CHAPTER VIII.
BILLY BARNES TAKES THE WARPATH.
The next day Frank and Harry busied themselves in their father’slaboratory during most of the morning. They had been delighted to findsuch a completely equipped repository of chemicals as it proved to be,and their admiration of their father’s researches was only equalled bytheir natural surprise at finding such a workshop on a Nicaraguanplantation.
“I always knew you were a great dab at chemistry, father,” remarkedHarry, “but I never dreamed that you had a regular Institute ofScientific Research on tap.”
“By the way,” asked Frank, who had been busy taking stock of the variouschemicals, “have you any picric acid here, father?”
“I believe I have, my boy,” replied Mr. Chester, “but that’s dangerousstuff to fool with. You know it’s a high explosive.”
“Perfectly,” rejoined Frank, “and it’s for that very reason I want it.”
“I confess I don’t understand you,” was his father’s reply.
“It’s simply this,” replied Frank, with a smile at his bewilderment, “ithas become a by no means uncommon practice, though of course most of thebetter class clubs have made rules against it, to mix picric acid withgasolene in racing motor boats and air crafts. It is usually veryinjurious to the engine, however, and I don’t suppose any one would wantto use it except in an emergency.”
“What do you want it for, then?” asked his father in surprise.
“Well, I believe in always looking ahead, for very often it’s theunexpected that happens,” rejoined Frank. “Our engine now can turn up1200 revolutions a minute. I believe that with the use of picric acid inthe gasolene we could give her as much additional power as 1500revolutions a minute.”
“Well?” inquired his father expectantly.
“That being so,” went on Frank, “the _Golden Eagle_ would have just thatmuch more lifting power, the stability of an airship depending upon thespeed at which she travels through the atmosphere. So you see,” heconcluded with a smile, “that some day we might want to carry an extrapassenger and in that case a gallon of picric acid would come in mightyhandy.”
After a little more argument Frank won his point, and that night theboys stored aboard the _Golden Eagle_—after first carefully seeing thatit was not in a position where it was likely to prove dangerous—a stonecarboy of the explosive acid. They had hardly completed the work whenthe sound of wheels was heard on the drive, and when they reentered thehouse they found that Don Pachecho and his beautiful daughter were thevisitors.
Señora Ruiz showed plain evidences of her suffering over the news of herhusband’s death. The boys, who had heard of the disastrous battle fromtheir father, avoided all reference of course to the revolution, but itwas Don Pachecho himself who brought the subject up.
“Have you heard the latest news of the revolution. Señor?” he asked,after the introductions were over, and Billy had whispered to Harry whata fine photograph of “an old Spanish don” Mr. Chester’s neighbor wouldmake.
Mr. Chester shook his head. Indeed, since a couple of days before theman who carried messages and letters between the hacienda and Greytown,had reported that Zelaya’s forces had cut the telegraph wires and takencomplete charge of the cables, the party at the plantation had heardnothing of the movements of either the insurgents or the troops of thegovernment.
“I learned from a party of rubber-cutters who passed the plantationto-day,” went on Don Pachecho, “that Estrada’s troops have suffered afurther defeat and that Zelaya’s men, under General Rogero, crazed withtheir victories are burning and destroying property and committing allsorts of outrages everywhere.”
“Where was this last defeat?” asked Mr. Chester, seriously.
“It cannot have been more than fifty miles from here,” continued DonPachecho, “that is what makes it so ominous. It means,” he went on, hisvoice rising, “that if Estrada cannot hold them in check that thegovernment troops will drive him back on Greytown within a few hours andthen you know what will happen,” he shrugged his shoulders.
“Yes, we can hardly expect much mercy from Rogero,” commented Mr.Chester. He then described to Don Pachecho what had taken place inGreytown the day that he had met the boys and Billy Barnes. Billyhimself also conveyed his suspicions of Rogero as the murderer of Dr.Moneague.
The old don was greatly agitated at this news.
“Ah, the inhuman scoundrel!” he cried, raising his wrinkled hands abovehis head, “it was without doubt he that killed Moneague. And he nowholds the secret of the lost mines. With his power over Zelaya and thewealth that is now at his disposal, he can speedily become powerfulenough to ruin us all. I am an old man, Señors, but I do not think thatof all the men I have ever seen, that I have met one who was this man’sequal in the resources of evil. Woe betide the man who falls into hisclutches.”
Billy had been listening to this conversation with great attention andhe now struck in with:
“What do you suppose he has done with the plan of the lost mines, sir?”
Don Pachecho shrugged his shoulders.
“Señor Barnes, there is only one thing that he can do with it, and thatis to keep it always about him. I do not suppose it has been off hisimmediate person since he killed poor Moneague.”
Billy sat lost in thought for a while. Then he raised his head.
“I suppose if he lost it he’d cut up at a great rate,” he said, “at anyrate, he’d give more attention to getting it back than to keep onlicking the revolutionists.”
“Undoubtedly.”
“Hum,” said Billy, in a way he had when he had arrived at any importantconclusion.
In the moonlight the party walked down to where the _Golden Eagle_ layunder her extemporized garage, or rather aerodrome. Even Señora Ruizforgot for a second her deep sorrow as she gazed at the beautifulcreation, its graceful wings shimmered and silvered by the brilliantmoonlight.
