Flying the Coast Skyways; Or, Jack Ralston's Swift Patrol Read online

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  Flying THE COAST SKYWAYS

  or Jack Ralston's Swift Patrol

  BY AMBROSE NEWCOMB

  Author of TRACKERS OF THE FOG PACK WINGS OVER THE ROCKIES SKY PILOTS GREAT CHASE THE SKY DETECTIVES EAGLES OF THE SKY

  THE GOLDSMITH PUBLISHING CO. CHICAGO

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  Copyright, 1931 THE GOLDSMITH PUBLISHING CO.

  Made in U. S. A.

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  CONTENTS

  I BY AIR-LINE TO ATLANTA II THE CIPHER LETTER III THE LEECH HANGS ON IV PERK HAS AN ADVENTURE V THEIR RUNNING SCHEDULE VI BY THE SKIN OF THEIR TEETH VII ON THE AIR-LINE TO CHARLESTON VIII SHIPS PASSING IN THE NIGHT IX WHEN THE DAWN CAME X READY TO STRIKE XI WHERE WAR ONCE BROKE OUT XII WHEN COUSINS GET IN TOUCH XIII PICKING UP FACTS XIV PERK GETS AN EARFUL XV THE TRIAL SPIN XVI ALL IN A DAY'S WORK XVII SPINNING THE NET XVIII BLACK WATER BAYOU XIX THE LONELY CAMP XX THE MOTHER SHIP XXI THE MOTOR-TRUCK CARAVAN XXII DOWN TO BUSINESS AT LAST XXIII AT THE RENDEZVOUS XXIV PERK RIDES IN THE GHOST BOAT XXV A WELL OILED MACHINE XXVI STRIKING OUT XXVII THE LUCKLESS SPEEDBOAT XXVIII READY FOR ANOTHER BLOW XXIX JETHRO TAKES A HAND XXX THE WIND-UP--CONCLUSION

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  FLYING THE COAST SKYWAYS

  CHAPTER 1

  BY AIRLINE TO ATLANTA

  "Big smoke dead ahead, partner!"

  "I've been expecting to hear you announce that fact, Per--I mean Wally!"

  "Kinder guess naow it mout be Birmingham, eh, what, Boss?"

  "No other--you hit the nail on the head that time, Mr. Observer."

  "Huh! my _native_ town, which I'm naow agwine to see fur the fust time."

  "Better get out of the habit of making such crazy cracks, brother--whatif any one overheard you, and took a notion in his head you might besomebody other than just a Down-in-Dixie product from Alabama,--raisedin the North, where you acquired a whiff of the dialect of a Canuck--andby name Wallace J. Corkendell, though generally answering to plain_Wally_."

  "Hot-diggetty-dig! that ere smoke cloud sure looks jest like an olepeasoup fog-pack we done got lost in not so far back. By gravy! I doantb'lieve we'll even git one squint at the pesky city as we fly over thesame!"

  "I can easily see where I'm bound to have a lot of fun listening to youtrying to talk in three different lingoes, all mixed up in one greatmess--Yankee, your native brogue; Canadian patios, contracted while withthe Northwest Mounted Police; and now a pidgin English, such as aSouthern colored boy might use. I only hope such a mixture doesn't queerthe big game we've got laid out ahead for us, whatever its nature provesto be."

  "I er-_reckons_--_yeou_ says I gotter use that word right along naow,'cause no Alabama white or black boy never does _guess_ anything--Ireckons, suh, I'll git a strangle-holt on the way a gen-u-ine crackerkeeps up his end o' a talkie--given a little time fo' practice."

  "That begins to sound like the real stuff, comrade," observed Jack; anddespite the clamor of engine exhaust, and whirling propellers both ofthem were able to hear every word uttered, simply because they werewearing their usual earphone attachments, without which they never madea flight. "I'm beginning to feel encouraged to believe you'll comethrough with flying colors. There, we're directly over Birmingham, andgoing strong to eastward."

  "Huh! I'm right glad yeou done tole me so, suh," Perk hastened to reply,doubtless with one of his usual chuckles; "'case all I kin make aout's ablack smudge o' smoke ahuggin' the ground, with a few church steeplesapokin' a finger through the same. So, there she lies, my own, my nativecity! Ain't it affectin', though, ole pal, acomin' back like this, aftermany years, an' discoverin' that same thick smoke fog asettled daown onthe dear old place? Gee whiz! I'm jest awonderin' whether us Southernkids ever _did_ have a gen-u-ine ole swimmin'-hole in them _won_-derfuldays, eh, what?"

  When they were positively alone, and no danger of crafty eavesdropperspicking up their words, the two cronies were pleased to extract acertain amount of fun out of their assumed characters--for Jack Ralstonof course was also sailing under a _nom-de-guerre_, as well as his bestpal--with him the new name was "Rodman Warrington," and he was supposedto be a rich and eccentric New York City sportsman, weary of the routineof the Carrituck Sound shooting club to which he belonged, and ardentlydesirous of exploring the various bays, sounds and twisting rivers alongthe wild coast of North and South Carolina, as well as Georgia.

  "To be sure they did, brother," Jack was saying, reassuringly, in replyto the skeptical question propounded by his running mate; "if you stopand think you'll remember how every American boy who grew up andamounted to shucks was always getting a great thrill out of memories ofsuch a meeting-place, where all the boys took occasion to show off indoing stunts with a diving board."

