The Radio Boys at Mountain Pass: or, The Midnight Call for Assistance

“What’s that?” exclaimed Jimmy, with sudden animation.

“Don’t tell Jimmy anything like that,” mocked Herb. “It would simply break his heart. If there’s anything he’s stuck on it’s school.”

“You fellows wouldn’t be tickled to death either if you thought you were going to get a vacation, would you?” retorted Jimmy. “I know you birds.”

“Say, wouldn’t it give us lots of time for radio!” said Bob enthusiastically. “I want to get all the new wrinkles in that latest set of ours, and we don’t have time to do it in the few evenings we can spare from our home work.”

“You bet,” agreed Herb. “I don’t want there to be any more sickness, but I sure do hope they find it necessary to close the schools. That would be just what the doctor ordered – in more senses than one.”

“I wouldn’t shed any bitter tears myself,” admitted Joe. “There’s going to be a meeting of the Board of Health to consider the subject soon, and I’ll give you fellows the tip the minute I hear anything definite about what they decide to do.”

“In the meantime, suppose you fellows drop around this evening for a little while,” suggested Bob. “I want to try out some long distance receiving and listen in on Chicago.”

All agreed to be there at about eight o’clock.

The Laytons had barely finished dinner that night when the door bell rang. Bob answered the bell.

He was surprised to find that the callers were Mr. Looker and his son Buck. Both had dark and angry looks on their faces.

“I want to know,” said Mr. Looker abruptly, “what you and your companions mean by burning down my cottage!”

CHAPTER VI – THE BURNED COTTAGE

“Nonsense!” exclaimed Bob. “What makes you think we’d do a trick like that?”

“Never mind about that!” exclaimed the elder Looker, furiously. “I supposed you’d deny it. I want to see your father, young man.”

“Here he is,” and Mr. Layton, who had been attracted to the door by Mr. Looker’s loud and angry tones, emerged on to the porch. “What can I do for you, Mr. Looker?”

“You can pay me for my house that your boy and his companions burnt down,” said Mr. Looker in angry tones.

“I rather think you must be mistaken,” said Mr. Layton. “What grounds have you for making such a serious accusation?”

“My boy caught them red-handed after they’d broken into the house, and made them get off my property. It wasn’t six hours later that the place was burned, and there’s no doubt in my mind that your boy and his friends set it on fire just to get even. They’ve always had a grudge against Buckley, anyway, and are always doing all they can to make life miserable for the poor fellow.”

“You know that isn’t true, Dad,” protested Bob, hotly, “neither about the fire, nor about Buck. He’s always the one that starts trouble.”

“You’ve got plenty of nerve, Looker, to come here and make an accusation like this to me,” remarked Mr. Layton, his usually kindly face stern and set. “There are many ways that fire could have occurred besides being deliberately set, and you know it. Likely enough some tramps had decided to spend the night there, and set it on fire by accident. You had better get off my property before I am tempted to throw you off.”

“It might not be so easy as you think,” sneered the elder Looker, but nevertheless he began edging toward the sidewalk. “If you don’t pay, I’ll see my lawyer and have him bring action in court. See if I don’t.”

“Suit yourself,” answered Mr. Layton, shrugging his shoulders. “Your lawyer will tell you, though, that you haven’t the shadow of a case. As for your boy, he looks big enough to take care of himself, and if he can’t, I don’t see what business that is of mine.”

“I’ll show you,” threatened Mr. Looker, as he turned down the walk. “Don’t worry about that. Maybe somebody will be arrested.”

“As you please,” said Mr. Layton, with a grim smile.

Mr. Looker and his promising son reached the sidewalk in sullen silence, while Bob and his father watched them until they turned the corner of the street.

“Young Looker is a young bully, just as you say, and his father would like to be,” said Mr. Layton, seating himself in a rocking chair. “I suppose you and Joe and the others are sure you didn’t light a match for any purpose while you were there?”

“Absolutely not, Dad,” asserted Bob. “We weren’t inside that shack more than five minutes the first time, and, with that bear outside, lighting matches was the last thing we’d have thought of. As soon as the bear’s owner captured him, we went outside. We worked on the roof both from outside and inside, and tried to patch the thing up. We struck no matches. We were doing the last few things inside when Buck came along.”

“Tell me just what happened then,” directed Mr. Layton.

“Why, then there was a bit of an argument with Buck,” grinned Bob. “We knew that the place belonged to his father, and that there was nothing for us to do but clear out. We came right home from there, though, and you know that we were all here listening to radio that entire evening.”

