Well, well, well," drawled Lopez, "now isn't that nice of you to comedown and see me. I'll be only too glad to pose for you. Suppose you getyour camera out and take some pictures."
Tim wondered what the rebel's game was but he obeyed the orders andsnapped Lopez in half a dozen different poses. The rebel leader's vanityirritated him and he would like to have punched his stubby little nosebut that would only have spelled more trouble. When Lopez was satisfiedthat enough pictures had been taken, he turned accusing eyes on Dugan.
"And now Mr. Dugan," he said in a half whisper, "I thank you for tellingme who this man is. He's not going back to the border and neither areyou."
"What do you mean?" cried the daredevil "That you're not going back tothe border. That's plain isn't it. Both of you know too much now.Beside
s, I never fully trusted you Dugan and this is a good excuse toput you out of the way."
"You can't get away with that," cried Dugan.
"Oh, I can't? Well, who's to stop me?" There seemed to be no immediateanswer to that question and Tim and Dugan proceeded down the road in thedirection of the village, two dirty little soldiers with drawn bayonetsat their heels.
When they reached the plaza at Cedros, General Lopez ordered them throwninto the village jail, a filthy one-room structure with high, barredwindows.
"You might have given me a break, Dugan," said Tim when the door hadclanged shut on them. "There wasn't any special reason for your shoutingmy name all over the countryside, was there?"
"I'm mighty sorry about that, Tim," replied the daredevil and there wasa convincing ring of sincerity to his words, "I was surprised to see youand didn't realize what I was saying."
"Do you think Lopez will keep us here long?"
"Think? I don't have to think. After what he said back there at thefield, it may be curtains for us."
"He wouldn't dare put us out of the way for good," protested Tim.
"Yes, he would," replied the daredevil. "Lopez is in a desperatesituation. If you took those pictures back to the border he would beinstantly recognized when he tried to make his getaway. He'll go to anyend to keep his pictures from being broadcast all over the U. S. A., andespecially along the border."
"That's just what Captain Talbot of the border patrol at Nogales toldme," said Tim. "He advised me not to make the trip down here and itcommences to look like he was right."
"Talbot's got some fine flyers," said Dugan dryly. "One of them chasedme for fifteen minutes when I crossed the border and shot my wings sofull of holes I thought I was flying in a sieve."
Their conversation was interrupted when the door swung open and anofficer ordered them to follow him. They were escorted across the plazato the only hotel in the village, a straggling adobe structure where therebel chieftain made his headquarters.
General Lopez wasted no words when they faced him.
"My council of war," he began as he pointed to a half dozen grinningofficers at his side, "has decided that you are dangerous to our cause.This man," and he pointed at Tim, "has made a deliberate attempt tojeopardize my own life, while you," and he snapped the words at Dugan,"know too much for your own good."
The revolutionary leader paused for a moment to give weight to his nextwords.
"Therefore," he said slowly, enjoying every moment of the little dramain which he was the chief character, "the council has decreed that youshall die at sunrise tomorrow."