“Oh, Señors,” she cried, “you built this wonderful fly thing allyourselves?”
When their father had replied for the blushing Frank and Harry in theaffirmative, the Spanish woman clasped her hands impulsively.
“But you are—oh, pardon me—but you are so young—chico, is it not so?”
“I take it that ‘chico’ is Spanish for ‘kids,’” remarked theirrepressible Billy _sotto voce_ to Harry. What the latter might havereplied to this, however, was cut short by a startling thing thatoccurred at that moment.
Frank who had been bending over the engine had given a loud exclamation.
“Harry—father—Billy, come here quick!” he exclaimed excitedly.
They ran toward him.
“Look here,” cried the boy, pointing to the engine, “some one has beentampering with the carbureter. They knew we could not replace it herewithout weeks of delay.”
“And by jimminy crickets!” cried Billy, who had been examining theengine on his own hook, “they must have been scared away just as we camedown. See here,” went on the reporter, “they left in such a hurry thatone of them forgot his hat and the sweatband is still warm and damp.Whoever monkeyed with this engine took off his hat to do it and hecouldn’t have been at work very long for the hat’s still warm andbesides, see here, he has only given the carbureter a few turns.”
Mr. Chester took the hat that the excited Billy thrust at him andregarded it with some attention. It was a greasy battered affair, but itwas trimmed with a new black ribbon on which was sewn in red thread thewords “Viva Zelaya.”
“Not difficult to trace some of our old friend Rogero’s work here,” hesaid. “He evidently means to keep his threat to prevent your flying.”
“We shall have to do sentry duty here for the rest of the night, Harry,”said Frank in a determined voice.
“You bet we will,” agreed his younger brother; an injury to their shipaffected these boys far more than any hurt they themselves mightsustain.
Rifles were secured from th
e house, also blankets, and the boys made upa regular camp-fire round which they sat long after Don Pachecho and hisbereaved daughter had driven off and the lights in the house had beenextinguished.
“I tell you what, Frank,” said Harry, “we have simply got to take a handin this thing now. You know that if that fellow Rogero ever gets as faras this what he means to do to this plantation.”
“I know,” rejoined his brother, “he would take delight in ruining whatfather has built up and then blaming it on his troops and the worst ofit is we would never be able to get any redress.”
Both boys were silent for several minutes, thinking things over.
“What’s the matter with taking a little spin in the _Golden Eagle_to-morrow and finding out just where he is, then we can shape our plansaccordingly,” suddenly broke out Harry.
“Yes, but look here, Harry,” replied the conservative Frank, “you knowthat we are supposed to be non-combatants.”
“Oh, hang being non-combatants!” rejoined Harry, “we are not going tosit here and see our father’s plantation destroyed by this ruffian, arewe? and you know too,” he went on, “that the amiable cuss promised togive us a chance to see the inside of a prison if he could lay his handson us.”
“You are right there, Harry,” agreed Frank, looking up, “if therevolutionists are driven back any closer we shall have to take up armsto protect ourselves. It has never been the way of Americans to let anyone walk all over them without registering a kick.”
“You bet ours is going to be an emphatic one, too,” enthusiasticallycried Harry; “give me your hand, old chap—shake. It’s a go?”
“Yes,” replied Frank slowly, “it’s a go.”
“Hurrah,” shouted Harry, sitting up with his blanket up to his chin,“we’ll give you the spin of your life to-morrow, old _Golden Eagle_.”
It had been agreed that Frank was to take the first watch, and so whilethe elder brother sat rifle in hand, guarding the aeroplane in whichthey were destined to have such strange adventures in the immediatefuture, Harry slumbered the sleep of the just.
“I’ve only been asleep five minutes,” he protested when Frank woke himto do his “trick” on guard.
“You’ve had a three-hour nap,” laughed Frank, “and snored loud enough tohave brought the whole of Zelaya’s army on us if they’d been around.”
Whoever the man was who had tried to disable the _Golden Eagle_, he didnot put in any further appearance that night, nor did anything happen tovary the monotony of the night-watch. As soon as it was daylight theboys raced for the bath, plunged in, and after a refreshing swim madefor the house.
They made for Billy’s room intending to drag that sleep-loving youngperson out and duck him head over heels into the bath at the deep end.
To their amazement the room was empty. The bed had not been slept in.Moreover, Billy’s camera and canteen were missing.
Pinned to the bedclothes was the following characteristic note, theeffect of which on the boys may be imagined.
“DEAR FRANK AND HARRY.
“I have gone to get the plans that Rogero stolefrom Moneague. It will make a bully picture to gowith my story when he is pinched. It is about up tome to do something. Regards to your father. Pleaseapologize to him for my unceremonious departure forthe warpath. Good luck to you, and I wish myselfthe same. So long. BILLY BARNES.”
Frank gave a long whistle as he read this document.
“Well, of all the——,” began Harry, and stopped. Words failed to expresshis feelings.
“This settles it,” said Frank suddenly with decision, “we’ve got to getafter Rogero, now.”
“You mean that Billy——,” began Harry.
“I mean that we’re not going to let Billy get shot for a bit ofpottery,” cut in Frank.
“The _Golden Eagle_ will sail at nine o’clock,” he added. “Come on,Harry—we’ve just time for a bit of breakfast, and then for the air.”