“Yes, I remember that,” nodded his father. “And I guess that would be a pretty convincing alibi if Looker really should carry the case to court. My opinion is, though, that he’s just bluffing, and we’ll never hear any more of it.”

“I wish I did know who was responsible,” speculated Bob. “Do you really think tramps were responsible, Dad?”

“Very likely. Several barns have been burned in this neighborhood from the same cause, you know. I’m rather sorry that you and your friends were around there the same day it happened, because unless the real cause is discovered the Lookers will never stop talking about it. However, it’s a small matter and we’ll not think any more about it. From what you tell me, the place must have been falling apart, anyway.”

“I should say so,” laughed Bob. “We were a surprised bunch when that roof caved in with us. The place was so rickety it’s a wonder it didn’t all come down then.”

“I’ll bet you were a scared bunch,” bantered his father, a twinkle in his eyes.

“I’ll say we were,” admitted Bob, honestly. “If we’d had a gun with us, it would have been a different story, though. Tony would have been out one large, brown bear.”

“It’s just as well you didn’t,” said Mr. Layton, dryly. “We’d have had Tony threatening a lawsuit, too, if you had killed his pet bear.”

“It would have been a shame to do it,” admitted Bob.

For a few minutes they both sat silent, each busy with his own thoughts.

“I expect I’ll have to be away from home most of next week, Bob,” said Mr. Layton, at length. Bob looked at him expectantly, and he continued. “There is a store at Mountain Pass being offered at a bargain, and I’m strongly tempted to buy it and operate it as a branch. I’m going to look the ground over, anyway, and if it looks as good then as it does now, I think I’ll buy.”

“That will be fine!” exclaimed Bob. “I’ve heard a good deal about that place lately, and it seems to be getting more popular all the time. If you go will you take mother with you?”

Mr. Layton nodded, and waited expectantly for the question that he knew was coming. Nor was he wrong.

“How about taking me along, Dad?” said Bob, eagerly. “It will be a peach of a trip. They say the scenery through Mountain Pass is the best ever.”

“Well, I’ve thought of that, too, because I was pretty sure you’d want to come. But I’m afraid they’ll have you too busy in the high school this term for us to manage it. I may have to be gone two or three weeks, and that would be a serious break in your studies.”

Bob urged and pleaded, but his father was adamant, and at last Bob was forced reluctantly to give up the idea of going.

When he told the other radio boys about the visit of the Lookers, they were as indignant as he.

“‘Like father, like son,’” quoted Joe. “They’re two of a kind, that pair. But I guess they didn’t get much satisfaction out of your father, Bob.”

“I should say not!” laughed Bob. “If they had said much more, I think we’d have treated ourselves to the pleasure of throwing them into the street.”

Bob then told them about his father’s projected trip to Mountain Pass, and his disappointment at not being allowed to accompany his parents.

“That’s pretty tough,” said Jimmy, sympathetically. “I know how you must feel. It would be a swell trip, and they say the meals at the Mountain Rest Hotel up at Mountain Pass are about the best ever.”

“There you go!” exclaimed Bob, laughing. “It’s a lucky thing for the hotel that you’re not going. They’d lose money on you, sure as shooting.”

“Well, I’d try to get my money’s worth,” said Jimmy, complacently.

“You’d get it, too, no fear of that,” said Joe, confidently.

When this conversation took place, the boys never dreamed that they might all be going to Mountain Pass together in the near future. But as events shaped themselves in the next few days, this began to assume an aspect of probability.

The epidemic of typhoid increased, and there was something nearly approaching a panic in Clintonia. Families began leaving the town every day, and Dr. Atwood, as head of the town Board of Health, finally issued orders that the schools must close until the epidemic had been gotten under control.

When Bob heard this news, he could not, in spite of the seriousness of the situation, suppress a feeling of exultation. With school closed, the main objection to his accompanying his parents to Mountain Pass was removed, and he had little doubt now that he could persuade them to take him.

The task was even easier than he had anticipated, for the Laytons, like all the other towns-people, were greatly alarmed over the rapid spread of the sickness, and when Bob broached the subject to them they readily consented to having him go with them.

“It’s an ill wind that blows nobody any good,” thought Bob, and hurried away to seek his friends and tell them the good news.

He found all three of them in a state of excitement equal to his own.

“Dad wants us all to leave town, too,” declared Joe. “He says there must be something wrong with the water supply, and he wants us all away until the trouble has been located and remedied.”

