“How many of the wounded can be moved?” Mr. Austin asked practically.
“Both of them,” was the decision. “I shall take Jute to the Box-Z.”
“Kramer is booked for the K-A,” Jim grinned.
“Boy, you’ll have a vacation as is a vacation,” Bob promised. “You can do a Caesar; wire your firm that you came, you saw, and you conquered--”
“Were conquered,” Kramer corrected. “I’ve had a grand trimming--”
“Well, don’t broadcast it, why shouldn’t you have some glory!”
They lost no time in getting the two wounded men into the limousines and although Mr. Austin urged Carl to come to the ranch, the deputy decided to wait for instructions from the sheriff, so at last they drove off, leaving the young fellow alone, but this time there was no anxiety regarding his safety. Seated beside his father, Jim’s eyes stared ahead and his mind was busy. He felt it was a beastly shame that the new plane should have been lost before they had had it twenty-four hours, and although they had made the trip for the mail and newspapers, the bag was now no-one-knew where and the family was deprived of its second investment. The boy was feeling too blue over the theft to discuss the matter so he resolutely tried to put it out of his mind. He thought of young Gordon, with his limited supply of gas, but he had absolutely no hope that the outlaw would be captured. In the first place, it had been hours from the time the machine took off from the cliff before the sheriff could send the alarm, and by that time Gordon would have made good his escape. There were dozens of ways by which he might replenish the fuel supply and go on to the Mexican border, or almost any place. To be sure, a description of the machine would be sent forth but that did not help matters much.
Finally the two cars reached the point in the road where the Austins turned into their own ranch house. As he sped by, Don Haurea waved to the occupants in the other car. Then Jim wondered how it was the Indian had been discovered. He recalled the man’s interest in the cliff, his investigating each crevice, and the finding of Jute. Then another query popped into his mind.
“I say, Dad, is Jute an American Indian?”
“Just wondered how Don Haurea knew his language,” Jim answered.