Wings Over the Rockies; Or, Jack Ralston's New Cloud Chaser. Newcomb Ambrose
live to fight another day,” as the old saying has it.
At first, somewhat to Jack’s astonishment, he realized the man was trying with might and main to force him toward the open door of the touring car as though it may have been his intention to take him “for a ride.” That significant phrase had become so notorious of late, in accounts of rival gang fights in the big cities of the East, that Jack really began to believe these men aimed to carry him off in their touring car to do something terrible when outside the city limits and then toss him out on the side of the road as a victim to some unknown species of hatred and revenge.
Of course there was no time just then to try and analyze this strange supposition for all his energies must be engaged in endeavoring to down the unknown who was just then locked in his arms.
Cyclone was having a beautiful time, giving his man a full measure of the stuff that lay in those steel muscles of his and which had doped out many a case of k.o. when he was in the prize ring. Indeed the fellow was so confused and befuddled by the cracks he received on his head and chest that he put up only a puny defense.
It proved to be such a one-sided affair that Cyclone felt ashamed to keep doing all the hitting and presently lifting the almost senseless wretch he actually tossed him into the car with a crash.
This seemed to give Jack’s opponent a flash of commonsense for he burst out of the encircling arms and dove after his pal, Jack having no desire to follow after and try to drag him out again, since as a rule he was far from being a hog for punishment.
The man lost not a second in starting his machine which went off down the dimly lighted street like a crazy thing, zigzagging from curb to curb, just as Jack remembered seeing shown in comics on the screen.
There was disconsolate Perk, looking as provoked as any one could be, shaking his head, and punching one fist into the other palm.
“Such rotten luck!” he was moaning as he strode around the late battlefield. “Every feller had his hand in but poor me; what’ve I done to be cheated out o’ my share like I was a baby? Why, oh! why wasn’t there three bums in the bunch, just enough to go around; dang ’em, why did they want to crab my game like that?”
Jack who could keep from bursting into a loud laugh only through severe measures along the line of repression, managed to soothe the unhappy Perk by judicious words of sympathy.
“If only I’d known you wanted a little exercise so much partner,” he observed without the flicker of a smile, “why, I’d have tossed him over to you with pleasure. Then Cyclone here should have slipped you his bird while he was jumping him around at such a great rate. However, it’s past now, and the damage can’t be mended. Next opening that comes along, brother, I solemnly promise to let you try your hand so it won’t get out of practice.”
“That’s a bargain, Jack old hoss,” Perk hastened to say as if anxious to make it a compact between them, “an’ I won’t say what’ll be on the cards when I try an’ make up for all the times I’ve been cheated o’ my share o’ the gate receipts. Now, what next I wonder?”
“We’ll just trot along home and see if there are any hurts needing attention,” replied Jack. “That one I tackled could squeeze like a bear but my being able with a hand free to swat him several times in the jowl, made him ease up more or less until in the end he weakened and went skidoo. Come along fellows, let’s be hiking into the next street where we put up and get our sleep.”
Everybody seemed quite willing to call it the close of a perfect day and let things go at that – the holdup men had long since vanished from view; there was more or less danger of a prowling cop having heard that sound of firing and after summoning help, might be on the way to learn the cause. Not wishing to be mixed up in anything that might hold them in Cheyenne for days awaiting a police court trial, Jack had plenty of good reasons for wanting to depart while the going was good. So they trotted along, arm in arm.
In good order they reached the private house where the two flyers slept and soon were sitting in the most comfortable fashion possible in the apartment. Perk had carefully closed and locked the door, something Jack could not remember him doing all the time they had been housed under that hospitable roof which showed how wrought up Perk must have become.
“An’ I’m still a’wonderin’ what their silly game could a been,” he was saying in a whining tone accompanied with another shake of his head. “None o’ us look a bit like bloated plutocrats, ’less it might be Cyclone here but seems like that tall lad was a’tryin’ to shove you into his blamed old car, Jack like they wanted to kidnap you – noticed that didn’t you?”
“Well it struck me that way too, Perk,” he was told unhesitatingly, “which has me guessing good and hard; what reason could they have for wanting to knock me out of the running – taking me for a ride that way?”
“Shucks! partner,” commented Perk immediately, “they be a’plenty o’ guys who’d laugh to know you an’ me’d kicked the bucket, pe’ticularly you, Jack. Some o’ them lads you’ve sent up to the pen might have pals at large who’d be ready to make you cash in for playin’ them a trick that cost ’em their liberty. Revenge I kinder guess is a poisonous weed that takes a quick rooting in the average prison bird’s heart – sorter helps to make him better able to bear the years he’s got to serve. If on’y he could know the man as sent him into quod had been rapped on the head and kicked out o’ a speedin’ car.”
“That makes me think of something,” Jack remarked just then as he rammed a hand down into one of his coat pockets and drew a yellow piece of paper out. “I chanced to see this lying on the pavement after our birds had taken French leave; it may help us to understand what now looks like a dark mystery beyond our solving.”
He glanced at what turned out to be a much handled telegraph sheet with typewriting on one side. Perk showed sudden interest when he saw how his partner seemed startled and uttered as exclamation indicative of pleasure.
V
WHEN A COG SLIPPED
“What’s up, partner?” demanded Perk who always admitted to being more or less curious-minded.
“Something I happened to pick up,” replied Jack, grinning happily, “after that chap dived into his car and tore off down the street like a house afire.”
“Huh! strikes me it looks kinder like a telegraph message buddy,” Perk replied eagerly as if he began to smell something like a fire burning.
“Go up head boy, you said it,” his mate told him. “Here, read what it says for yourself – you too, Cyclone, though it’ll be Greek to you since you don’t happen to know the gent who sent it to Cheyenne.”
Perk glued his eager eyes to the yellow slip of paper and as he took in the printed words he held his breath – as if unable to fully grasp the whole meaning of the message with only one reading, he started again, this time going over it aloud.
“Adolph Barkus, 173 Evergreen Street,
“Cheyenne, Wyoming.
“Have received positive information they are in your city. Pay particular attention to the young flyer. Treat him with brotherly kindness and to please me take him for a nice, long ride. Keep me posted. Things down here in something of a snarl. Better drop in and report. I may need you the worst way.
“Hot ziggetty dog! what d’ye think o’ that measly rum-runner bobbin’ up like a floatin’ cork to annoy us again?”
Perk gave all the signs of annoyance – he clenched his fist, frowned most horribly and drew a long breath as though his feelings threatened to overwhelm him entirely.
“Oh! we landed that gent behind the bars all right,” Jack remarked, taking things much more coolly than the excitable one, “but it’s hard to keep a man with a big wad of long-green shut up – he hires a celebrated lawyer, gets out on heavy bail, has his case postponed on one account or another until witnesses disappear and the public forgets what it’s all about. Like as not he’s as free as either of us, only it may be he’s forbidden to