The Air Mystery of Isle La Motte

"I say now, why are you fellows landing here?" The Canadian Mounted Policeman reined in his horse as close to the cock-pit as he could get, and eyed the two occupants in the plane, which had just landed in the southern part of the Province of Quebec.

"You want the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth?" the blue-eyed youth in the passenger's seat drawled in an accent that could belong to only one part of the world, Texas.

"If you're telling it today," the mounty replied. "If not, we'll get it later."

"Very true, but you shall have it pronto. From an elevation of three thousand feet we observed you, so we came down to find out if you are riding a real horse, or merely an imitation--"

"It isn't a bad plug," interrupted the pilot, whose eyes were blue and they rested with approval on the animal that had aroused their curiosity. "But, if you ever visit Cap Bock, we'll fork you on something superior--we have a pinto that can--"

"Now, look here, I'm not fooling. You hop out of that and give an account of yourselves," the mounty ordered firmly.

"Yes, sir." The two obeyed willingly enough and the man dismounted. When they took off their helmets he saw they were boys, both had tow heads, and they didn't look at all formidable or like a pair he might have to escort to headquarters. However, duty was duty and he wasn't making any snap judgments or taking needless risks. There was too much smuggling, to say nothing of illegal immigration across the border, and orders were strict. It was not at all outside possibility that a couple of perfectly innocent looking youths might be the tools or employees of some powerful gang. The fact that they dropped out of the skies in an airplane was in itself suspicious.

"I'm Jim Austin, age sixteen years and two months. This is my step-brother, Bob Caldwell, fifteen years and eleven months," the grey-eyed boy announced gravely.

"Proud to meet you, sir," Bob bowed, then added. "I'm almost as old as he is."

"Well, go ahead, get along with the story," the mounty put in more pleasantly. His horse had walked close to the boy and was nosing about the pockets of his aviation coat. Soberly Bob drew forth an apple, broke it in half and fed the big fellow.

"We were both born with a complete pair of parents on ranches, adjoining ones, along Cap Rock in Texas, but circumstances, over which we had no control removed my mother and Bob's father," Jim explained. "When I was twelve I discovered that my father was spending a lot of time on the Caldwell ranch and I lay awake nights wondering why a Texas gentleman couldn't shoot a lady."

"And I planned to set a trap for Mr. Austin and fill him full of lead," Bob offered. "Give me your apple, Jim." Jim handed it over without hesitation and it was fed to the horse.

"Then, one day, I happened along by the water-hole and found some Greasers knocking the stuffing out of Bob. We beat them off, and after that, I went to the Caldwell's. It was a nice, clean house and Mrs. Caldwell gave me a square meal, woman cooked."

"My mother is the best cook in Texas," Bob offered softly.

"Yes. That night I started to follow my father and I ran into Bob. We rode about and talked it over. Bob's mother wanted him to go to school."

"And Bob didn't want to," the officer suggested solemnly.

"Oh yes I did," Bob replied quickly.

"But a mother, ranch, a string of horses and a pair of blue cranes, is a responsibility," Jim offered, "Then, we rode to the house--"

"And found his father eating a piece of chocolate cake that I didn't know anything about," said Bob.

"And he'd eaten the last crumbs," Jim added. "Then, we told them they were a pair of boobs. A week later the knots were tied that united the ranches and made us step-brothers. We were all at our place--"

"And Bob was to be sent to school?"

"Sure, but his mother said I had to go too," Jim grinned.

"Not so good."

"It was not so bad because his father said that when we finished the course, it was four years, we could have an airplane, he'd see that we were properly instructed in its chauffeuring. We were both hipped about flying," Bob answered.

"So we went to the school, did the work in two years and a half, learned piloting on the side, then went home and made the old man keep his word. Meet Her Highness," he waved his hand toward the plane which was a beauty.

"I'm glad to," the officer grinned broadly. "Now, tell me what you are doing here."

"You haven't told us anything about yourself," Bob reminded him.

"Later."

"Bob's mother has a sister, Mrs. Norman Fenton, and she lives on a farm on North Hero Island. In the summer time she takes tourists and calls the house, Stumble Inn. We came to see a bit of the world and to pay her a visit. Arrived yesterday and this morning took a hop over British soil. We like it even if it isn't Texas."

"That's generous of you. I'm Sergeant Bradshaw on border patrol duty, the horse is Patrick. He was imported from one of the western states, don't know which one, but he was a bloody beast when he was wished on me--"

"Somebody had mistreated him," Bob announced. "He's got a scar on his leg. Looks like a short-hitch hobble that cut him." The boy stooped over, took the hoof in his hand and Pat submitted amiably to the inspection.

"Reckon it was done with raw-hide," Jim declared. His fingers gently manipulated the old wound and Pat turned his nose about to sniff at the youngster.

"Pat doesn't usually make friends with strangers. You must have a way with horses," Sergeant Bradshaw told them.

"We came out of the sky to meet him," Bob reminded the man.

"Dad told us before we started north to make our trip as profitable as possible by learning all we can. It's against our principles to ask impudent questions, but we should like to know what you have to do," Jim announced and Bradshaw laughed heartily.

"I have to patrol this territory, watch the roads carefully, and every place where smugglers of any kind might try to break across the border. There has been no end of bootlegging--"

"Thought Canada was all wet," Bob grinned.

"The provinces have local option and Quebec went dry, so we have to enforce it, but the rum runners are the least of our troubles, although they are bad enough. There's a lot of objectionable people sneaking in to both this country and yours, besides drugs and jewelry. This is a pretty wild section and it keeps Pat and me on our toes."

"Noticed from the air it isn't much settled. Didn't know there is so much open space outside of Texas," Bob said.

"I should think you'd have a plane and you could see what's going on a lot better. With the glasses we knew all about what you looked like before we came down," Jim remarked.