Wings Over the Rockies; Or, Jack Ralston's New Cloud Chaser. Newcomb Ambrose

thus voicing an old grievance that thus far he had kept to himself.

      “I knew that bone was bothering you some, partner,” Jack told him, “and now you’ve mentioned it we might as well have it out. Names are all very fine for ordinary airships because there’s every reason for giving them publicity, which helps business along; but in our case that’s exactly what we want to avoid like a sick tooth. Get that now, brother, do you?”

      “Huh! I flop, partner – queer how I didn’t think o’ that before you mentioned it jest now. Some day mebbe I’ll be workin’ in a line that don’t have to keep things shady all the time – gettin’ my fill o’ sneakin’ an’ snoopin’ so’s to pull in results.”

      “Here’s wishing you luck, boy,” Jack was saying with a vein of seriousness in his voice, “but see here what’s bearing down on us like a ship under full sail? – he must have been out of sight behind that partition all the time we’ve sat here – got a wide grin on his sunburned face, which looks kind of familiar to me. Know him, Perk?”

      “Zowie! I’d jest say I do partner, don’t you see, it’s my old friend Cyclone Davis, the cowboy we’ve seen more’n once doin’ his stunts on the screen. Hey there, Cyclone, where’d you pop up from, old pard?”

      Perk in evident excitement had jumped up from his chair and with outstretched hand met the oncoming grinning range rider with tumultuous joy, slapping him on the back, wringing his hand furiously and giving a most energetic display of delight at the unexpected meeting.

      “Sit down here an’ have a little chin, Cyclone – meet my side partner, Jack Ralston. Got to walk back to our room with us so’s to tell how you happened to break into the movies an’ make such a big hit. Glory! didn’t it bring back old times when I saw you prancin’ around, knocking some big guy on his back like you used to do when in the prize ring as a comin’ welterweight champion. Now, start doin’ your stuff, old pard.”

      Innumerable questions from the excited Perk brought out more or less interesting information for Cyclone proved to be quite a good talker. They managed to keep their voices lowered, although it could be plainly seen Jud Davis was as a rule built along the jolly and noisy type of optimistic chap, such as make hosts of friends wherever they roam; but he seemed to sense the fact that the two in whose company he now found himself wished to keep strangers from overhearing the subject of their confab and thus toned down his effusiveness accordingly.

      That was a subject Jack kept constantly in mind – the avoidance of anything calculated to put the spot-light of public attention on his doings – he would have been broken hearted if some morning, after having played a big game to a successful conclusion, with his man safely lodged behind the bars, to see on the front page of the daily papers a picture of himself, no matter how poorly executed and thus holding a member of the Government Secret Service up for every lawbreaker in the wide land to stamp on his mind as something to be never forgotten and thus greatly lessen his capacity for efficient work.

      “We’re jest about through here, old hoss,” Perk finally told the other “an’ you jest got to fall in so’s to sit with us a while in our room so we c’n tell you what we’re a’doin’ as boon pals. I know right well it’ll never go any further, ’cause you happen to be one o’ them fellers what c’n button their lips tight as a clam, with never a single leak.”

      “That’s all right, Perk,” came the other’s reassuring answer, “I’ve got a few hours more to spend in Cheyenne and then I’m heading direct for the old motion picture studios at Hollywood to do a few easy stunts in a new picture they’re going to build up – I’m a cow puncher again, you understand, Perk, though I own up now and then my old fighting profession comes in pretty well when there’s some scrapping taking place between the cowboy mob and the cattle rustlers or Mex outlaws of the border.”

      Perk listened to everything the other said with an enraptured expression upon his face, he doubtless was able to mentally picture some of those exciting episodes described by Cyclone and felt an itch to be in similar hand-to-hand battles where real blows were exchanged in order to make the scene realistic when depicted on the silver screen.

      Jack could hear him giving many a full-sized sigh when Cyclone was running off some of his many adventures with a vein of real humor back of his provocative words and from this could readily believe his chum was having the time of his life.

      After a while they all arose, and paying their reckoning at the desk, the proprietor eyed the trio as though he rather suspected they must be Tom Mix and some of his movie friends off on a holiday jaunt – possibly there must have been a certain jaunty air about Cyclone’s manner that stamped him as belonging to those who moved out on location and cut all manner of amazing capers before the camera.

      It proved to be pretty dark on the street with few persons abroad, although the hour was not late. The neighborhood happened to be a bit lonely, Jack noticed as they walked along three abreast, Cyclone continuing a recital of some comical as well as near tragic happening through which he had lately passed.

      They would not have very far to go to reach their destination which had been one of the reasons for Jack selecting the Emporium as their dining place its convenience appealing to him more than anything else.

      At a certain point where the gloom was somewhat more dense than in other localities, Jack noticed a motor standing close to the curb and with one of its rear doors standing open. The engine was running, for its steady throb could be plainly heard. But then such a thing is no uncommon occurrence when some busy folks have trouble in starting the engine and prefer to leave it running while they dash into the house for a minute or so.

      Just as they came opposite, he noted that it was a large touring car but the significance of this was borne in upon Jack’s mind with a rush when two dark figures suddenly sprang out from behind the waiting motor, and with outstretched hands confronted himself and companions while a deep bass voice snapped out the words:

      “Put ’em up, and be snappy about it too, boys!”

      IV

      A CHANCE CLUE

      It was a holdup pure and simple, appearances would indicate. Jack could see in the uncertain light that each of the men gripped a gat in his fingers, covering the astonished trio; he also made out that they had handkerchiefs covering the lower portions of their faces, which made it all the more interesting, since nothing was lacking to fix the picture in the mind as worthy of the latest movie thriller.

      Jack apparently started to raise both hands in obedience to the order so brusquely given but with an incredibly speedy move he suddenly threw out his fight hand and caught the wrist of the nearest holdup man, giving it a twist that compelled the bandit to let his gun fall to the ground.

      Then there was Cyclone, true to form as his nick-name would indicate, making a lightning play and leaping on the second bandit with the agility of a Canada lynx pouncing on a bounding rabbit.

      This fellow, taken off his guard it seemed, managed to shoot but the bullet went wild and before he could recover enough to do any damage he was being whirled this way and that in the dazzling fashion shown by the cowboy actor in all his pictures and which had gained him his well earned fame.

      Poor Perk, who was left in the lurch, there being no third party in sight whom he could tackle, hardly knew what to do – he kept jumping from one whirlagig to the other, endeavoring to get in a swing with his fist but with rather meager success for he feared to exert himself to the utmost since there was danger of the blow coming in contact with a friendly head instead of the one he meant to strike.

      Jack had knocked his man down twice by well directed blows but each time the rascal climbed to his feet again, being no mean hand it seemed at a scrimmage. He must have been built along the bulldog line more or less, for even while taking a lot of punishment he still stuck to his guns.

      The third time he managed to close in and again they went spinning round and round, held fast in each others’ arms, breathing hard, and endeavoring to effect a windup of the struggle.

      Perhaps the would-be holdup man may have begun to suspect that the pistol-shot would likely enough bring