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قراءة كتاب Trackers of the Fog Pack Jack Ralston Flying Blind

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Trackers of the Fog Pack
Jack Ralston Flying Blind

Trackers of the Fog Pack Jack Ralston Flying Blind

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دار النشر: Project Gutenberg
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the Department lets us loaf away our time out here on the Gold Coast. If it keeps on we’ll be apt to forget heow to handle a ship, an’ get air shy—neow wouldn’t that same be a tough joke on us poor guys?”

“Little danger of such a thing coming to pass, Perk—it’s a whole bit like swimming—once you learn how to keep afloat it’s good for a life-time.”

“Mebbe so, Jack—I got a hunch it’s the same way with ridin’ a bike used to be—first few days yeou felt stiff in all yeour joints, ev’rything out o’ kelter; but when a chump got used to guidin’ the skittish wheel along it came as easy as fallin’ off a log. Honest Injun, neow, Jack, ain’t yeou any idea when we’re apt to grab an order to get goin’ again?”

“Any old day I’m looking for the same, Perk.”

“Gosh! that don’t strike me as givin’ much encouragement, partner,” Perk told his mate, aggrievedly.

“I wrote in ten days ago,” Jack went on to say, quietly, “to say our ship was in first-class condition, while we were on deck, waiting for orders.”

“Bully for yeou!” snapped Perk, brightening up visibly, as though, like a war horse at the scent of burnt powder making his nostrils quiver with anticipation. “I’m right neow yearnin’ to set eyes on a different landscape than sleepy ol’ San Diego, an’ slow towns borderin’ on the same.”

Perk only stated a truth when he referred to his adventurous life. He was considerably older than his running mate, having been over in France when only eighteen years of age, handling a sausage balloon on the fighting line, and running into numerous close corners, having been shot down at least twice.

After the war was over he came home, and started learning the ropes of the new craze—flying; becoming a very good pilot in time, though a bit reckless, it must be admitted.

Then he drifted into the lumber camps, and played logger for a few seasons. After that Perk, who was proud of having a strain of Canadian blood along with his Yankee heritage, turned up among the Mounties in the Far Northwest regions and spent some years doing service with those dashing officers enforcing the Law of the wilderness.

Meeting up with Jack Ralston—after being coaxed to throw his fortunes in with the Secret Service at Washington, he took a strong liking for the bright-witted youngster, and they had been boon comrades ever since, sharing their blankets, meeting all manner of peril in company, and becoming what might be called real “blood brothers.”

So, too, had Jack been through some interesting experiences, although not of the same thrilling character as those Perk could look back to, when musing of the past.

He had had a run of circus training, being a natural athlete; and on the bills had been advertised as a famous trapeze performer. Then naturally the lure of the air gripped Jack, and forsaking the sawdust ring he began making parachute drops with one of those barnstorming aviators possessing a dilapidated crate with which he was wont to give exhibitions at Harvest Home festivals, and County Fairs all over the West—just as Lindbergh did in his school days.

It was in this fashion that young Ralston learned to be a clever pilot; and possibly his skill at the controls was one leading factor bringing about an earnest invitation for him to join up with the Secret Service—about that time it became evident that a new branch of the Law organization must be built up, in order to compete with the lawless smuggling gangs that were already using airplanes with which to fetch contraband of every description into the country.

So well did the pair co-operate that they worked as two parts of the whole machine—as one hand knows what the other hand requires to make a finished product so their brains often worked

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