  "Say, naow 'at we've left dear ole Birmingham in the rear, haow long'fore we drop daown on Candler Field outside Atlanta?"

  "Depends on what time we keep making," Jack informed him; "we'respeeding along at a hundred-and-twenty clip just now, with only twomotors working; and if there was any necessity for fetching it up to aneven hundred-and-fifty we could easily enough do the same--and thensome. I reckon we'll come in sight of Candler Field in about anhour-and-a-half--the chart tells me it's something like one-fifty miles,as the bee flies, between this Southern Pittsburgh and the Capital ofGeorgia."

  "Meanin' to stop over in Atlanta long, partner?" demanded Perk; whoapparently was not wholly advised of his leader's plans, as far as theywere matured, and as usual "wanted to know."

  "Around twenty-four hours, possibly less, buddy," Jack explained. "We'vean appointment, made for us from Headquarters in Washington, to meet upwith a certain official connected with the Secret Service, who holdsforth in Atlanta--from him we'll receive a certain amount ofinformation, and be referred to another party, high in the secrets ofthe Service in Charleston. When we jump off from that South Carolinacity we'll know all we're expected to carry out--what we've been calledeast to accomplish. There, that's everything in a nutshell; I'm as muchin the dark as you, even though I reckon I've figured things out, if abit hazily, to tell the truth."

  "We're goin' after some sort o' big game, I er-reckon, partner?" Perkspeculated, his manner making the remark seem like a question.

  "No doubt about that, boy--they wouldn't have called for us to fly allthe way from San Diego, (with two necessary stops to prevent spies fromlearning as to who we are, and why
we're heading east) if it hadn't beenthat some others in the Secret Service had played their innings--andfallen asleep at the switch."

  "Hot-diggetty-dig! I'd say that'd be a neat compliment they're givin'us, ole hoss," Perk exulted; as enthusiastic as a boy over a Christmaspresent of a brand new shiny pair of club skates. "Another thing I'dlike to hear tell 'baout, Ja--er, Mr. Warrin'ton, suh."

  "As what, partner--you'll notice that I'm trying to call you all sortsof chummy names--that's for the purpose of trying to forget I ever knewyou as Perk, or Gabe Perkiser. If you do the same there'll be lesschance of giving our game away; for if any kind of quick-witted spiesshould hear us exchanging words they'd remember the real names of thetwo sky detectives who were playing particular hob with gents who gaveUncle Sammy the laugh. Now, I reckon you're referring to that letter Ihad just before we lifted out ship at San Diego last night."

  "Yeou said it, er-ole pal," replied Perk, catching his treacheroustongue just in the nick of time. "I kinder--reckoned it mout acome fromthe gent over in San Diego, who's been aour boss since we startedoperations 'long the Coast."

  "A fair enough guess, brother," Jack told him; "because that's theofficial who gave us the order to break away, and what to do on theskyway east. There was also some interesting information concerning thejob we finished up some weeks back; and I meant to hand that over toyou; but somehow failed to connect."

  "I'm right tickled to hear that, suh--fack is I'd begun to feel theywasn't zactly treatin' us white, not sayin' as haow we'd done theService proud, the way we fetched Slim Garrabrant back after he'd brokeloose from the pen, an' started his ole tricks again."[1]

  "Oh! they were quite enthusiastic about the success of our work, afterothers had fallen down on the job--that is, as warm as those cold peopleat Headquarters ever do get, it being against their principles to overpraise those working under them, for fear of giving the poor guys thebig-head. You can read the letter before I destroy it, brother. The BigBoss in L. A. also wrote that Slippery Slim had been safely returned tohis former cell in Leavenworth, and with an added sentence; so, asthey'll watch him closer from now on, there's small chance of our everrunning up against him after this."

  "Well, he was a good guy when it came to tacklin' big games, I'll tellthe whole world," observed the satisfied Perk; who again busied himselfwith his reliable binoculars, eagerly surveying the checkered landscapea mile or more under the bottom of their fuselage; and which continuedto prove of considerable interest to Perk, this being actually the firsttime he had ever passed over that section of the Southland, despite hisabsurd claim to having spent his boyhood days in Birmingham, Ala.

  The time drifted along, with their speed undiminished. Pine woods,tracts of corn, cotton, tobacco; acres of fruit trees, pecan groves,even sugarcane patches--all these signs of the Southland he kept seeingas the miles flew past.

  "I kinder--er-reckons as haow we've done shot past the dividin' line'tween Alabam 'nd Georgia, boss," he presently announced, with a grandair of superior knowledge; "case I jest seen a town squatted on a river,an' painted on the roof o' a house was a name, fo' the benefit o' flierslike weuns--Tallapoosa she read, which tells me that must a been theriver Tallapoosa--all bein' 'cross the line in Harlson County, Georgia,('cordin' to my map here.) If that's correct we right naow ain't more'nfifty miles from aour goal--less'n half an hour yet to fly."

  "You are hot on the trail, comrade," Jack assured him. "Keep your eyesskinned to pick up another smoke cloud dead ahead, which will be thefirst sign of our nearing Atlanta, the New York City of the South."

  Perk continued to watch and wait, until finally he gave a halfsuppressed whoop, to add exultantly:

  "It's a _big_ smoke smudge, all right, buddy; so we're rushing daown onaour goal like a river afire; which pleases a feller called Wally okay,yeou bet!"

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  Footnote 1:

  See "Trackers of the Fog Pack."