“My father says the same thing,” said Herb. “The trouble is, that we’ll have to go to different places, and that breaks up our combination for goodness knows how long.”

“Maybe we could get our folks to let us all stick together and go to Mountain Pass with Bob,” ventured Jimmy. “It seems too good to be true, though.”

“It’s an idea, anyway,” declared Joe. “You certainly come out strong once in a while, Doughnuts. It won’t do any harm to try, at any rate.”

The others agreed with this, and that night besieged their parents to let them go to the mountain resort. They succeeded more easily than they had hoped, as the older people were too worried over the situation, and too busy packing up, to offer much resistance to the impetuous lads.

Early the next morning first Joe, and then Herb and Jimmy, dropped into the Layton home, to report their success to Bob.

“Well, that’s great!” exclaimed the latter. “Jimmy, you win the celluloid frying pan for making that suggestion yesterday.”

“Huh! that’s about as useful as anything I’ll ever get from you Indians,” snorted Jimmy. “I ought to make you pay in advance for my ideas, instead of giving them away so carelessly.”

“You’ll never get rich that way,” remarked Joe. “But let’s cut out the comedy, fellows, and get down to business. When are your folks going to start for Mountain Pass, Bob?”

“The day after tomorrow.”

“Whew!” whistled Herb. “That means that we’ll have to flash a little speed, doesn’t it?”

“I sha’n’t worry about that,” grinned Bob. “I’m all ready to start this minute, so I’ll sit back and watch you fellows hustle. It will be lots of fun.”

“You won’t be able to see me, on account of the dust I’ll raise,” announced Jimmy.

“You’re going to stay at the Mountain Rest Hotel, aren’t you, Bob?” asked Joe.

“Sure! It’s the best hotel up there. The only one, in fact; though I believe some of the natives take a few people into their homes.”

“By the way,” said Herb. “Who’s said anything to Mrs. or Mr. Layton about our joining their party? Seems incredible, but maybe they won’t want us.”

“Gee!” gasped Joe. “I never thought of that. But maybe it’s so.”

“There’s mother now,” announced Bob. “Let’s put it up to her.”

This they did, and her son’s three friends were assured by Mrs. Layton that if their parents were willing they should go she and Mr. Layton would be glad to have them in their party.

“That’s fixed then,” announced Jimmy. “I’m off now, fellows. Next stop, Mountain Pass.”

CHAPTER VII – RADIO WONDERS

That day and the next were busy ones for the radio boys. The party was to go in two big automobiles that Mr. Layton had hired, and the boys had secured permission to take a small radio set with them. On the morning set for their departure they were ready to the last detail, and it was not long before they and their belongings were snugly packed into the two automobiles and they were all on their way to the mountain resort.

Although it was still only mid-autumn, the air had a keen edge to it, the sky was gray and overcast, and there was the indefinable feel of snow in the air. The big cars rolled crisply through long drifts of dead leaves, going at a lively pace, as it was quite a journey to the resort, with many steep grades to be encountered on the way. The boys were warmly wrapped, and the keen air only gave zest and added to their high spirits.

“These cars ought to be equipped with a radio set,” remarked Bob, a short time after they had started. “I saw a picture the other day of a car that was rigged up that way, with an antenna from the radiator to a mast in the rear.”

“It’s not a bad idea, at that,” said Joe. “If a person were going on a long tour, he could keep in touch with the weather forecasts, and know just what to expect the next day.”

“Yes, and when he camped for lunch, he could have music while the coffee pot was boiling,” said Herb. “Pretty soft, I’ll say.”

“He’d be out of luck if the static were bad, though,” observed Jimmy.

“Oh, it won’t be long before they’ll get around that static nuisance,” said Bob. “Have you heard of the latest method of overcoming it?”

The others had not, and Bob proceeded to explain.

“At Rocky Point, Long Island, they put up twelve radio towers, each four hundred and ten feet high, in a row three miles long. Then they hitched up a couple of two hundred kilowatt alternators so that they run in synchronism. That means four hundred kilowatts on the aerial, and I guess that can plough through the worst static that ever happened.”

“Four hundred kilowatts!” exclaimed Joe. “That’s an awful lot of juice, Bob.”

“You bet it is,” agreed Bob, nodding his head. “But it does the work. When they tested out this system signals were received in Nauen, Germany, of almost maximum strength, in spite of bad weather conditions. You know they have a numbered scale, running from nothing to ten, which is maximum. Well, the Rocky Point signals were classed as number nine, which means they were almost maximum strength.”

“It must have been a terrible job to synchronize those two alternators,” commented Joe.

“No doubt of it,” agreed Bob. “This article stated that they had to experiment for months before they succeeded. Those machines turn over at somewhere around twenty-two thousand revolutions per minute, you know.”

“About three hundred and sixty-six times a second,” said Joe, after a short mental calculation. “Nothing slow about that, is there?”

“It’s fast enough to do the trick, anyway,” agreed Bob. “Wouldn’t it be great to be in charge of a station like that?”

The others agreed that it would, and for some time they discussed this latest marvel of radio. Then their minds were drawn away by the wonderful scenery through which they were passing. The leaves still left on the trees were tinted in rich reds and browns, and as the big cars climbed to higher levels the party had some wonderful views of high hills and spreading valleys.

But the sky became continually more leaden and overcast, and the drivers put on more speed in an effort to reach their destination before the impending storm should start. But they had gone only a short distance further when a few white flakes came swirling silently down from the leaden sky. Scattered at first, they rapidly increased in numbers until the air was filled with swirling sheets of white. The snow packed over the windshields and powdered the occupants of the two cars, and the drivers were forced to stop and put up the side curtains. The snow hissed through the branches of the trees and whispered to the dead leaves, making the only sound in a world that was rapidly changing from autumn brown to winter white.

With the side curtains adjusted as snugly as possible, the party resumed its journey. The fine, dry snow searched out every chink and opening between the curtains, penetrating in some mysterious manner where rain would have been kept out. In a surprisingly short time it had thrown a thick mantle over the road, and the cars began to feel the drag of ploughing through it. Another stop had to be made to put on tire chains, and by this time it was plainly to be seen that the drivers were becoming worried.

They had still about a third of the distance to cover, which included some of the worst grades in that part of the country. The road had changed from smooth macadam to a rough trail that required careful driving even under the most favorable conditions, and now the snow, drifting into holes and depressions, hid them from sight, the first intimation of their presence being a jolt and slam as the wheels dropped into some pit that the driver could easily have avoided otherwise. The passengers were shaken about unmercifully, and had to hold fast to anything handy to keep from being thrown against the roof.

“Good night!” exclaimed Herb, as one particularly heavy jolt threw him from the seat and left him floundering on the floor. “We won’t have any springs left on the cars by the time we reach the hotel, provided we ever do. I know people who have driven over this road, and they never mentioned its being so bad.”

“So have I,” said Bob, peering out through the side curtains. “My private opinion is, that we’ve gotten off the main road altogether. There was a fork a way back, and I thought then that the drivers turned in the wrong direction.”

“That hardly seems possible, Bob,” said Mr. Layton. “They are both experienced drivers, and are supposed to know this road like a book.”

“Well, likely enough I’m wrong,” said his son. “If they did take the wrong fork, though, I suppose they’ll soon find it out and turn back.”

But Bob was gifted with a keen sense of direction, and it was not long before the little party found that he had been correct in his surmise. The leading car halted, the other followed suit, and the drivers, beating their numbed hands together, held a conference in the road.

After a struggle with the fastenings of the side-curtain, Mr. Layton descended and joined them. The boys followed suit, leaving Mrs. Layton in sole possession of the two cars.

“We don’t rightly know how it happened, sir,” said one of the drivers, addressing Mr. Layton; “but somehow we’ve got off the right road in this confounded snow, and I guess there’s nothing for it but to turn and try to get back on it at the place where we branched off.”

“Well, let’s do it then, as quickly as possible,” said Mr. Layton, decisively. “The snow is getting deeper every minute, and we can’t afford to lose any more time. I thought you men knew the road too well to make a mistake like that.”

One of the drivers muttered something about “snow” and “can’t see nothin’ ten feet ahead,” and they climbed into their seats, while the others scattered to their places inside.

The driver of the leading car stepped on the electric starter button, but instead of the engine starting there was a shock, a sharp snap of breaking steel, and the starter motor whirred idly around with no more effect on the engine than one of the thickly fallen snowflakes.

The driver uttered a fierce exclamation. “There goes that starter spring again!” he exclaimed. “Now I’ll have to crank the blamed engine every time I want to start for the rest of this trip.”

He fished around under the front seat, produced a starting crank, and tried to turn the engine over by hand. In his haste, however, he had forgotten to retard the spark, and as he lunged down on the crank with all his strength, the motor backfired, the crank spun around several times, and the driver staggered back, his right arm hanging limp and useless.